‘So these are the grandchildren?’ she said, pointing at the mug and examining the jumble of family pictures on the table. There were silver-framed portraits of the boys when they were newly born and a recent shot of a toothless, grinning Nancy, a bow on her bare head. ‘She looks like a real live wire.’

It seemed like an odd description for an infant too young to even take a step unaided, but I seized the chance to distract from Rachel’s mortifying refusal to emerge from her bedroom.

‘She’s adorable. First granddaughter, and my son Josh’s pride and joy.’

Amber studied the photo for a beat longer than felt necessary, but didn’t say anything more.

‘And that’s your wedding, is it?’ Nick and I, in a dusty leather frame. There were plenty of other pictures she could have zeroed in on. School photos of all three of them, six-year-old Rachel wearing a stripy Dennis the Menace–style jumper she used to love. It was a hand-me-down from an older cousin which I hated back then, but now she looked nothing but adorable in it, all gap-toothed and innocent. ‘You look fabulous!’ said Amber, summoning me back. ‘So retro.’

I laughed, not entirely naturally. My hair cascaded in lacquered waves down my shoulders in that picture, my dress a creamy satin bell. Nick’s hand clasped mine tightly, the ancient doors of the Ealing church framing us both, grinning as confetti came at us from all directions. We were only twenty-two, teenage sweethearts who kept a promise.

‘Trust me, considering it was only two years after Diana and Charles’s ridiculous affair, I was the picture of restraint.’

Now it was my turn to conduct an examination. Amber’s skin was smooth, but there was no hiding the lines that fanned out from her eyes like sun rays. There were no greys peppering her dark hair, but that proved nothing, a fact I could attest to. Her hands were a giveaway – they had the kind of sun damage that could only have been caused by decades of beach holidays. She had to have been at least a teenager when our wedding photograph was taken, however much she was choosing to behave as if it was a fascinating artefact.

My sneaky studying was stopped by Rachel’s appearance, her bare feet rendering her as quiet as a cat. Her wet hair was slicked back, her pale face left bare. Amber smoothly stood up, cocking her head to take her in. She smiled a smile that looked as if it contained the warmth and wisdom of the ages, and my spiky inner dialogue melted into ambient noise.

‘Rachel,’ she said, extending both hands just far enough that they welcomed my sullen child, without demanding a response. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.’