The smart hallway had a closet for stowing away boots and coats, and Carmen started to unload, taking in the shiny parquet flooring that led to the huge opened-out space of the kitchen, with glass right across the back wall, sliding out to the little square town-house garden, which had a small football net set up in it. On the left was a door that led to a beautiful small sitting room, done out in trendy shades of black and gray. It was all gorgeous. Carmen was suddenly rather conscious of her shabby coat and mud-spattered jeans. She felt she was scruffing the place up just by being there.

“Tea?” she said, hoping Sofia might say, Oh, what the hell, let’s have wine. Except—durr—she was pregnant of course. Boring.

She padded on her bare feet, following Sofia into the huge kitchen, only for her sister to raise her eyebrows in a query.

Unsure what she meant, Carmen paused. Then she glanced up the beautiful stairwell, with its metal banister railings topped with wood. Standing at the top was a child in a green velvet dress with the same determined set of face as her mother. She was pretty and tidy, with shiny hair combed back down her shoulders, a ballet-class posture, and a direct look.

“Oh, hello . . .” Carmen scrabbled. “Phoebe?”

“I’m Pippa, actually. Phoebe’s still upstairs. Mummy, she should be here, shouldn’t she? It’s rude.”

Sofia nodded as a little paper plane shot out past Pippa.

“Hi!”

“Jack,” said Carmen with more certainty, as he was the only boy. He was about eight, with short hair that stuck up like a brush, a round cheerful face, and freckles.

“Hihowareyou?” Jack called, heading for the small garden out the back before it got dark with a football under one arm.

“Phoebe!” shouted the larger girl in a high-pitched shriek. Carmen still wasn’t quite sure what to say as Pippa advanced down the stairs. She felt oddly judged as her niece looked her up and down.

“You missed my First Communion,” she said accusingly. “It was in October. Daddy’s sister sent me this dress.”

“Oh,” said Carmen.

“Pippa, darling, don’t—”

“I’m just saying. I’m in primary six, by the way. I like dancing and horses, and I don’t like K-pop, so please don’t give me any K-pop things.”

“Um, okay,” said Carmen.

“Phoebe!”

“Please don’t screech,” said Sofia. “Tea?”

“I’ll do it,” said Carmen, conscious that Sofia had a massive bump in front of her stomach and her mother had kept reminding her that she was there to help, as she wasn’t paying rent. They were still being a little stiff with each other.

“No, no, you catch up with the children,” said Sofia, filling the kettle. The kettle looked expensive, thought Carmen. How did you even buy an expensive kettle?