It even smelled, this house – all overflowing bins and dirty ashtrays, washing-up and bacon sandwiches, everything she had hated growing up here. It never changed – the smell of her father’s work shirts and her mother’s cheap perfume seemed to permeate the very walls. And then there was the gas fire that popped all night long, leaving its residue on the walls and the doors, the constant noise of a radio or the TV, no real conversation unless it was about someone they knew, never about what was going on in the world. It was like being caught up in a soap opera, except the people in the soaps had personalities – this lot had nothing of any interest going for them at all. Her mother was bad enough. She spent her whole life smoking her fags, drinking her tea and living for the next episode of Coronation Street. Her mother knew more about Emily Bishop than she did about her own family.

And now her sister was lording it up with a man who was a right Face, and a right earner. It was so unfair. If only she had used her loaf, waited a while, kept her options open. But, back then, she had been so sure about James. Now look where she was; stuck in a vicious circle of debt with two kids hanging round her neck. If James had kept his part of the bargain she would have had a nanny, or at least an au pair, to take the brunt of the work off her. She closed her eyes in frustration. She had to work out a way to get rid of the house and still come out quids in. Once she sorted that, they could get back on track. If she left it to James, they would still be in that dump of a street when they were drawing their pensions – if she could stand him for that long.

Now, here was Celeste, about to hitch up with a man who was obviously going places. It was like a kick in the teeth.

Her father lifted his leg and broke wind loudly, and she pursed her lips, knowing it was for her benefit. Her father enjoyed her discomfort at what she regarded as common behaviour. If she wasn’t going to be so busy the next few days she would take Gabriella home with her just to teach him a lesson.

‘Here, Cynth, do you want to stay for your tea? Jonny’s coming round, and Jimmy Boy could come here as well. Be a nice family get-together.’

Her mother was smiling as she said it, and Cynthia realised that she genuinely meant it. Still, she was going to refuse because seeing Celeste and Jonny together made her feel even more depressed than usual.

‘I would, Mum, but I’ve made arrangements . . .’ Her voice tailed off and she forced a smile. ‘Maybe another night, eh?’