‘“It’s a pity Ray doesn’t have a dad to help him out with that. Women can’t really get to grips with footballs,” Mum said, with that wistful, grieving look she gets on her face every time she talks about my home life. She doesn’t normally say that sort of thing in front of Ray, but for some reason it just popped out last night. It didn’t even make sense.

‘Anyway, that did it. Something snapped in me: I’ve had years of her going on and on like a stuck record, using the old more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger-Chinese-water-torture voice, about what a failure I’ve been. So I told her: “I’ve had enough of this crap, Mum. The truth of it is I’d be pretty happy if I didn’t have to listen, twice a week, to you telling me how bloody sad I am.”

‘Then I went and got the notebook that sits beside the phone, and threw it so it just missed her head. I said, “Next time you feel an observation coming on about how it’s a desperate pity that Ray doesn’t have a dad, or that I didn’t work hard enough at school, or that I have a job carrying plates of food over to City bankers, don’t tell it to me straight away. Just write it down in there. Then I can have the joy of reading all your criticisms at once, perhaps on Christmas Day, as I carve the turkey that the strong-jawed, smiling man should really be carving in the family that I have failed to deliver. It can be my Christmas present from the Misery Club.”’

Eve’s face had taken on an expression of remembered anger and exhilaration. ‘What did your mother say then?’ I asked, awed by this sudden surge of eloquence. It was another thing I liked about Eve: the way that, once she was pushed to her limit, she would actually say the sort of things to her family that I would only dare to think.

‘She didn’t say anything. Her jaw dropped, and she looked shocked. But then I looked over at Ray. He was standing up, still holding that gluey football, with a wounded look on his face. “I do have a dad,” he said, “Everybody has a dad. But mine has gone away for a while.” Then he set down the football, and went out of the room. After that he wouldn’t talk to either of us.’

The exhilaration had gone: she was upset now at remembering Raymond. I wanted to put my arms round her, and stroke her fallen face, but I thought maybe she wouldn’t like it. I put my hand on her shoulder.

‘He’ll come round. His feelings were hurt,’ I said.

She let my hand rest there for a moment, saying nothing. Then she went to take the order from the couple on table twelve.