Nell looked closer. In front of Ida was Carolyn Wilson – Nell was certain it was her – grinning confidently at the camera. ‘Were they related, then? Carolyn and Ida?’

‘I don’t think so. But once Carolyn’s mother left . . .’ Gina glanced at her. ‘You’ll not remember that, then? The poor lass’s mum just upped and left when she was, what, twelve years old?’

‘No. I didn’t – I didn’t know that.’

‘Well, Ida helped out for a while, I know that much. She meant well, I suppose, even if she was a bit set in her ways.’

Nell looked at the photos again, trying to remember, but any solid recollection of Ida, or of the girl Carolyn Wilson had been, remained frustratingly out of reach.

‘Are you glad you came home?’ Gina asked.

The question took Nell by surprise. ‘It’s not been – what I expected,’ she said, ‘and it’s not ideal, Chris being called away. Parties are much more his sort of thing.’

‘When’s he due back?’

‘I’m not sure. It seems to depend on some meeting. But a couple of days, I hope.’

They’d spoken that afternoon; the conversation had been short and self-consciously upbeat. The longer he stayed away, the less they seemed to have to say to each other.

‘I should have gone back with him, really. Only it took such an effort to get here, and there’s Maude . . .’ Other people had brought their kids, Nell had noticed, although she hadn’t recognised any of them, or any of their parents, come to that. But even so, she should have made more of an effort to persuade Maude to change her mind.

Nell might have said more, but the door to the function room opened suddenly as two young women exploded into the corridor, one of them brandishing a packet of cigarettes as they giggled their way downstairs. The music seemed to swell in their wake and suddenly Nell felt foolish; she barely knew Gina, after all.

‘No,’ she said, ‘ignore me. I’m just being – I miss Chris a bit more than I thought I would, that’s all.’

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Gina. ‘I should go. I said I’d sort out the cake.’

‘I’ll come and help,’ said Nell.

‘You will do no such thing,’ said Gina. ‘Get yourself back into that party. Go and catch up with a few people.’

*

Maude had made herself at home. Her clothes were strewn over the beds and the little chair in the corner. She was using a pine trunk as a dressing table and it was covered in all sorts of random bits and pieces – hair clips and junk jewellery and shells off the beach, lip balm and a scented body spray. There was even a tiny toy soldier, slumped on his side, his painted redcoat peeling. Her phone lay abandoned on the bed, its screen dark and smeary.