‘You heard me, Mother, you’ve got ears like an elephant’s. Always flapping around, listening to everything. ’ He spied the white-faced Lilian with the tray and forced himself to smile.

‘Here, let me help you with that, Lily.’

‘Put it on the coffee table, please.’ Her voice was breathless.

Nancy watched her son through narrowed eyes. She was shrewd enough to guess that if she carried on in her present vein he would leave, and she didn’t want him to leave. He was the first of her children to visit willingly, out of the blue, without being summoned.

‘Shall I pour?’ George’s voice was strong again.

The only sound in the room was the clinking of cups and spoons, and the heavy ticking of the long case clock.

Lily watched the two people in front of her. It was like some secret dance going on before her eyes. Her mother-in-law was subdued now, watching her son under lowered lids. Her yellowing skin had a grey tinge to it that had not been there earlier.

George, on the other hand, looked well. Great, in fact. She could not remember seeing him look better. He had an assurance about him that was at odds with his appearance. George even dressed humbly. It was an odd thing, and if Lily had not seen it for herself she would have sworn it was impossible. How could someone dress in a humble manner? Well, George did. Only today his white shirt, grey tie and navy blue hand-knitted tank top looked almost jaunty. She took her tea in silence.

There was a subtle shifting of position here and Lily was not sure whether or not she liked it. If George upset his mother, she, Lily, would be the recipient of Nancy’s bad humour when he left.

‘I’ll take my tea out to the kitchen if you don’t mind, I have things to finish out there . . .’ She was gabbling. Awkwardly she left the room. Whatever the upshot she wanted no part of it - but she left the kitchen door wide open.

‘Now then, Mother, this is nice, isn’t it?’ George’s voice was determined.

Then Nancy smiled, a rare genuine smile. As it softened the hard lines of her face, George felt a lump in his throat. For a few seconds she looked young again. He saw the softness that she had sometimes displayed, that she had occasionally allowed through her veneer of hardness. It was the smile of the girl she had once been, a long, long time ago, before her marriage and her children and her other life.

Before the men.

George wished fervently he had known her then.