‘I don’t care,’ Sunday retorted with a toss of her head. ‘I’m sure she’ll make time to see us when she knows we’re here.’ And with that she was off and Tom had no choice but to follow her.

Eventually, after explaining to various people that they were Kitty’s family they were directed backstage and found themselves in a long corridor with dressing rooms on either side of it.

Sunday skipped along, studying the names on the doors until she stopped at one, exclaiming, ‘This is it! KITTY NIGHTINGALE!’ she told Tom, and without even giving him a chance to reply, she rapped on the door and threw it open.

The young woman sitting at the mirror applying her greasepaint spun round to see who it was and at sight of Sunday a million different emotions flitted across her face.

‘Sunday!’ Her first reaction was to race across the room and throw her arms about her, but she stopped herself just in time. She wasn’t the same girl that Sunday had known. She carried dark secrets – and she knew that she would not be able to bear it if Sunday or Tom were ever to find out what she had been forced to do. ‘How are you?’ she asked instead, forcing her voice to remain steady as she turned back to the mirror.

Sunday looked at Tom in bewilderment before answering, ‘Well, better now that I’ve seen you, pet. We were worried sick when we didn’t hear from you.’

Kitty didn’t believe her for a second. She had written letters which had been ignored – and they couldn’t have all have got lost in the post. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly all right and making rather a name for myself,’ Kitty answered coolly.

‘Yes, that’s how I found you, I saw a piece about you in the paper.’ Sunday was bemused and finding Kitty difficult to talk to, when she had been expecting a joyful reunion. ‘And how are you enjoying living with your mother?’ Sunday asked then.

Kitty glanced at her in the mirror. ‘Very much,’ she lied. How could she admit that she missed Sunday every single day and the happy life they had once shared?

‘Oh … good.’ Sunday gazed at the girl, thinking how very much she had changed. She was harder now and more brittle somehow, although she looked well enough. ‘I err … was thinking that after your performance we might meet, go out for dinner and have a catch-up,’ she suggested. ‘Or if you’re too tired this evening we could perhaps make it tomorrow morning?’ she ended hopefully.

Kitty steeled herself. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ she managed to say. ‘I’m being taken out to supper this evening immediately after my performance and I have plans with my mother tomorrow. But it was very nice to see you.’

For the first time, Sunday felt a flicker of annoyance. She and Tom had come all this way to surprise the girl but she was acting as if they were being dismissed.