“You made this, too, Lulu?” said Jamie. “Wow. You’re amazing.”

“I’ve always cooked,” said Lulu. “I don’t know where it came from. Mom’s very good, but she does it because she has to. I’ve always really enjoyed it.”

“It must be your way of being nice to people,” said Jamie.

Lulu paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Oh, one of your many ways,” said Jamie hastily. “Obviously. That came out wrong, I’m sorry. All this good food has gone to my brain.”

But Lulu had seen the split-second glance that he had exchanged with Sophie before he spoke.

“I think,” said Charlie, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, “that the problem with Lulu … is that she’s probably one of the most hateful human beings I have ever met.”

“You’d noticed?” Sophie leaned across the table, eagerly joining the joke. “She’s completely ungenerous and never does anything for anyone, does she?”

“It’s not just that,” said Charlie. “I could probably live with that. But the roast babies for breakfast every morning are getting a little bit much.”

“Is she still doing that? We tried to stop her, but …”

“Very funny,” said Lulu. “Most amusing. If it’s going to be like this with you two from now on, I’m going to move home to my old room, dodgy ceiling and all.”

“Lulu!” said Fee the next afternoon, looking up smiling from the kitchen table where she was contentedly doing a crossword puzzle while the dishwasher hummed happily in the background. “What a nice surprise.”

“Mom.” Lulu threw down her bag in the hall, turned in to the kitchen, and blinked confusedly at her mother; she had understood her parents were taking themselves to the cinema this afternoon. “You’re home.”

“Well, yes, honey, I often am. I live here, remember.”

“Oh, what witty parents I have.” She bent to kiss Fee’s upturned cheek and perched herself on the edge of a chair. “What happened to the film?”

“I opted out at the last minute. I decided I couldn’t bear to sit through another two hours of Woody Allen’s id-ridden avatar being fallen in love with by a girl younger than my daughters. For some inexplicable reason, your father is more broad-minded than I am about sexist fantasies involving gorgeous young women, so he’s taken his friend Phil instead of me, and they can both leer at the jail-bait to their hearts’ content. How are you, Lulu? Did Sophie move in okay? Shall I make some tea?”

“Yes, she’s fine, and no tea for me, thanks. I just came by quickly to have another look in the attic for that recipe book.”

“Oh, sweetie, you really don’t have to do that. It was just a very passing thought of Aunt Amy’s—she’s probably organized half of Boston to raid their attics by now. It truly couldn’t matter less.”

“Well, but I’m curious now. I want to see what sort of stuff she was cooking back in New England in those days. Lots of molasses and squash and boiled beef, I bet.”