“I don’t know. I wouldn’t read anything into it, though—I know it’s not really a valid excuse, but she’s not very well.” I nod, and he leans in conspiratorially. “Though she wasn’t exactly a product of charm school when she had her full health, if I’m honest.” I laugh, as he means me to, and he leans back again, shaking his head and smiling. “Ailsa Calder. Who’d have thought.”

“I was only at the school for, what, just over two years. I’m surprised you remembered me at all.”

“Well, there were only thirty of us in the whole school,” he points out. I’d forgotten that, how small the local school was—and perhaps still is—but now it’s flooding back to me. Thirty kids aged between five and twelve and two teachers. One classroom that could be partitioned into two, and almost always was. When it was your birthday, you had to stand at the door between the two halves, and the whole school would sing happy birthday, with extra verses, one of which the birthday child had to sing solo: I’m only six, I’m only six . . . I hated that—how was it any kind of birthday treat to have to sing in front of others? But Ben is still speaking. “And you disappeared in rather dramatic fashion, so I guess that helped the memories stick—ah, thanks, mate, what’s the damage?” Ben picks out Carrie’s lager and my vodka tonic from the drinks-laden tray the bartender has just pushed across to him, then pauses with the glasses still in his hands. “Look, I’m with a group over there”—he jerks his head toward a noisy group in one corner which is naturally cordoned off by a raised floor and balustrade—“why don’t you come and join us? You can tell me what you’ve been up to all these years, and I can introduce you to some of your neighbors.” He grimaces. “Nice ones, I promise.”

“Thanks, but I’m here with my sister . . .” I gesture over at her.

“She’s welcome, too, of course.”

“Oh. Um, thank you. If it’s okay with Carrie . . .” But I already know Carrie will be delighted to meet people. I glance back toward her table and find her watching me. She quirks up her eyebrows when she sees me looking at her and mouths, Okay? I nod and slide down awkwardly from the bar stool, then take the drinks off Ben. He’s tall, Ben; even with my heels I have to tip my head back a little to look at his face.