He cocks his head to one side and heat prickles the back of my neck. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he says. ‘But just look after them, okay? They’re good kids, these two.’ He smiles, and there’s no reprimand in his voice.

‘I will.’

He nods, as though convinced. ‘À bientôt les enfants,’ he says to the kids, and then he turns away. I squint into the sun at his retreating back as he picks his way through the crowd to the lakeshore.

‘Jorge’s the best.’ Léa flops on her front on the grass. Then she turns her head and smiles. ‘But you’re second best.’

APRIL 1976 Oxfordshire/London, UK

SYLVIA

Basil was the first to greet them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his ears flapping as he rushed towards the car.

‘Basil! Heel!’ Pamela half jogged down the drive after the Jack Russell. Sylvia forced a smile. Deep breaths. ‘You’re here! Goodness, and only half an hour late too! Traffic must have been good?’

‘Not bad, Mum,’ Jim said.

They stepped out of the car and Pamela pulled them both into a hug in turn. She stepped back and threw a pointed look at Sylvia’s stomach, as though she could see the pea-sized being within. ‘Well, I can’t say the timing is quite what we had in mind for you.’

‘Darling, let them come into the house before the interrogation starts.’ Simon slapped Jim on the back and kissed Sylvia on the cheek. She was always struck by how much Jim looked like his father. This would be her soon-to-be-husband in twenty-five years’ time. The thought unnerved her, not because Simon was unattractive, but because it felt like one more sign that life was already mapped out for them, however differently they attempted to live it.

Inside, Pamela summoned Sylvia to help her make tea as Jim and his father talked on the lawn, freshly mown into perfect stripes.

‘I’m not going to harp on about it.’ Pamela poured water into the teapot. ‘All that matters is you’re getting married and you’ll be blessed with a child, and that’s simply wonderful. Tongues will wag, but we’ll just have to turn a blind eye.’

Sylvia was arranging the biscuits on a plate with methodical precision. Jammie Dodgers, Bourbons, Rich Tea.

‘Thank you, Pamela,’ she said with equal care. ‘I’m glad you’re pleased.’ At least now there would be no big ceremony in a church, no manor house reception with one hundred pairs of eyes on her the whole day. Though she would never say it to Jim, part of her was relieved. Thank you, baby.

‘Delighted. It’s such an exciting time for you both! I just wish you had a little longer to sort things out. You’ll be moving in with Jim straight after the wedding, I presume?’