Mum says, ‘Dee isn’t happy, Frank. She used to be the outgoing one, the confident one – like your Julia, Holly, always a smart answer for anything – she was going to be a politician, or the TV interviewer who asks the politicians the tough questions. But she got married young, and then her husband didn’t want her to work till the children were out of school, so now all she can get is bits of secretarial stuff. He sounds like a dreadful piece of work – I didn’t say that, of course – she’s thinking of leaving him, but she’s been with him so long she can’t imagine how she would manage without him . . .’

Dad hands her a glass. She takes it automatically, without looking. ‘Her life, Frank, her life isn’t anything like she thought it would be. All our plans, we were going to take the world by storm . . . She never imagined this.’

Mum doesn’t normally talk like this in front of Holly. She’s cupping one cheek and looking into air, seeing things. She’s forgotten Holly is there.

Dad asks, ‘Going to meet up with her again?’ Holly can tell he wants to touch Mum, put his arms around her. She wants to as well, to press in against Mum’s side, but she stays back because Dad is.

‘Maybe. I don’t know. She’s going back to America next week; back to her husband, and the temp work. She can’t stay any longer. And she’s got all her cousins to see before then. We swore we’d e-mail this time . . .’ Mum runs her fingers down her face, like she’s feeling the lines around her mouth for the first time.

Dad says, ‘Maybe next summer we can think about taking a holiday over in that direction. If you want to.’

‘Oh, Frank. That’s lovely of you. But she’s not in New York or San Francisco, anywhere that . . .’ Mum looks at the wineglass in her hand, bewildered, and puts it down on the counter. ‘She’s in Minnesota, a smallish town there. That’s where her husband’s from. I don’t know if . . .’

‘If we headed to New York, she might come up and join us. Have a think about it.’

‘I will. Thank you.’ Mum takes a deep breath. She picks up her bag off the floor and tucks the photo back into it. ‘Holly,’ she says, holding out an arm and smiling. ‘Come here, darling, and give me my kiss. How was your week?’