The waitress brought his beer. He took it, and stood looking out through the glass back of the house. In the heart of London, here, the horizon was all treetops and chimney pots, and, above, the fuzzy lilac glow of the city sky.

Bea drank water from the tap and showered and washed her hair, dressing without drying it, and then went down. She felt light-headed, she had to eat something. Even knowing how her mother operated, she was surprised at the size of the crowd. She looked for Dan, from group to group, in the fairground of a garden. It had everything but bunting. A waiter stopped and smiled and held out a tray.

‘No, thank you.’

She looked, but she could not see Dan. Ed’s wife Elizabeth passed, conveying appropriate sympathy, but busy, on her way elsewhere. Bea was largely ignored, invisible. The atmosphere was charged. The guests were alert, their heads and eyes turning and seeking, like periscopes. She saw her brother Ed, talking intently to Arun who, obedient to the Adamson edicts, wore a pale pink linen jacket. His wife, holding his arm, was draped in crimson silk.

‘Bea!’ Someone shouted her name. ‘Hey! Bea!’

It was Will, on the lawn below. His wife was with him, and other friends of Alex’s. They all looked up. She made the last descent, into the garden, and Will hugged her. He didn’t have to ask why she looked as if she had been crying. He had been crying himself. They were all upset.

‘This is so weird,’ said Bea.

‘I know. But it’s good, right? Your mum is amazing. It must be hard for you, too. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ Her towel-dried hair dripped onto her neck and she squeezed it out.

‘Sit with us.’

‘OK. Thanks. Have you seen Dan?’

‘Look, he’s here.’

Dan came out of the crowd. He looked – happy.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What took you so long?’

Her mother’s voice, as loud as a bell through the speakers, brought the party to a momentary halt.

‘Dinner, everyone! Sit down! Wherever you like.’