‘What wasn’t?’ Marcus shook his head.

‘Moving your poor kid to Northgate High. I kept saying to Ish that it made no sense, leaving a school that literally funnels kids straight into Oxbridge or’ – she was so angry, words were failing her – ‘or the bloody Government, dumping her into the cesspit of the state system.’ Her voice was a blade, slicing air. ‘God, it must have pained you.’

‘It was for her benefit,’ I attempted. ‘Willow needed a—’

‘Ah, give it a rest, darl.’ Lena marched to the door and then stopped. She turned her laser-beam stare on us both. ‘You totally used her for your political gain, eh, Marcus? You know, you uptight English, you make me laugh. Revering class and advantage with such bloody solemnity. Look at you all, using privilege just to beget yet more of it! Paying your way with the old school tie, sneering down your nose at decent poor guys like Ish – even if your daughter did think he was “nice”.’ She did air quotes. ‘Whew!’ She shook her head at us. ‘You’re just scared rigid to share the luck around, aren’t you?’

Marcus and I sat, blinking and dumbfounded for a moment.

‘And asking me, of all people, to help you cover up your disgusting past? Me, with my mixed blood in my veins, married to a brown-skinned man!’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘My poor mum’ll be turning in her grave.’

‘Lena,’ I tried meekly – but, really, what was there to say?

‘You really don’t have a clue, do you? Those who lose dreaming are lost, as my people say.’ She was opaque. ‘You’d do as well to remember life isn’t just about wealth.’

‘I’ll see you out.’ Finally Marcus was pulling himself together, too late.

‘Don’t bother. I hope Willow gets the help she needs,’ was her parting shot.

He didn’t argue; just slumped back down in the chair.

Marcus and I sat in our beautifully tasteful drawing room, decorated to complement my colouring. What a joke.

We sat and stared at each other.

‘So?’ I said eventually. ‘Are you going to tell me what that was about? I thought we’d seen the last of her and Ish, after…’ I couldn’t bear to say it really. ‘After Willow.’

‘It’s not great news, Nella,’ he said.

‘You don’t say.’

‘I thought’ – he shifted uncomfortably – ‘I really thought I could stop it before it spiralled, but – I kind of – I’ve got caught out.’

‘With what?’

He stood and opened his briefcase, pulling out an A4 manila envelope.

‘They’ve found out.’ He held it aloft for a second, as if he couldn’t bear to share it.

I held my hand out. ‘About?’

He blinked down, then he thrust it at me and turned away. ‘About me. My background.’

‘Well,’ I soothed, smoothing the envelope over my knee. ‘It’s not that bad, is it? That your family weren’t posh. It’s kudos these days.’ He’d been starting to build his political reputation around it, in fact; to admit some truths. The Tory man of the people. ‘It’s cool to be working class these days.’