‘The Cleland family – my ancestors – made their money in the West Indies. They were spice merchants, trading mainly from Grenada. But they really made their fortune when, you know. Parliament compensated them for losing their slaves.’

‘Losing them?’ I felt exactly as caustic as I sounded. ‘How very careless.’

‘When the trade was abolished, I mean. All the British traders and plantation owners had to give up their slaves, but they were handsomely compensated for it.’

‘Lucky them.’

I thought of the book Willow had been reading yesterday in A & E. Did she know about her father’s past? Had she done her own homework too?

‘Well’ – I clutched at a monumentally slippery straw – ‘it’s not that bad, is it? Surely half the country’s finding out these days they have some links to the slave trade, Markie.’

‘Come on, Nel. It’s not half the bloody country, is it?’ He stood and yanked the envelope out of my hand. ‘And half the bloody country didn’t try to bribe a journalist to shut up so he could get a seat in the Commons himself. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!’ He launched the envelope across the room.

‘Marcus!’ I tried to stop the missile. Too late, the envelope hit my favourite crystal vase. ‘Calm down!’

The vase rocked precariously for a moment – and then shattered into tiny pieces at my feet.

‘Ah,’ I sighed sadly. ‘That was Lalique.’

‘It’s all over, Nella.’ Marcus had a crazed look in his eye. ‘It was over the minute I tried to pay that fucker off to keep schtum.’

I looked around the room. At everything we’d worked so hard to present to the world, and I remembered collecting Beau that first day from the nursery when they said, ‘We don’t know exactly what’s wrong, Mrs Jackson, but we think you might need expert help.’

I had made my choice a long time ago.

‘Nothing, my darling,’ I said, as calmly as I could, given how annoyed I was about the costly vase, picking the envelope out of the debris, ‘nothing is ever over until the fat lady sings.’

Although, of course, I was definitely a thin lady, thank you very much – and I would stay that way if it bloody killed me.

Melissa

SUNDAY 8 OCTOBER

Ruby invited me to stay as long as I wanted, but honestly, the flat was a squeeze already. They really didn’t need a fourth member, loitering on the sofa. Her mother-in-law, Gloria, offered me her spare bedroom, bless her: ‘Could use the company,’ she’d said cheerfully, offering me a menthol cigarette, which I turned down. Rex hadn’t allowed me to smoke, but now I actually didn’t want one. Freedom came at a price apparently.

And I knew it was time to move on – properly.

Ruby had called my bluff, the Sunday evening after the charges were dropped.

We’d watched an old brat pack film with Zach and Ali, Ali offering me a beer that, weirdly, I hadn’t fancied. When the kids disappeared back into their own rooms, Ruby had made us herbal tea, popped crumpets in the toaster. They reminded me of rainy Sundays at Bev’s.