I did so wish that my mother hadn’t said that.

‘How’s the bride?’ asked Lili when I came downstairs.

For some reason I didn’t mind Lili talking about my wedding. I think I knew already that she didn’t take it seriously.

‘I’m dying to see Syl again. When is he coming?’ She looked at her watch. ‘Robert should be here soon.’

‘Syl will come this evening,’ I told her.

‘Goody, we can have a party. It might cheer you up. On the other hand,’ she added, ‘it might not. I often find parties depressing. All that yelling and drinking and getting too hot. Parties have been known to make my make-up run. That’s annoying.’

I found her calm assumption that I needed cheering up restful after my mother’s blind denials.

‘It isn’t any fun being young,’ said Lili. ‘But people forget. I don’t. I clearly remember it being detestable—one’s hormones haven’t yet learned their place and one is full of uncertainties.’

My mother came in, flustered.

‘I’m short of a chop,’ she said. ‘I just looked in the larder and I’ve only got four. Now if Syl stays to dinner we’ll be five...’

‘I’ll go and buy you one,’ said Lili. ‘I’ll buy you half a dozen if you like. It isn’t like you to fuss about a missing chop.’

‘I’ve got so much on my mind,’ said my mother irritably, letting us know that she was bearing the full burden of the forthcoming taxing ceremony.

‘Me and Margaret will go,’ said Lili. ‘It’ll be a nice little outing for us.’

My mother looked less harassed.

‘Margaret could do with some exercise,’ she said. ‘She hardly leaves the house. No wonder she’s so pale.’

‘Exercise is good for you,’ said Lili as we walked, ‘but I hate it. I can’t see the point in going for a walk unless a chop lies at the end of it.’

‘I used to walk in Egypt,’ I said. Egypt.

I could sense Lili turning her head to look at me, but the urge to talk, to confess, had left me as suddenly as it had come.

‘How did Syl propose?’ asked Lili. ‘Did he go down on one knee, hand on heart?’

I considered. What had happened was that Syl had, one evening, flushed with wine, remarked that he thought it would be a good idea if we got married. I had said nothing and he had assumed that we were engaged, telling his mother that night and mine the following morning. He had moved to kiss my mouth, but I had turned my head and he had kissed my cheek. Incomprehensible as it may seem he and I had never shared an embrace. He had made many attempts to put his arms around me, but I had always evaded him. As I thought about it it seemed extraordinary that any man should endure such behaviour and still wish to marry the object of his desire. Sometimes he would whisper that I was an innocent little thing, a primrose, a little white pony and other endearments: strange, understated fantasies that I could not comprehend.