‘She’s seeing no one, there’s been a sudden bereavement…’

‘What has happened? I got a postcard from Arnie only this morning. I have to know. Please let me in to give my condolences. That’s what you do, isn’t it, visit the mourners?’ The woman in the sheitel wig hesitated and opened the door. ‘Just one minute, she’s very tired. To lose a son, an only son…’

‘But when? Where? Are they killed… Arnie and Dixie?’

‘Don’t mention that shiksa’s name in this house. Is that you, Netta? You have robbed me of my only joy.’

Vida Bloom was sitting on a chair surrounded by women. From upstairs came the sound of men at prayer. She had aged overnight, her eyes red with crying, and the lapels of her jacket were torn, hanging down from her suit. ‘This is what it comes to when I trust my son to you… you traitor!’

‘Tell me what I’ve done? I just had a postcard from Gretna Green from Mr and Mrs Arnie Bloom. Did something happen to them?’

Vida rose with an effort. ‘He has married out… to that slum keelie of yours – yon dancer from the show. I will not say her name, coarse, Catholic and common as it is.’

‘Don’t say that, Mrs Bloom, they must love each other. At least he’s happy,’ Netta pleaded, looking at a photograph torn to shreds in the hearth. ‘Was that their wedding photo? Is that why you’re so upset?’

‘Aye, lass, and all your doing. Look at the dress. See, the one you made up for the scarlet woman and brought for me to finish off. To think, I made the wedding dress in my own home! You gave them the notion of Gretna when you told the yenta about your own runaway marriage, did you not?’

Netta blushed, bowing her head.

‘I’m so sorry, it was only a passing mention. I didn’t know they would run off themselves, but what were they to do if you wouldn’t speak to them about their feelings?’

‘You don’t know the half of it. He’s left his job… my son, the accountant is now just a jobbing jazz musician, following her all over. Well, he’s dead to me now. How can you live with that?’ screamed Vida.

‘Calm, Davida, remember what the doctor said? Tears won’t bring him back,’ said the friend, pointing Netta to the door.