At the bar, Vee orders two pints of cider, bags of crisps and sausage rolls; her work for the day is done, but she doesn’t want to lose the afternoon, so one drink and some food to absorb it should be OK. She’ll take the film to the lab, and talk to the guys there about how she wants it developed. They know her well enough by now to make sure they don’t over-expose on the light, and they won’t try anything fancy. By and large, Vee shoots exactly what she wants. Occasionally – dark days, unpredictable indoor lighting, a flash bulb blown – she needs some tinkering done. There’s talk of colour magazines, not too far into the future, but Vee cannot imagine ever needing more than the tools she has: black and white film and natural light, flash when she must, and patience.

When she gets back to the table, Leonie is shoving something back in her bag.

‘So, what were you doing that was so funny, sister?’

Vee leans close. ‘Photographing Margaret Thatcher on Parliament Hill.’ She waits for the smile, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Leonie looks sad. The way her dad does when he waves her off on a Sunday.

‘You’ve been taking photos of Thatcher? You’re such a sell-out.’ Leonie isn’t wearing her customary outrage. Vee looks at her friend properly: she seems tired, and she’s different, somehow. Not bigger, or smaller, but there’s something that wasn’t there last time they saw each other. Or it could be that something is missing.

Vee shrugs. ‘Yes, I’m a sell-out. Or maybe I’m a role model for girls who want to be photographers.’ She takes a drink. ‘Do you want to know what happened?’

Leonie, shrugs, smiles. This is weird. Leonie is the least non-committal person Vee knows, has ever known, will ever know. She won’t be able to resist. She has always loved whatever the non-sexist, non-judgemental word for ‘gossip’ is.

Leonie opens the crisps, starts on the fresh pint. ‘Go on, then,’ she says, then, before Vee can say anything, ‘I’ve heard all the male MPs think she fancies them.’

‘That tells you a lot about what they think of themselves.’

‘And about how she operates.’

Vee has never, ever heard anything like this from Leonie before. ‘I know we don’t like her politics, Leonie, but what happened to sisterhood?’

Lately Vee has been fighting off a bit of male attention, and she knows for a fact that she does nothing to invite it. When she says no, she’s often accused of ‘sending out signals’. She doesn’t want any more love, of any kind. She’s come to the conclusion that, apart from her father and Leonie, there isn’t really anyone in the world that she’s that bothered about.