‘I’m fine.’ Vee thinks about mentioning having seen Barry, but it really doesn’t seem that important, now. Even if she did think about him most of the way on the drive. Or at least think about how her life would have been certain, if she had stayed with him. Unengaged, and with no real desire to find someone, life has become a nebulous, unlimited, and therefore frightening thing. She’s never talked to Leonie much about Barry. It was as though part of her already knew that marrying him wasn’t going to happen, so she didn’t waste her breath on it.

‘Was your meeting about your book? How did it go?’ One of the best things about last year for Vee was when Leonie sent her the typed pages of the book she was writing, and asked her what she thought. Vee had thought, simply, that this was the most amazing thing she had ever read. It should have been hard going, because it was about complicated things – politics, the economy, history, all the reasons women are kept down. But Leonie’s wit and sharpness had struck sparks in the air around her as she read. Vee had never been much of a reader, but she stayed up until she had finished the last page. She’d sent back a note, the next day, full of praise and enthusiasm, which Leonie hadn’t replied to.

The waitress comes over; Leonie orders a cheese sandwich and coffee. Vee asks for a second coffee. ‘It was – not cool,’ she says, pulling a face that shows her bottom teeth, narrows her eyes, ‘The lowdown is, I’m before my time. Which is a big fat no.’

‘Is it really? Or do you just have to wait? Until time catches up?’ One of the few things Vee and her father still agree on (now that marriage, careers and the women’s movement cause disagreements every time they come up) is how you Never Give Up. And it’s just not possible that people can’t see how fantastic Leonie is.

Leonie makes a laugh-shaped noise. ‘Oh, my little ray of sunshine. I wish. No, it really was a big fat no. The world isn’t ready for me. I don’t see why the world can’t have a go. At least put it out there and see, you know? Someone took a punt on Betty Friedan. And on Kate Millett. They believed Robin Morgan when she said she could edit Sisterhood is Powerful.’ She sighs. ‘I should move to the States. Your best way of being a published feminist here is to be Sylvia fucking Plath. Or Stevie Smith.’

‘Aren’t they poets?’