Leonie makes a sound, something like a hiss, ‘I’m not successful? By whose standards?’

Vee forces herself not to look away. ‘I mean you’ve retreated, because you haven’t got what you want. You should keep saying what you’re saying, and I think we need someone like you. But you seem to be giving up. On your book—’

‘I’m not giving up on that,’ but even the way she says it is half-hearted. ‘It’s just that every fucking idea I have, someone beats me to it. Germaine, so bloody cutting that people say she’s witty, she screwed my chances of getting the first one published, even though it was about so much more than sex. Now Orbach, diet book for pleasing yourself instead of the patriarchy, but she still wants us all to be thin. So nobody wants a feminist book on women’s bodies or sexuality now because Germaine and Susie have written theirs. Like they are the only ones we need. Because, one woman’s voice, or two, and we’re done. One woman Secretary of State at a time, one newspaper editor, a couple of QCs. Well done, feminism.’

Vee thinks of the shelf of books they have, written by their sisters, talking about women and their lives in essays, polemics, poems and prose. She decides against mentioning them. She needs to leave soon. ‘The column – you’re a voice, Leonie. You should be proud of that.’

‘Yeah. You of all people know that what I always wanted to be was the acceptable voice of feminism. Come on, Vee. I deserve better.’

They usually have this argument drunk, jokingly. Now, in the sober late-afternoon light, it feels different. Vee wants nothing more than to smile, apologise, and have them settle in to their happy old roles of mentor and student. But those days have gone, and anyway, Vee deserves better too. ‘You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. You won’t compromise and that means you can think of yourself as a glorious failure, beaten down by the patriarchy, whereas actually . . .’ Leonie’s gaze doesn’t flinch, daring her to go on, and this time, she is damn well going to dare. ‘Whereas actually you just can’t get off your arse and get on with it, like the rest of us do.’

‘Yeah, the sisters thank you for those photos you took of Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, and George Best.’

‘I haven’t got the luxury of a family flat and a trust fund. I have to work.’

‘That’s right, poor you. You were forced to sell out.’

‘It makes sense for some of us to be on the inside.’

‘Pissing out on the rest of us?’

Vee’s camera bag isn’t packed, she needs to change; she hasn’t got time for this. ‘I need to go and get ready, Leonie.’