Extracting information from the woman had been harder than expected. For courtesy, she’d stayed to have one cup and chatted pointlessly about her journey, her attire, her complexion, before Aunt Helen had confessed that Charlie had moved out a year ago. ‘He’s not the same boy I remember. These days, we can’t find a single subject to agree on. And he’s stubborn. Dear me, he’s stubborn. He was never stubborn. So we both decided it was best he didn’t live here any longer. For the sake of our relationship. He’s got a room now in the village. Right above the hardware shop – he works there, so he gets a friendly rate from Mr Ponsonby. I haven’t seen him for a good few weeks, so if you find him, tell him I request the honour of his company.’ There’d been a strange tone of resentment in Aunt Helen’s voice from the beginning of their conversation and this had spilled into hostility when it came time to leave. At the door, the woman had pulled back the latch, and said, ‘You know, it’s funny, I expected you’d be older. A lot older.’

‘Oh. Why’s that?’

‘Well, seeing as you’ve got no children of your own.’ They’d stared at one another and she’d seen the quiver of a smile arrive on Aunt Helen’s face. ‘But, looking at you, I should think it’s not too late to start. They say, once you pass thirty, it gets tougher, don’t they? Sid and I, we put it off too long, and then he went and died. I wouldn’t recommend delaying, or you’ll miss your chance.’

‘I don’t remember asking for advice.’

‘No, but you can have it all the same. Perhaps when you get round to having your own family, you’ll leave mine well alone.’ Aunt Helen had held back the door a moment, nodding at the street. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you know. You’ve filled his head with dreams. He’s not changed for the better. And I warned the boy – I told him. She was always going to ruin him eventually. It’s you, though, who’s responsible. Giving her free rein to do it. You’re the ones I blame, not her.’

She’d let the woman have this little moment of ascendency. ‘I didn’t come here to upset you, so I’ll say goodbye now, Helen. I appreciate the tea.’

‘You just have a pleasant journey home.’

‘I will indeed.’ She’d bitten on these words. As soon as she’d got back into her car, she’d taken care to rev the engine loudly, giving three blasts on the horn as she drove off. The bloody harridan. The sad old witch. She wished she’d said more to defend herself, but once she’d reached the junction and the house was out of view, she felt relieved for the restraint she’d shown, because it would’ve made the situation worse, exchanging insults on the woman’s doorstep. Still, it rankled her. The blame and accusations she’d left unreturned. And no one had a right to ask a woman why she hadn’t borne a child. There could’ve been a thousand reasons for it, all of them as private as the next; to disregard the prospect of a tragedy along the way was tactless and unfeeling. Charlie had been right about his aunty: there was sweetness to her, but you had to suffer all the bitter layers of rind to reach it.