‘How come we didn’t know? Are you sure you didn’t know?’

‘We’ve been through this.’

She knew he didn’t believe her. But it was true.

When Jack had come home the night before and told them he’d met someone, they were both understandably excited. Their boy. Their seventeen-year-old, handsome son, Jack Andreas Harris Metcalf, straight-A student and recently passed his driving test, had finally got a girlfriend! Don’t go over the top, she had to tell herself. Play it cool.

‘Oh that’s nice,’ she said. ‘Anyone we know?’ And she glanced over at Gareth, who smiled and winked at her. This was one of those parental milestones.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Let me guess,’ she said. Completely disobeying her own rule to underplay. ‘Is it Charlotte?’

‘No.’

‘OK, the girl from youth orchestra you’re always giving lifts to?’

‘Er, no, not her.’

‘Let him speak, Jude, for God’s sake,’ said Gareth gently.

Jack cleared his throat and looked down, clearly awkward at the prospect of discussing his love life with his ancient parents.

And then he said it.

‘It’s Dan.’

Everything stopped. The cuckoo clock in the hall declared it was eight o’clock.

‘What?’ asked Gareth eventually, still smiling.

‘Dan. Y’know, Dan Barker.’

‘Rugby Dan?’ Judith asked. A lot of Jack’s friends’ names had a prefix.

‘Yes,’ Jack said, his voice steady, ready for a row.

‘Oh.’

‘But Dan’s a boy,’ she said.

‘Ten out of ten for observation, Mother.’

She hated it when he called her ‘Mother’. So patronizing. As if she knew nothing about life or the world.

Gareth stood up. ‘I’m going out for a bit,’ he mumbled.

‘Where?’ she asked, louder than she’d intended.

‘Just out.’

And he went. Leaving Judith and Jack shrouded in embarrassed silence.

‘Well, that went down better than I’d expected!’ he said, trying to cover up the nerves that were catching in his voice.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

One of Jack’s many brilliant qualities, Judith believed, was his considerate nature. He’d always been like that. When he was little she’d often find him rescuing a stranded worm, or a trapped bee. Or if he caught Gareth looking sad or Judith looking tired, he’d always offer them a hug or a glass of squash. In school the teachers loved him, not just because he was such an academic whizz, but because he was so kind to the other pupils. Whenever a new kid started, he or she was automatically consigned to Jack’s care. And now he’d grown into a self-assured, quietly confident and exceptionally thoughtful young man. Even last night, having made what must have been such a difficult confession for him, his focus was solely on Judith. He sat next to her on the settee, where, try as she might to stop the tears, they just kept coming.

‘How come I didn’t know?’ she whispered.

‘Maybe because I didn’t tell you?’

‘But I’m your mother. I should know things like that. I should be able to tell.’

‘We’ve all got to have secrets, Mum. You haven’t done anything wrong.’