‘Here she is!’ her mum called out, clapping her hands to attract her daughter’s attention. Her dad sat up straight and adjusted his tie, worn, she knew, especially for the occasion. The sight of them and the way they greeted her made her heart flicker with love. She wondered what they saw when they looked at her: no doubt the same young girl full of promise who had ripped off her birthday-present wrapping and spent the afternoon getting ready for her big night out.

The lone drinkers at the bar stared at her, their expressions a little disappointed, as if the fanfare from her mum had led them to expect more.

‘Happy birthday, darling!’ Her mum stood and kissed her warmly on the cheek.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Happy birthday, Bessie.’

‘Thank you, Dad.’

She took a seat opposite her mother at the table and laid her arm on the wooden tabletop, which was a little sticky, placing her bag on the empty seat alongside her.

‘Fifty-three, baby girl, how did that happen? It doesn’t seem possible,’ her mum said.

‘Do you feel fifty-three?’ her dad asked, as he always did.

‘Do you know, Dad, today I bloody do! And a whole lot more.’ Her dad laughed, while she thought of Mario’s face, contorted, crying, and Natalie holding up her lighter – ‘Someone in the house is a not-so-secret liar.’ Her daughter’s words had been whips that cracked the air around her, sending shivers of discomfort down her spine. The veiled accusation had left her feeling uneasy.

‘Mind you,’ her mum cut in, lassoing her dad’s happy laughter from the room as her dour tone wiped the smile from his face, ‘the day I had you was not exactly the happiest for me – my goodness, no! – and it certainly wasn’t what you might call an easy birth . . .’

‘Really, Mum? Why have you never mentioned this?’ Bess held her mum’s gaze while her dad chortled.

‘Hello, early birds!’ The waiter arrived at the table with the slightly sarcastic air of someone who had been hoping for a few more minutes to prepare for customers and yet there they were!

‘We have a voucher!’ Her mum whipped the shiny piece of paper from her pocket and held it up like a winning ticket. Bess felt her stomach shrink with self-consciousness.

‘Very good. Well, I can take a look at that when it comes to settling the bill.’ The waiter’s condescension wasn’t lost on Bess and she disliked him for talking in this way to her parents, for whom this was a big day out.

‘I think we know what we want – three carvery plates, please!’ Her dad banged his hands on the table and spoke assuredly, and this before they had been presented with a menu.