‘Yeah, I do, but I love you a whole lot more. And just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, when I was knee-deep in the running of the house, the preparing of food and the laundering of clothes, I fell pregnant with Natalie, the confetti-flinger!’

‘I know the one,’ he laughed.

Natalie, her beautiful girl, who had provided another burst of unimaginable starlight, another pocketful of magic to sew beneath her breast and into which her heart would dip whenever she saw her.

‘I’m so lucky, Jake, so very lucky!’ She felt the slip of tears over her cheek, overcome with love for those who loved her.

‘You are, Mum, and I hope you’ve had a lovely day so far.’

‘I have. I had lunch with Nanny and Grandad.’ She sniffed.

‘Oh? Pub carvery?’ She heard the affectionate laughter in his tone and knew that, long after her parents had died, they would laugh about the dire carvery and their love of a good gravy.

‘Of course.’ They both laughed. Bess hoped she hadn’t been too sharp with her mum about the voucher, making a promise to be extra nice to her when she saw her next, aware that she had taken out her frustration on her lovely mum, the last person who deserved it. ‘Dad’s going to the chippy tonight if you fancy it? A treat for my birthday. I told him I’d text him who’s coming and what you want to eat. About sixish? Can you and Dan make it?’

‘Well, we’re not quite home yet, Mum, so . . .’ He paused, and she knew he was working out the timing, doing the maths. ‘Can we let you know?’

‘’Course you can. That’s fine, lovey, but the sooner the better! You know what your dad’s like – I need to get the order off to him before he hits the chippy.’

‘Yes, Mum, I know what Dad’s like!’ he laughed, as if in on the ruse, knowing that Mario wouldn’t give a fig about the order or over-ordering or under-ordering or people turning up or not – she was the one who had been known to get in a tizz. ‘But be sure we’ll be there as and when we can, if not tonight then certainly tomorrow. We’re excited to see you both!’

‘Smashing. And don’t worry if you didn’t have time to do a Facebook birthday message.’

‘A what?’

‘You know, a message saying, “Happy Birthday, Mum!” or whatever on Facebook.’

‘Oh right.’ There was an awkward second of silence. ‘Would you like me to do a Facebook birthday message?’

‘Oh Jake, how lovely, thank you,’ she said, as if he had raised the topic. ‘Only if you have the time, and if you don’t’ – she thought of how different she felt now, compared with earlier: calmer – ‘it doesn’t matter, does it?’