Bess ran her finger under the gummed flap of each envelope and read words of love, congratulation and best wishes in various forms from Jake and Daniel. One from the girls at work, including Sushmita, with whom she shared a birthday – she had of course signed Sushmita’s card. There was also one from Philip and Nanette, while Auntie Nerys had sent her a home-made card, which was a bit rubbish, but at least she had tried. One from Mario’s sister, Bianca, who she was surprised had stayed off online bingo long enough to actually mail a birthday card, and one from ‘Shimmer Me Beautiful’, the beauty parlour on the high street where she went twice annually for a mani/pedi. Once at the start of the summer so she could go barefoot without shame in her flip-flops, and once around Christmas time so she could wear the sparkly silver heels that damaged her little toes. Her beloved silver shoes lived on the top shelf of her wardrobe in front of the old cardboard box; again she smelled sandalwood . . .

‘Ah, lovely.’ She studied the candy-pink cards studded with glitter and flowers. All, that was, apart from Bianca’s card, which was nothing of the sort and had the words ‘YOU’RE HOW F*CKING OLD????’ emblazoned across the front. Bess tutted. It just wasn’t funny! Who would think that a good choice of birthday card in this day and age? She decided to hide it behind Auntie Nerys’s little creation on the mantelpiece, lest anyone should see it. Not that she wasn’t grateful for any contact with Mario’s family, whose parents had more or less disowned Jake when he came out as gay, declaring they would pray for him. Mario had been her hero on that day. She would never forget the way he had calmly put down his knife and fork and pushed his chair back from the table. Grabbing his parents’ coats from the banister, he had literally shown them the door, and all before they had even finished their pudding.

‘Jake doesn’t need your prayers – he needs your support,’ he had almost whispered.

‘It’s a sin, unnatural,’ his mother had fired back, shuddering as she slipped her arms into her coat and his dad jangled the car keys, keen to get going.

‘What I think is unnatural is not offering your grandchild unconditional love.’

Bess hadn’t said a word, but had admired his quiet, calm conviction and his unconditional love. Her love for him had swelled that day and there had been many days like that, good days, where to be adrift with him on the tumultuous sea of life felt quite wonderful. But those days had grown fewer and fewer over the years and she had started to look back, wondering how far it was to swim to the shore and whether she could make it alone.