They are laughing when Grace comes back into the room and immediately stop and turn expansively towards her, smiling too eagerly to make sure she knows they’ve been having a good time, but not too good a time.

‘Titanic,’ explains Sophie inadequately.

‘I’m afraid our guest has shocking taste in music,’ says Callum.

‘Oh, well, I can’t even converse about music,’ says Grace, sitting down.

‘That’s not true,’ says Callum.

‘Yes it is.’ Grace immediately stands up again. ‘I’ll get the main course now,’ she says.

‘Sit down!’ says Callum. ‘Let me get it. You’ve been rushing around all day.’

‘What can I do to help?’ Sophie is half out of her chair.

‘No, no.’ Grace quells them both like over-eager puppies.

‘You stay. Chat!’

So they stay. And they get on to the music of their youth, Eighties music, Wham, Duran Duran, Boy George, Madonna. They sing lines of songs to each other. They keep exploding with laughter. They discover they were at the same Pseudo Echo concert back in 1986. (It was probably my destiny to meet him at that concert, thinks Sophie. Just my luck, I was in the toilet, readjusting my shoulder pads.)

It’s turning into one of those conversations at a party where you’ve both got just the right amount of alcohol in your bloodstreams and you’re making each other laugh and you both know you fancy each other and you’re ignoring the party happening around you, and you’re so pleased because you didn’t want to come in the first place and any minute now you’re heading for first-kiss time, and you know that after he kisses you he’s most definitely going to ask for your phone number and he’s most definitely going to call.

Only it’s not one of those conversations, because this type of euphoric tableau does not normally incorporate a beautiful wife in the kitchen fixing lunch, or a sleeping baby son down the hallway.

This is getting just the tiniest bit dangerous. They are flirting with the idea of flirting. What is Grace doing?

‘Wine at lunchtime goes straight to my head,’ says Sophie suddenly, as if she’s explaining something.

‘Me too. I’ll get us some water,’ says Callum as if he’s explaining something back, and as he stands up his eyes meet hers with a fleeting uncomfortable glance and Sophie knows, the way you just know some things without question, that in another parallel world he would have asked for her phone number if she’d met him at the Pseudo Echo concert or the imaginary party. She didn’t imagine the chemistry in the cab. It’s just bad luck.

There is a sudden rapping on the glass windows of the dining room. ‘Yoo hoo!’

Callum and Sophie both jump. Two figures are outside on the balcony, tapping on the windows with their umbrella handles as they walk past them towards the front door.

‘Enigma and Aunt Rose.’ Callum is smiling with something that looks suspiciously like relief.

Enigma and Rose come into the dining room, awkwardly peeling off sopping wet bright yellow raincoats, squeezing out water from their straggled hair, puffing, pink and wrinkled. They are obviously rather exhilarated by their daring as they say things like, ‘Torrential!’ ‘I couldn’t see a thing!’ ‘We’re absolutely drenched!’

They collapse on the sofa, full of themselves and their adventure, like prematurely aged teenagers.

‘We hooned over on our bikes, dear,’ explains Enigma to Sophie. ‘We’re real hoons! Oh my word, is that a nice white wine there I see? Rose and I will have a glass, won’t we, Rose?’

‘I think there’s going to be the most tremendous storm,’ says Rose. ‘I love storms. Especially thunder. That big powerful boom, kaboom as if something is breaking. Connie loved storms too. When we were young we used to run around the island when there was a storm. Sometimes we took our clothes off. You’ll see wonderful storms from Connie’s balcony, Sophie.’

Callum hands them both glasses of wine and Sophie sees that Rose’s hands are trembling slightly.

Grace appears in the doorway. ‘You two will catch pneumonia,’ she says.

‘You sound just like your mother, dear,’ says Enigma.

‘Are you staying for lunch?’ asks Grace.

‘Oh, no, dear, we wouldn’t dream of it, we just stopped in to say hello to Sophie,’ says Enigma. ‘What have you made?’

‘Mum’s salmon risotto.’

‘Ah, Laura’s risotto–with the goat cheese!–well we’d only need small portions, wouldn’t we, Rose? We eat like little birds these days.’

‘It’s OK, there’s plenty. Will you get them towels, Callum? They’ve got to get dry. Maybe you should both use my hairdryer.’

Sophie watches Grace and Callum share a husbandly-wifely look. They will laugh and complain about this unexpected visit in bed tonight.

‘I’ll give both their heads a good rub,’ promises Callum.

‘Oh, you!’ says Enigma coquettishly.

When Callum and Grace are out of the room, Rose and Enigma lean forward confidentially towards Sophie.

‘We’ve brought you the keys to Connie’s house,’ says Enigma.

Sophie is a bit thrown. She has an appointment to see Connie’s solicitor on Tuesday. She had assumed the whole process would take weeks. There’s also the Veronika issue.

‘But, ah, Veronika mentioned–that you–that maybe the family wasn’t too happy about Aunt Connie leaving the house to me.’

‘Oh, she’s a rascal, that Veronika,’ says Rose fondly.

‘You mustn’t take any notice of her,’ says Enigma. ‘I often sing a little song in my head until she’s finished talking. The thing is, Rose and I think it would be fun if you moved into the house quite soon.’

‘But won’t there be paperwork?’ asks Sophie.

‘Oh, but we don’t like paperwork!’ says Enigma. ‘No need to dilly-dally. Sooner the better.’

‘You won’t be lonely,’ says Rose. ‘And the garden needs you.’

‘We’ll drop in on you,’ says Enigma. ‘As often as you like!’

Rose smiles radiantly at her. ‘And when you turn forty we’ll tell you the truth about Alice and Jack.’

Enigma starts and looks terrified. ‘Good Lord Rose, have you gone stark raving mad!’