The thing is, as well as being funny, it is also humiliating. Because she thought she was so great, so attractive, having two men interested in her, when she wasn’t even especially interested in either of them. All of a sudden she thought she had all the time in the world. Pride comes before someone trips you flat on your face.

And now here she is, single and nearly forty. So very, very single and so very, very nearly forty. That elusive marriage and babies thing has slipped through her clumsy, grasping fingertips. She just couldn’t get it right in time. There won’t be a Lily baby or a Jake baby for her. She’s going to be on her deathbed and thinking about her achievements as a Human Resources Director. That will be her gift to humanity. The Morale Committee will gather around gratefully. The only person who is apparently in love with her is Thomas, who is married to somebody else. And the only person she’s in love with is Callum, who is also married to somebody else.

‘Sophie.’

‘Ha! I was just thinking about you.’ Sophie looks up at Callum and feels herself pulled irresistibly to him like metal shavings to a magnet. She has to dig her heels into the ground so she doesn’t suddenly superglue herself to his chest.

‘Really. What were you thinking?’

‘I was thinking…’ Gosh. She has absolutely no idea how to finish the sentence. Callum doesn’t seem to care. He seems bright-eyed and fidgety. ‘Were you thinking you’d like to dance with me?’

‘How funny! That’s exactly what I was thinking!’

Callum holds out his hand and Sophie takes it. A manic happiness floods her bloodstream.

He leans towards her with wide eyes and says, ‘Don’t you think the mulled wine is amazing!’

‘Oh,’ says Sophie fervently. ‘I think it’s delicious.’

Rose is walking towards Enigma’s tent, worrying about Grace, although she’s not sure exactly why. Something about the expression on her face just then. It was so disinterested. It was wiped clean. It reminded her of someone’s face from her past. Actually, she knows who it was. It reminded her of that Jenkins boy when they saw him at Dora’s wedding after the war. Oh, but for heaven’s sake! That’s ridiculous! Grace isn’t suffering from shellshock! Grace isn’t about to do anything silly.

The Jenkins boy had hung himself in the family garage.

It’s probably just that Rose has always been slightly worried about Grace, ever since the day Laura brought her home from the hospital and handed her over to Simon, saying, ‘Here. You stop her crying. You’re the one who wanted a baby so bad.’

Oh, but Grace is fine! She’s got Callum, who anyone can see adores her, and the baby is thriving.

The music is too loud. Her back hurts. Someone knocks against her, ‘Oh my God! I’m so sorry!’ and then disappears into the crowd. There seems to be a frenetic, out-of-control feeling to this year’s Anniversary. Everybody she sees is carrying a glass of mulled wine–it seems very popular, even though Rose had a taste and it definitely has too much lemon, not enough nutmeg. As she finally reaches the Baby Munro tent she can see Enigma sitting up in her chair, pointing her finger at someone, as though she’s Lady Muck. (What sort of person would Enigma have been if she’d just been a plain old Beth or Agnes?) Veronika and her new friend are there too. The friend is holding Jake. It seems that everyone is talking at once to a man wearing, oh dear, a yellow T-shirt. It’s the Kook. He’s obviously found Veronika. As Rose gets closer she sees him hold up the strange urn and announce,

‘These are the ashes of Alice Munro. My mother, Alice Munro.’

Veronica’s mouth drops and stays dropped.

Enigma guffaws, ‘Well, I don’t know whose ashes they are but I can assure you they’re not the ashes of Alice Munro!’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ says a familiar voice next to Rose.

Rose turns. ‘What are you doing here?’

Ron roars across the river on his jet-ski. He’s going to take her on a campervan holiday in Tasmania, he’s going to finally hang up that godawful baby-in-a-flowerpot print in the sunroom, he’s going to be more patient with her mother, he’s going to let her watch whatever that rubbish show is she wants to watch on Sunday nights, he’s going to go on picnics, he’s going to put Christmas lights on the guttering, he’s going to ask her, Do you still miss your dad, because I miss him, and Do you still write to the parents of the missing children in the paper, which you thought I never knew about, and Do you still know the words to all of Buddy Holly’s songs, and Do you think our children are normal…and, Jesus Christ, was Veronika trying to tell him she was a lesbian tonight?

‘I thought you were in Turkey!’ says Rose.

‘I decided to come home early,’ says Laura.

‘Laura?’ says the Kook uncertainly, lowering the urn.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Just one of those samosas,’ says Grace. ‘They look nice.’

‘You’re pretty good,’ says Callum.

‘I know I am,’ says Sophie.

The music thuds inside her. They’re on their own invisible island surrounded by gyrating people. They’re moving like one person. He’s going to kiss her very soon.

‘Your mother was Alice Munro?’ Veronika is ecstatic. It seems that nothing in her world is as fixed and boring as she thought. ‘So what happened to her? Why did she leave? What happened to Jack? This is amazing! Incredible!’ She looks at Audrey, who is gorgeous and calm and jiggling the baby expertly over one shoulder. ‘Can you believe this, Audrey!’

Enigma says, ‘He’s a con-man, I tell you.’

‘Oh, am I?’ The Kook shakes the urn. ‘How can you prove these aren’t the ashes of Alice Munro?’

Laura snorts with derision. ‘Oh, David, give it up!’

‘Do you actually know this man, Laura?’ says Enigma. ‘I suppose you met him in some dreadful foreign country. Why are you back so early anyway? Nobody told me you were coming back early! Have you noticed that Margie isn’t even here tonight? I’m here all alone dealing with problems like this!’

‘I’m back early because I decided I want to spend time with my grandson.’ Laura looks at Jake in Audrey’s arms and pats him tentatively on the head as if he’s an exotic animal. ‘Is that so strange? Where is Grace? This child looks hungry. And who are you? Are you the babysitter? Don’t tell me they’ve got a nanny? How terribly trendy of them!’