I chattered on into the silence, talking of my awful job, things I’d done in France, the fact that my parents were well, thank you – anything to end the awful, oppressive stillness that crept across the little room whenever I stopped. But Mrs Traynor’s grief hung over the little house, like a fog. If Mr Traynor had seemed exhausted by sadness, Mrs Traynor appeared to be swallowed by it. There was almost nothing left of the brisk, proud woman I had known.

‘What brings you to this area?’ she said, finally.

‘Um … just visiting friends,’ I said.

‘How do you two know each other?’

‘I … knew Lily’s father.’

‘How nice,’ said Mrs Traynor, and we smiled awkwardly. I watched Lily, waiting for her to say something, but she had frozen, as if she, too, were overwhelmed, faced with the reality of this woman’s pain.

We drank a second cup of tea, and remarked upon her beautiful garden for the third, possibly fourth time, and I fought the sensation that our enduring presence was requiring a sort of superhuman effort on her behalf. She didn’t want us there. She was far too polite to say so, but it was obvious that she really just wanted to be on her own. It was in every gesture – every forced smile, every attempt to stay on top of the conversation. I suspected that the moment we were gone she would simply retreat into a chair and stay there, or shuffle upstairs and curl up in her bed.

And then I noticed it: the complete absence of photographs. Where Granta House had been filled with silver-framed pictures of her children, of their family, ponies, skiing holidays, distant grandparents, this cottage was bare. A small bronze of a horse, a watercolour of some hyacinths, but no people. I found myself shifting in my seat, wondering if I had simply missed them, gathered on some occasional table or windowsill. But no: the cottage was brutally impersonal. I thought of my own flat, my utter failure to personalize it or allow myself to turn it into any kind of a home. And I felt suddenly leaden, and desperately sad.

What have you done to us all, Will?

‘It’s probably time to go, Louisa,’ said Lily, looking pointedly at the clock. ‘You did say we wouldn’t want to hit traffic.’

I gazed at her. ‘But –’

‘You said we shouldn’t stay too long.’ Her voice was high and clear.

‘Oh. Yes. Traffic can be very tedious.’ Mrs Traynor began to rise from her chair.

I was glaring at Lily, about to protest again, when the phone rang. Mrs Traynor flinched, as if the sound were now unfamiliar. She looked at each of us, as if wondering whether to answer it, and then, perhaps realizing she couldn’t ignore it while we were there, she excused herself and walked through to the other room, where we heard her answer.

‘What are you doing?’ I said.

‘It just feels all wrong,’ said Lily, miserably.

‘But we can’t go without telling her.’

‘I just can’t do this today. It’s all …’

‘I know it’s scary. But look at her, Lily. I really think it might help her if you told her. Don’t you?’

Lily’s eyes widened.

‘Tell me what?’

My head swivelled. Mrs Traynor was standing motionless by the door to the little hallway. ‘What is it you need to tell me?’

Lily looked at me, then back towards Mrs Traynor. I felt time slow around us. She swallowed, then lifted her chin a little. ‘That I’m your granddaughter.’

A brief silence.

‘My … what?’

‘I’m Will Traynor’s daughter.’

Her words echoed into the little room. Mrs Traynor’s gaze slid towards mine, as if to check that this was in fact some insane joke.

‘But … you can’t be.’

Lily recoiled.

‘Mrs Traynor, I know this must have come as something of a shock –’ I began.

She didn’t hear me. She was staring fiercely at Lily. ‘How could my son have had a daughter I didn’t know about?’

‘Because my mum didn’t tell anyone.’ Lily’s voice emerged as a whisper.

‘All this time? How can you have been a secret for all this time?’ Mrs Traynor turned towards me. ‘You knew about this?’

I swallowed. ‘It was why I wrote to you. Lily came to find me. She wanted to know about her family. Mrs Traynor, we didn’t want to cause you any more pain. It’s just that Lily wanted to know her grandparents and it didn’t go particularly well with Mr Traynor and …’

‘But Will would have said something.’ She shook her head. ‘I know he would. He was my son.’

‘I’ll take a blood test if you really don’t believe me,’ said Lily, her arms folding across her chest. ‘But I’m not after anything of yours. I don’t need to come and stay with you or anything. I have my own money, if that’s what you think.’

‘I’m not sure what I –’ Mrs Traynor began.

‘You don’t have to look horrified. I’m not, like, some contagious disease you’ve just inherited. Just, you know, a granddaughter. Jesus.’

Mrs Traynor sank slowly into a chair. After a moment, a trembling hand went to her head.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Traynor?’

‘I don’t think I …’ Mrs Traynor closed her eyes. She seemed to have retreated somewhere far inside herself.