She would sit near the roses with a cup of tea and watch everybody else.

One morning she brought a photograph of her late husband, who had worked as a machinist and loved dancing.

Clara asked to see it.

By the end of the hour they were trading stories about bands that used to play at the town hall.

Nora started coming on Wednesdays too.

Then she volunteered to telephone guests who had missed a week, because she remembered how frightening it felt to be absent and wonder whether anybody noticed.

Watching her, I began to understand what Maya meant about giving people a part to play.