Rose invited her into the kitchen.

There was tea already on the table and a plate of plain butter biscuits, not a decorated cake in sight.

For a few minutes nobody spoke about the wedding.

Brittany remarked on the garden.

Grandma asked whether she’d found a place to stay.

I watched them make polite conversation, each of them approaching the painful subject as though it were a step missing from an old staircase.

Finally Brittany put down her cup.