People assume there was a moment.

They ask about it directly at dinners — what did it feel like when you heard — and they are visibly waiting for something specific, and I have stopped giving them anything, because the honest answer disappoints everybody.

There is no moment.

There is a Sunday morning, and a phone on a counter, and a woman of forty standing at a sink in her own kitchen with the tap running, working out that the thing she has been building for six weeks has now happened to actual people.

I called Ifeoma at nine on the Sunday.