I go to see my mother.

Her voice bubbles up warmly toward me. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ I say automatically.

‘What time is it?’

‘Eleven o’clock.’

‘Come into the kitchen. I made a chocolate cake yesterday and iced it this morning. You might as well have some.’

I follow her into the kitchen. My mother has a large kitchen built for her by my dad, who is a bit of a DIY enthusiast. It is airy, clutter free and the exact opposite of Nan’s kitchen. There is no kitchen god here. No incense. No sticky cakes, and no firecrackers during the Lunar New Year. She switches on the kettle and reaches for the tin where the tea bags are stored. I don’t offer to help because I know she will refuse. She puts two mugs out next to the kettle.

‘I’ve been so worried about you.’ She twists the top off the tin and drops a tea bag in each mug. ‘I don’t think I quite like you being an undercover cop. I’ve read such horrible things.’ She opens a drawer, takes out a knife then walks toward the cake stand where a beautifully iced cake is sitting under glass. ‘What if someone offers you drugs? Are you supposed to take them?’ She lifts the glass dome.

‘Mum, I’ve left the force.’

Her hands still. She puts the glass dome on the counter, and turns around to stare at me, her face suddenly creased with concern and worry. ‘Left the force? What happened?’

I sigh. ‘It’s a long story, Mum. I’ll tell you another day.’

‘Does this mean that you are now unemployed?’

I sigh. ‘No, I have another job.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Admin work.’

‘Does it pay well?’

‘Better than being a police officer, that’s for sure. Listen, Mum, forget my job for a minute, I wanted to tell you something more important.’

‘What?’ she asks almost suspiciously.

‘I got married.’

‘Oh! When?’ she says looking shocked.

I show her the rings. She walks toward me and in a daze takes my hand. I realize then that my mother and I hardly touch. It’s been so long since I have felt the texture of her skin.

‘How did I not notice it? Did you not want Dad and me to be there then?’ She sounds hurt and lost.

I bite my lip with remorse. I realize that I shouldn’t have told her. Maybe I should have stayed silent, and if it all works out with Jake we should have just got married again.

‘It was a spur of the moment thing. We were in Las Vegas. There was no family from either of us there.’

She lets go of my hand and frowns. ‘You were in Las Vegas?’

‘Yes, just for the weekend.’

‘Dad’s been saving up for a wedding for you,’ she says softly.

‘He can use the money to take you on a nice holiday,’ I say, feeling like a total bitch. But what else can I tell her?

‘Who is this man?’

‘His name is Jake Eden.’

‘Jake Eden,’ she repeats softly. ‘You’ve never spoken of him before.’

I nearly raise my eyebrows and say, When have I ever spoken to you or Dad about a man? But I catch myself in time and say, ‘It was a bit of a whirlwind thing.’

She looks deep into my eyes. ‘I’m glad you’re happy.’

‘I am,’ I tell her firmly.

She smiles. ‘What does he do?’

I tell her what will satisfy her. ‘He’s a businessman.’

‘Good,’ she says approvingly. ‘Do you have a photograph?’

‘No, I’ll bring him over next week.’

‘That’ll be nice. Dad will want to meet him.’ She turns away from me and cuts two slices of cake.

Poor Mum. Her world seems so small, so pointless. For years Dad and I have protected her from all bad news. So now she lives her life baking and cleaning and watching soaps. Sometimes Dad and I intrude into her life and she reacts with surprise. And I realize it from her that I have learned to be so distant with the ones I love.

We eat her cake—it is delicious—and drink tea together.

Once she puts her fork down and asks again, ‘Are you happy, Lily?’

I look her in the eye. ‘Yes, Mother. I am.’

She smiles and I smile back and for a few seconds it feels as if the sun is shining in my mother’s small world.

‘That’s good,’ she says. ‘That’s very good.’

We go to Lily’s parents’ home for dinner. They live in a Victorian three bedroom semi in Hampstead. The décor is pure Scandinavian: white walls, cool blue rugs and brown leather furniture. But an air of immutable sadness permeates it. Here there are unhealed and grievous wounds. Even Lily seems sadder and smaller. She smiles at me uncertainly and it makes me want to hold and reassure her, but I don’t. I realize that it is not the done thing in the Strom household. Here everybody is an island unto themselves.

Her father is white-haired, tall, thin, and appears much older than his years, and her mother is small, fragile, and charming. To my surprise she cooks and serves up a superb five-course meal. There is Gravadlax of salmon, pea velouté, an apple and mint sorbet between courses, noisettes of lamb and perfectly cooked vegetables. She finishes with poached oranges and pots of crème brûlée to rival the ones you’d find in the best five star restaurants. Afterwards, we nibble on excellent chocolate truffles.

‘Homemade,’ Lily’s father proudly informs.

I compliment her mother, again.

She smiles modestly.

The family dynamics are interesting. The mother in all her fragility utterly controls her family. Both husband and daughter treat her as if she is fashioned out of eggshell and defer to her in all things.

In the car, Lily doesn’t ask me what I think of her parents and I don’t offer any opinion. The evening is a success on the surface, but I think I both terrified and fascinated them, in the way a colorful but poisonous reptile might. As for me they are not really my kind of people, they are too straight and proper—not an unpaid parking ticket between them no doubt. Their marriage reminds me of the surface of a pond, stale and passionless. Still, I like them well enough.

In all their careful goodness they made my Lily.