The doorbell rang and Lilian went to answer it. After that she was kept busy letting in guests until the house was overflowing. Pippa welcomed everyone with a finger over her lips.

‘They’re upstairs lying down,’ she whispered. ‘I want them to rest until the last minute. Tonight’s going to be very tiring for them.’

Lilian’s brother Terry appeared. He was in his fifties, heavily built with greying hair and bullish features that radiated good nature. With him was his wife Celia, two children and three grandchildren. Hard on his heels came Irene, his first wife, now remarried, also with a herd of youngsters.

‘I can’t even keep track of them,’ Pippa confided to her Uncle Terry. ‘Are we related to them all?’

‘We’re definitely related to that one,’ Terry observed, indicating a boy of fourteen who seemed possessed by an imp of mischief. ‘Mum says he’s exactly like Dad was years ago: into everything, driving everyone mad, then winning them over with that smile. But he’s bright; always top of the class, apparently.’

‘He didn’t get that from Grandpa,’ Pippa remarked. ‘He was bottom of the class, according to him. He says there was always something more interesting to do than read dreary books, and there still is.’

Terry laughed appreciatively. ‘That sounds like Dad. His idea of serious reading is a magazine with pretty girls. I hope he doesn’t let Mum see them.’

Pippa chuckled. ‘She’s not bothered. She buys them for him.’

Terry nodded. ‘That sounds just like her.’

‘Have you got all the pictures out?’ Terry asked.

‘Yes, they’re in here.’ She led the way to a room at the back, decorated for the party, hung with paper chains and flowers and full of photographs. Some were family groups, but most were individual shots.

There was Lilian on her twenty-first birthday. There was Terry dressed for mountain climbing, which was his passion.