'We certainly don't,' says Mum, giving me a hug.
'Shall I take your coat?' says Kerry, as I put the bottle of champagne I've brought into the fridge. 'And what about a drink?'
This is how Kerry always talks to me. As though I'm a visitor.
But never mind. I'm not going to stress about it. Sacred links in the eternal circle of life.
'It's OK,' I say, trying to sound pleasant. 'I'll get it.' I open the cupboard where glasses are always kept, to find myself looking at tins of tomatoes.
'They're over here,' says Kerry, on the other side of the kitchen. 'We moved everything around! It makes much more sense now.'
'Oh right. Thanks.' I take the glass she gives me and take a sip of wine. 'Can I do anything to help?'
'I don't think so …' says Kerry, looking critically around the kitchen. 'Everything's pretty much done. So I said to Elaine,' she adds to Mum, '"Where did you get those shoes?" And she said M&S! I couldn't believe it!'
'Who's Elaine?' I say, trying to join in.
'At the golf club,' says Kerry.
Mum never used to play golf. But when she moved to Hampshire, she and Kerry took it up together. And now all I hear about is golf matches, golf club dinners, and endless parties with chums from the golf club.
I did once go along, to see what it was all about. But first of all they have all these stupid rules about what you can wear, which I didn't know, and some old guy nearly had a heart attack because I was in jeans. So they had to find me a skirt, and a spare pair of those clumpy shoes with spikes. And then when we got on to the course I couldn't hit the ball. Not I couldn't hit the ball well: I literally could not make contact with the ball. So in the end they all exchanged glances and said I'd better wait in the clubhouse.
'Sorry, Emma, can I just get past you …' Kerry reaches over my shoulder for a serving dish.
'Sorry,' I say, and move aside. 'So, is there really nothing I can do, Mum?'
'You could feed Sammy,' she says, giving me a pot of goldfish food. She frowns anxiously. 'You know, I'm a bit worried about Sammy.'
'Oh,' I say, feeling a spasm of alarm. 'Er … why?'
'He just doesn't seem himself.' She peers at him in his bowl. 'What do you think? Does he look right to you?'
I follow her gaze and pull a thoughtful face, as though I'm studying Sammy's features.
Oh God. I never thought she would notice. I tried as hard as I could to get a fish that looked just like Sammy. I mean he's orange, he's got two fins, he swims around … What's the difference?
'He's probably just a bit depressed,' I say at last. 'He'll get over it.'
Please don't let her take him to the vet or anything, I silently pray. I didn't even check if I got the right sex. Do goldfishes even have sexes?
'Anything else I can do?' I say, sprinkling fish food lavishly over the water in an attempt to block her view of him.
'We've pretty much got it covered,' says Kerry kindly.
'Why don't you go and say hello to Dad?' says Mum, sieving some peas. 'Lunch won't be for another ten minutes or so.'
I find Dad and Nev in the sitting room, in front of the cricket. Dad's greying beard is as neatly trimmed as ever, and he's drinking beer from a silver tankard. The room has recently been redecorated, but on the wall there's still a display of all Kerry's swimming cups. Mum polishes them regularly, every week.
Plus my couple of riding rosettes. I think she kind of flicks those with a duster.
'Hi, Dad,' I say, giving him a kiss.
'Emma!' He puts a hand to his head in mock-surprise. 'You made it! No detours! No visits to historic cities!'
'Not today!' I give a little laugh. 'Safe and sound.'
There was this time, just after Mum and Dad had moved to this house, when I took the wrong train on the way down and ended up in Salisbury, and Dad always teases me about it.
'Hi, Nev.' I peck him on the cheek, trying not to choke on the amount of aftershave he's wearing. He's in chinos and a white roll-neck, and has a heavy gold bracelet round his wrist, plus a wedding ring with a diamond set in it. Nev runs his family's company, which supplies office equipment all round the country, and he met Kerry at some convention for young entrepreneurs. Apparently they struck up conversation admiring each other's Rolex watches.
'Hi, Emma,' he says. 'D'you see the new motor?'
'What?' I peer at him blankly — then recall a glossy new car on the drive when I arrived. 'Oh yes! Very smart.'
'Mercedes 5 Series.' He takes a slug of beer. 'Forty-two grand list price.'
'Gosh.'
'Didn't pay that, though.' He taps the side of his nose. 'Have a guess.'
'Erm … forty?'
'Guess again.'
'Thirty-nine?'
'Thirty-seven-two-fifty,' says Nev triumphantly. 'And free CD changer. Tax deductible,' he adds.
'Right. Wow.'
I don't really know what else to say, so I perch on the side of the sofa and eat a peanut.