‘Why?' Elsa was baffled.

‘Because all women end up looking like their mothers.'

‘It's only dinner, Laurence,' she explained patiently, smiling to herself. 'Even if we have pudding and coffee, it's not going to take that long.’

Elsa could hear the laugh in Laurence's voice. 'Give me the address. I'll pick you up at eight.’

Her mother was lying on the sofa with her feet on the arm when Elsa called round. Elsa'd worked all day and, having nothing much to eat at her house, wanted a snack to keep her going before Laurence picked her up. She didn't want to drink on a completely empty stomach and her mother's fridge would have something she could raid. She went into the sitting room first. 'Hi, Mum. Cup of tea?'

‘Glass of wine. Your father walked the legs off me.'

‘It's good for you. You don't get enough exercise,' said Elsa's father from behind the newspaper. 'I'd like a glass of wine too. There's a bottle open.’

Elsa brought her parents their wine and some pistachio nuts in a wooden dish and then said, 'Can I make myself a snack? I've got a date tonight.’

Her mother's legs shot off the arm of the sofa and she sat upright. 'Nice.’

Elsa was not deceived. Every fibre of her mother's being was concentrated on not getting over-excited, or being too curious, or making it plain that this was an unusual occurrence. Her daughter wasn't remotely fooled. 'Mm,' said Elsa. 'Actually, maybe I'll have a glass of wine too.’

Before she left the room to fetch it, she saw her mother's lips clamp down on her anxieties about drinking and driving. Elsa smiled to herself in the kitchen; her mother was going to love Laurence. She made a quick sandwich and took it with a glass of wine through to her parents. Her mother was desperate for her to find a boyfriend and equally desperate for Elsa not to know this, but, sadly, Elsa was too good at reading her mother's body language to be in any doubt on the matter.

Elsa perched on the now vacant sofa arm. 'Yes. Actually it's the man I met at Ashlyn's wedding.'

‘The man you danced with, who had the Morgan?' Elsa nodded. 'You did file every detail, didn't you?’

Her mother made a dismissive gesture. 'Well, you don't go to so many posh weddings, do you? I'm bound to remember.'

‘Anyway, he's picking me up at eight.'

‘Eight! That's less than an hour! I'd better tidy up and put something decent on. And what are you going to wear?'

‘It's all right, don't panic, not this. I've brought something to change into.'

‘Let me see.’

Elsa produced the rucksack with her change of clothes folded neatly in it. 'Hm,' said her mother, no longer so neutral.

‘I don't suppose there's any danger of getting any supper, is there?' said Elsa's father, unaware of the sartorial discussion, still struggling with the crossword.

‘There are some nice sausages if you peel the potatoes,' said Elsa's mother, taking out the T-shirt that her daughter thought quite smart enough for a casual date, even a first one.

‘I suppose you want me to cook them, too?'

‘That's right,' said both of his womenfolk in unison. 'Seriously, darling, have you really not got anything that isn't black?' said Elsa's mother.

‘This is a lovely T-shirt. Quite new. There's nothing wrong with it.' She remembered that Ashlyn's mother had told her she shouldn't wear black and wondered if she was right. She had also told her she was going to make her get her colours done – but with luck she'd forgotten all about it. She was a very busy woman.

‘Really, darling.. Elsa's mother began, and then stopped herself. 'OK, well, have a look at my jewellery and see if you can find something to jolly it up with but…' She paused, determined to be as encouraging as possible. 'I'm loving that fringe!’

Elsa made a face at her mother's slang, as she was supposed to, and then her mother said, 'Right, I'm going to hoover.'

‘It's Sunday evening, Mum!'

‘But there are people coming!'

‘Only one and he won't cross the threshold,' said Elsa to her mother's departing back. 'If I'd known it would cause all this fuss, he could have picked me up from mine.’

In spite of a natural desire to ignore her mother's advice, Elsa ran her fingers over the array of necklaces and beads that hung from a rack by her dressing table. Her mother loved big, ethnic, statement accessories, dating back, she insisted, to days when she made her own decorations with melon seeds dyed with cochineal and earrings with beads from her own mother's hoard.

Elsa took a moment to fluff up the fringe and realised she loved it too. Then she held up one necklace after another until she found a simple pendant on a cord. It was turquoise and silver and went with a pair of earrings that Elsa had. It wasn't exactly making a big statement about her artistic tastes, but it looked pleasant enough. She didn't show herself to her mother until five to eight, so her mother couldn't sigh, and almost audibly wish that her daughter let herself go a bit more.

Laurence arrived promptly at eight. Elsa opened the door and almost didn't recognise him. The last time she'd seen him he'd been wearing a morning suit. Now he had on a casual shirt tucked loosely into jeans. He kissed her cheek.

‘I'm so glad you didn't dress up,' he said, 'I thought I'd take you to a place I know with a garden. Great food, too.' As Elsa had dressed up, her smile wasn't all that warm. She noticed her mother hovering in the hallway. 'This is my mother. Mum, this is Laurence.'

‘Hello, Mrs Ashcombe, lovely to meet you,' said Laurence, 'and I'm Gentle.'

‘Glad to hear it,' said Mrs Ashcombe, her eyebrows raised.

‘No, it's my name. I'm Laurence Gentle.'

‘Hello, how nice to meet you,' went on Elsa's mother with a grace her daughter envied. 'Would you like to come in and have a drink or do you want to get off?'

‘I think we'd better get off, thank you.'

‘Bye, Mum, thanks for tea. I'll see you soon.' Elsa kissed her mother's cheek, then called, 'Bye, Dad!’

Mrs Ashcombe stood in the doorway as they went down the path. 'Oh, is that your car? Better not let Elsa's father see it or you'll never get away.'

‘Another time I'd be delighted for him to have a look if he's interested.'

‘How kind. That would be fun but don't hang around now if you've got a table booked. Have a lovely time.' Elsa waved.

Laurence was good company. He guided her to a table in the garden and organised drinks and menus with the calm efficiency that made him such a good best man.

‘Now, what would you like?' he said as a large glass of white wine was set down on the table by her. 'The fish is very good here. What do you fancy?’

The menu was more sophisticated than the relaxed garden atmosphere implied. 'I'll have to read it properly. There are so many lovely things.'

‘How hungry are you? The pâté is particularly delicious.'

‘Mm, but maybe I'll just have something light…' she said, having eaten a cheese sandwich less than an hour earlier.

‘And follow it up with the steak and chips. Good idea, I think I'll join you.'

‘I hadn't decided on that but maybe-'

‘Hand-cut chips, who can resist?’

She put her head on one side enquiringly. 'Are you softening me up for something?' she asked him suspiciously.

He nodded. 'Of course! I told you. I have a favour to ask you.'

‘So you have. What is it?’

He shook his head. 'Later. You're still quite starchy. I'll wait until you've had your second glass of wine.’

Elsa picked up her wine and sipped it, thinking it was already her second glass really. 'Why don't you drink, Laurence, or is that an embarrassing question?'

‘I just decided not to, years ago. I've never regretted my decision.’

He obviously didn't feel the need to elaborate further. Elsa frowned a little. 'But don't you get bored at parties when everyone's drunk and getting tedious?’