“He won’t even consider a divorce, Vera. They sit there holding hands cooing over that nasty little cat.”

“Really, it’s too much! I told you we should have had him certified,” says Big Sis.

“That’s what Valentina thinks.”

“Well she’s quite right, wicked though she is. She’s obviously got him eating out of her hands again, until she gets her passport. Men are so stupid.”

“Vera, what’s all this about you wanting Mother to divorce him?”

“What do you mean?”

“He says you tried to persuade Mother to divorce him.”

“Did I? I can’t remember. What a pity I didn’t succeed.”

“Anyway, the upshot is, it’s put him right off the idea of divorce.”

“I can see I’m going to have to come and talk to him myself.”

However, something soon happens which makes him change his mind. Early one morning, he telephones and starts ranting some nonsense about a big roller. I am in a hurry to get to work so I urge him to ring later. But he finally gets the words out:

“It’s the roller sitting in the front garden, on the lawn.”

“Pappa, what do you mean? What roller?”

“Roller! Rolls-Royce!”

Valentina has achieved the apogee of her dreams of life in the West-she is the owner of a Rolls-Royce. It is a 4-litre sedan, sold to her by Eric Pike for the knock-down price of £500 (paid by my father). She now has a Lada in the garage, a Rover on the drive, and a Roller on the lawn. None of the cars is licensed or insured. She has still not passed her driving test.

“Who is this Eric Pike, Pappa?” I remember the note I found tucked up in the knicker drawer with the half-eaten ham sandwich.

“Actually, this is a most interesting type. Once he was pilot in RAF. Jet propulsion fighter pilot. Now he is used car dealer. He has superb moustaches.”

“And is he very friendly with Valentina?”

“No no. I think not. They have nothing in common. She has no interest whatsoever in motors, except as vehicle for self-display. Actually is quite nice car. Came from estate of Lady Glaswyne. I believe was used for many years as farm vehicle, transporting hay, sheep, fertiliser bags, anything you like. Almost like tractor. Now is in need of some repairing.”

Mike bursts out laughing when he sees the Roller. It flops crookedly on the grass in front of the sitting-room window like a swan with a broken wing. It looks as if the suspension is gone. Brown fluid seeps from its underbelly, poisoning the grass. The paintwork which was once white is now a patchwork of touch-up paint, filler, and rust. He and my father walk round and round it, patting it and poking it here and there, shaking their heads.

“She wants me to repair her,” says my father with a helpless little shrug, as if he is the fairytale prince set an impossible task as a test of love by the beautiful princess.

“I think it’s past repair,” says Mike. “Anyway, where would you get the parts?”

“True, she is needing some parts, and even then it is by no means any certainty that she will run,” says my father. “Such is a pity. Car like this should run for ever, but she has dearly suffered from some abuses in her past. Nevertheless, what beauty…”

Just at that moment, Valentina emerges from the house. Although it is June, and the weather is warm, she is wearing a huge pinch-waisted wide-shouldered fur coat, which she wraps around herself with her hands in the pockets, movie-star style. She has grown so fat that the coat hardly meets in the middle. Around her neck twinkle some sparkly beads which in a poor light could be mistaken for diamonds. Stanislav, in a short-sleeved shirt, walks behind her carrying her bag.

She stops when she sees the three of us standing in the garden looking at her Roller.

“Is nice car, yes?” She addresses all of us, but looks to Mike for a reply.

“Yes, a very nice car,” says Mike, “but possibly more of a museum piece or a collector’s item than an on-road vehicle.”

“Hallo, Valentina,” I smile ingratiatingly. “You’re looking very elegant. Are you going out?”

“Verk.” One word. She doesn’t even turn her head towards me.

“What do you think, Stanislav? Do you like the car?”

“Oh yes. It’s better than a Zill.” Flash of chipped tooth. “Valentina always gets what she wants in the end.”

“Car is kaput,” says my father.

“You mend car,” she snaps. Then remembering she is supposed to be nice to him, she bends forward and pats his cheek. “Mr Engineer.”

Mr Engineer draws himself up to his full crooked height.

“Rolls-Royce kaput. Lada kaput. Soon Rover kaput. Only walking is not kaput. Ha ha.”

“Soon you kaput,” says Valentina. Then she catches my eye and gives a little laugh as if to say, only joking.

She drives off with Stanislav in the Rover, leaving behind a cloud of smoke and a smell of burning. While Mike and my father continue to pore over the Roller, I go inside and search the Yellow Pages.

“Hallo, is that Mr Eric Pike?”

“How can I help?” The voice is both oily and gritty, like burnt engine oil.

“I’m the daughter of Mr Mayevskyj. You sold him a car.”

“Ah yes.” Gritty chuckle. “Valentina’s Roller. Came from the Glaswyne estate, you know.”

“Mr Pike, how could you do a thing like that? You know the car doesn’t even go.”

“Well now, Miss er…Mrs er…You see Valentina said that her husband was a wizard engineer. Aeronautics. You see I happen to know a bit about planes.” The oily gritty voice becomes confiding. “You see some of the world leaders in aeronautics in the 19305 were Ukrainian. Sikorsky-invented the helicopter. Lozinsky-worked on the MiG. Saw them in action myself in Korea, you know. Fine little fighters. So when Valentina told me about her husband, how he promised her he would get it going in no time…Believe me, I had my doubts, but she was very persuasive. You know what she’s like.”

“My father’s looked at it, and he says he can’t fix it. Perhaps you could just take it away and give him his money back.”

“Five hundred quid is a very good price for a vintage Roller.”

“Not if it doesn’t go.”

There is silence on the other end of the phone.

“Mr Pike, I know what’s going on. I know about you and Valentina.”

Silence again, then a soft click. Then the dialling tone.

Lady Di likes the Roller. There is a window on the rear passenger side that does not fully close, where he can squeeze in. He invites his friends round, too, and they party all night on the sumptuous leather seats, and then spray a bit of piss around to mark that they were there. Lady Di’s girlfriend is a shy skinny tabby, who, it soon becomes apparent, is pregnant, and who likes to curl up on the driver’s seat, sinking her claws into the soft leather.

It is unseasonably wet in June. It rains and rains until the lawn is a sea of mud. The Roller sinks deeper and deeper; grass and weeds grow tall around it. Lady Di’s girlfriend has her babies on the front seat of the Roller-there are four of them-blind, soft, mewing bits of fluff that suck at their skinny mother, pawing her belly in rhythm. Pappa, Valentina and Stanislav are enchanted with them, and try to bring them into the house, but the girlfriend moves them all back, carrying them one by one by the scruff of the neck.

Vera’s visit to Pappa comes very shortly after the kittens are born. She drives up from Putney in her battered open-top Golf GT, a love-gift from Big Dick in the days when he still loved her (of course it wasn’t battered then). She arrives in the middle of the afternoon, while Stanislav and Valentina are out, and Pappa is snoozing in his armchair with the radio on full blast. He wakes up to find her standing over him, and lets out an involuntary scream: “No! No!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake be quiet, Pappa. We’ve had quite enough melodrama this week already, thank you,” Vera barks in her Big Sis voice. “Now!” She looks around, as though Valentina might be hiding in a corner. “Where is she?”