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She showed Zennor a cardboard packet and laid out the prints on the table. They were so pale and grainy compared to modern digital ones.

‘Here you are in the Christmas panto in Year Seven.’

Zennor was dressed in a fluffy outfit. ‘Oh my God. The singing sheep. I had to sing “All I Want For Christmas Is Ewe”. I could cringe!’

‘You were very good. You stood out.’

‘As a sheep!’

‘Everyone has to start somewhere, darling. I once played a dustbin in some incomprehensible Beckett play. I was numb for a week afterwards.’ She shuddered. ‘Look at this …’

There were more photos of Zennor as a unicorn, Zennor with a microphone in hand as Sporty Spice, and another of her in red tap shoes.

‘You always really cared about the music and interpreting it. I remember helping out at one of the school shows and I thought: She’ll go far, and not just because you were my friend’s daughter.’

A warm glow spread through Zennor. She’d loved the way the music made her feel: carefree and unselfconscious. When she’d gone to secondary school, a group from the local theatre school had visited and got the kids involved in acting in a play with music and dancing – and Zennor had felt she’d found her home.

Her parents, usually her dad, had ferried her to the theatre as often as he could and she ended up helping the younger children.

‘I always liked helping too,’ she said, picking up another photo of her in a blue dress, smiling, surrounded by younger kids at the theatre school. She’d been the oldest sister in The Sound of Music.

‘I know. I think you found your vocation. Your first one, anyway.’

It was true. After school, she’d gone on to the performing arts degree that had taken her away from Matt. While she was studying, she and some friends got work where they could, singing as duets and as a covers band in the smaller hotel bars. Zennor enjoyed it but she increasingly realised that she preferred the buzz of helping her friends more than performing herself.

She earned a little extra money by becoming a casual member of staff at the theatre group, assisting the director. At the same time, as her contacts in the local entertainment and arts scene grew, she often ended up finding artists for specific jobs, from fire-eaters to tribute bands.

‘It didn’t surprise you that I ended up as a teacher?’ she said.

‘Not at all. I know your mum and dad were very proud of you. I’m sure your mother still is.’

Zennor put down the photo of her in the tap shoes. ‘Who took that?’

‘Your dad maybe, or your mum – I took a couple of them myself. I found them in the spare room with hundreds of other pictures. I think your mum and dad must have given copies to me. I’d meant to put them in albums and never got round to it.’

‘I still remember Dad’s face when I got my teaching qualification and then my first job at the secondary school. He and Mum came to the nativity play I’d organised for the Reception class. Dad was in tears, just like he was at all of my shows. He never thought I’d noticed but I always did. Mum held it together much better.’

‘Your dad never shut up about you,’ Sybil said, chuckling.

‘It’s partly why I want to help these kids. I know what it will mean to them. Lots of kids at my school had a tough time or didn’t have many treats, and if I can bring some magic into their lives – or eventually inspire them to create some magic for others – I want to do it.’ She sighed and gave a rueful smile. ‘And anyway, I have no choice, seeing as I am never going to find anyone else in time.’

‘It’s nice to see you lit up about something. I see it more and more often these days despite … the past.’

‘You mean Matt?’

‘Well, I was thinking of Trev actually. I am afraid that your inner glow was rather extinguished by him for a while.’

‘A lot of things fell by the wayside.’

Before Trev had come along, Zennor had been sharing a house in an inland village with some of the other junior staff, spending her precious spare time and holidays at the beach and theatre. Within a year of meeting Trev, she was Mrs Jameson – in Trev’s eyes, anyway, because she’d kept Smith as her surname for professional purposes.

She remembered those first moments alone after they were married when Trev had called her Mrs Jameson, and she’d replied that she’d find it hard to get used to. Trev hadn’t liked that much of course and hinted that he thought she was hedging her bets in case it didn’t work out. She’d thought he’d been in love and joking but now she was sure he had been very unhappy about her refusal to change her name. Zennor had tried to laugh off his comments but a thought darted into her mind, which made her catch her breath.

Even before Matt had dropped his bombshell at the reception, had she had doubts?

‘Trev and I were never going to work,’ she murmured.

Sybil said nothing, listening intently.