We walked in through all those families. Good coats. Watches. A woman in heels that had never been on gravel.
I know that look. It is not rudeness. It is people deciding, very quickly, that you are not anybody.
I was not there for them.
Edie had saved me a seat in the family block, four rows back, with my jacket over the back of it.
And about ten minutes before it started a woman of about fifty in a very good suit came along the row with a programme in her hand, picked my jacket up off that seat, and handed it to me.
“Give me that, this row’s for families. There’s seating at the back, love — you’ll be more comfortable.”
She was not nasty about it. She was brisk, the way you are with a man who has got into the wrong queue.
“My daughter’s commissioning.”
“Of course she is.” And she smiled and put her own coat down.
There were about twenty-five people in that block who heard it.
