Hazel drops a coffee pod into the shiny stainless-steel contraption which is built into the row of cupboards. ‘Cappuccino?’ She puts a mug beneath the spout of the machine without waiting for an answer. It hums for a moment in a very smooth Italian fashion and the scent of fresh coffee starts to swirl around the room. ‘It’s funny how you and I always sit in the kitchen even though there’s the rest of the house to play in.’

‘I’m the same next door.’

‘Stan tells me you’re getting a lodger?’

‘I am. And she has a dog.’

‘I confess I’m surprised, not so much about the dog but about you doing it at all.’

‘So am I, to be honest. You never met any of my young women because all that was before you moved in, and the less said about the last one the better. I really don’t want to revisit that particular episode.’

‘Understandable. Let’s talk about something else.’ Hazel places the mug of froth and coffee on the breakfast bar in front of Georgia. She takes a small box from her pocket and puts it down next to the coffee. She splays her fingers out on the granite worktop. ‘My fingers are useless. Look at them, all puffy from the lymphedema. I’ll not be wearing my rings again.’

‘Your rings?’

‘I’m keeping my wedding ring and my engagement ring, of course – perhaps the undertaker will be able to fit them on my finger after I’m gone – but I thought you might like this one.’ She opens the little box. ‘I found it when I was clearing things out. I hope it fits.’

The box is lined with silk and embossed with the very Edinburgh name of Hamilton & Inches, the poshest jeweller on George Street. But the ring inside is certainly not the sort of thing such a grand establishment would sell. It’s a circle of unpolished metal.

‘It’s not much, so if you don’t want it, I won’t be offended.’ Hazel is apologetic. ‘I’ve had it a long time, but it’s just brass. There’s the outer channel, and the inner ring slides around it, like a racetrack. I used to wear it all the time, before my hands got impossible. It was my thinking ring. If I had a problem, I would find myself twirling the inner ring around and around and it seemed to help.’

‘A bit like a set of worry beads?’ Georgia slips the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand, but it’s too tight. She swaps it onto her third finger and it fits. Her hands are not swollen, as Hazel’s are.

Hazel smiles. ‘I’m sure it would polish up with a bit of Brasso.’