She came to in the prayer room. Mandy sat beside her. The room was hardly used; at least, Enid hardly used it. Chairs in a circle, a stack of books on a table by the wall. A teasmade and tray of cups, a vase of flowers. There were weekly prayers, and an occasional guest speaker, just like the old days at Didlington; but she didn’t need prayers now. She needed Ian.

Not for the same reason she’d needed him then. That was over. Done.

“Do you need anything, Enid?” said Mandy, squeezing her hand.

She wanted to laugh.

“It’s just gone three. We thought you might like to change into something clean. Your dress is back.”

“Did you telephone her?”

Mandy sighed. “Now look here, Enid. We tried her at home again, but there was no answer, see? Your Finetta must have gone out early. We didn’t have the number.”

Not if she was meeting Ian. If she was meeting Ian, she’d have – Enid didn’t know what Finetta would have done. Set her hair? Gone for lunch? A brother and sister together – she didn’t even know if they saw each other. Were they bosom pals, or had she not seen him for twenty-five years either? No. That was impossible; they’d lived together for so long. Finetta must have planned it. That’s what she’d done. Some mismatched effort at forgiveness, his forgiveness of her for keeping him away so long. It was clear to her now. Ian had always wanted to see her, but Finetta had said she was dreadful, cowardly, a brute. He’d got his way, but only because she wanted to prove it. And she had.

“Let’s get you changed,” said Mandy.

They left the prayer room and headed for the bathroom down the hall.

She’d proved that Enid was a brute. She’d sprung it upon her, knowing the shock would be too much. It wasn’t on, it wasn’t fair, it couldn’t be this way. There was so much that Finetta didn’t know; so much that she didn’t understand. In the large tiled bathroom with extra handles and a handheld shower, Enid let Mandy move about her quietly, washing her neck and stripping off her clothes. She hung on to Mandy’s back. Finetta was the brute, the silent creature – she always had been. Scheming away with that bird book of hers, writing secret notes, never saying a thing. Being so pretty.

“There,” said Mandy. She did up the clip at the back of the blue dress with the scalloped collar. “That’s better. Ready to go? Do you need the lav?”

Not with you in the room, thought Enid. She could keep herself buttoned up for hours if she needed to. “Where are we going?”

“Well we can’t stay here,” said Mandy. She led her out of the bathroom.