The woman and child moved forward, leaving quite a gap between them and Marjorie.

‘Can you manage, or shall I push you forward?’ I offered.

‘No, dear,’ said Marjorie, fishing a rather grubby hanky out of her bag and wiping away the tears of laughter. ‘I’m not the patient. I’ve just brought my friend. She’s in with the doctor now.’

I must have looked confused because she smiled and beckoned me to bend lower.

‘Do you know Jensen Butterworth?’ she whispered.

‘No.’ I frowned. ‘Should I? Is he famous?’

Marjorie smoothed the front of her blouse down and noticed the yellow mark. ‘Oh, look at that; I’ve spilled my egg. That’s the trouble with this wheelchair. Food has such a journey from my plate, it’s a wonder anything’s still left on the fork when it reaches my mouth.’

‘You were saying,’ I prompted. ‘About Jensen Butterworth.’

‘Betsy’s grandson,’ said Marjorie, jerking her head in the direction which presumably Betsy had gone. ‘If you’re a friend of his, I daren’t talk to you.’

I was intrigued. ‘But I’m not, so …?’

Marjorie’s mouth twisted as if she was weighing up whether to confide in me. I smiled encouragingly. These two old ladies fascinated me; they were such characters and I found myself wanting to know more about them.

‘Betsy’s eyes aren’t so good. My legs are pretty useless, as you can see. So we pool our resources and between us, we’re a damn good team.’ She smirked proudly.

‘So I see. And what has Jensen got to do with it?’

‘Lovely lad. Bright too. Some high-flying job in London. Betsy’s so proud of him.’ Marjorie sighed wistfully.

‘Next please!’ Nicky called.

‘That’s you.’ Marjorie pushed herself out of the way. ‘Go on, love.’

Nicky beamed at me, folded her arms and leaned forward to put her mouth close to the perforations in the glass screen. ‘Lottie! Nice to see you.’

I looked at Nicky and back to Marjorie; I was dying to know more about the wonderful Jensen and why Marjorie hadn’t wanted to talk to me if I’d known him.

‘Yes, you too,’ I said to Nicky. ‘Excuse me, Marjorie. We’ll carry on our chat in a moment, shall we?’

But Marjorie wasn’t paying attention; Betsy had reappeared on the arm of a very handsome doctor and Marjorie was batting her eyelashes shamelessly at him. The doctor patted Betsy’s hand and positioned her at the back of Marjorie’s wheelchair.

‘Tallyho,’ cried Marjorie, raising her hand in a wave as the two of them set off for the exit.

‘Marjorie dear,’ said Betsy in a loud whisper, ‘I don’t mean to be indiscreet, but there is a distinct whiff of urine in reception. Do you need to visit the little girls’ room?’