‘No!’ I was shocked. But then, not really. This was how Dad’s generation spoke – and acted. And Dad was an attractive man. It was no secret that Nance had always fancied him, and let’s face it, who wants to be lonely for the last decade of their life? And Nance might be Mum’s best friend, but she’d always had very sharp elbows. I tried not to be horrified. Husband number five.

‘Much too bossy for me,’ he grinned. ‘And she practically bathes in gin; we’d be permanently pickled. It would never do. No, your mother’s a much kinder, softer person.’

I saw his eyes fill as he gazed into the flames which leaped up from the crumpled newspaper. I gave his shoulder a squeeze as I passed. ‘She is,’ I murmured.

‘Like you, love,’ he said abstractedly. But I didn’t answer. ‘Anyway, enough of me, what about you?’ He straightened up, rubbing his hands together. ‘I reckon that Dan’s after you.’ I smiled and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘And he’s not a bad prospect, either,’ he called after me. ‘Got loads of dosh, courtesy of his consulting work. On all sort of boards. You wouldn’t starve.’

I grinned and reached up to the shelf for the teabags. ‘You’re as bad as Helena,’ I called out. ‘And no doubt Nancy’s been stirring the pot while she was here? Putting him forward as a candidate?’

There was no answer. I poked my head round the door as the kettle boiled. ‘Dad? I said—’

‘Yes, I heard. I was thinking about it. She didn’t, actually. But Nancy’s a selfish old girl. I think she was keen in the beginning, but not so much now. I think she’s realized she likes that boy single, and at her beck and call. Not sure the reality of sharing him with someone else is that attractive.’

‘Oh, right.’ I went back to the fridge for milk. ‘God, Nancy’s shown herself in her true colours today, hasn’t she? And I bet she thought she was covering herself in glory, playing Florence Nightingale and offering tea and sympathy.’

I heard my father chuckle from the next room. ‘Funny how that often happens in a crisis. Brings out the best in some people, and in others, brings out the worst.’

I thought about that later as I was driving my father to the hospital, armed with Vogue, grapes, and some clothes for the morning. About how good Dan had been at the hospital, and how unlike his mother he was. I wondered where that softness had come from: his father had sounded a bit dictatorial.

‘How well d’you know Dan?’ I asked, as casually as I could, but not getting away with it.