‘And such a kind man,’ my mother told me. ‘D’you know, he’ll pick Nance up from the Pattersons’ now, take her home, pop her in the bath, and then put her to bed. He supervises the whole thing. Every night.’

I turned to her slowly, in surprise. ‘He baths her?’

‘She got stuck once,’ she told me. ‘It’s frightened her ever since. She couldn’t get out.’

‘Oh.’

‘And she can’t bear showers. Says it’s like being rained on.’ She made a face. ‘But that’s a fib, obviously. It’s her hair.’

I put the candlesticks back in the cupboard, but then I paused a moment, still digesting this. I pictured the nightly ritual. Somehow, I wished she hadn’t told me that.

31

It’s well documented, of course, but it is nonetheless extraordinary how restorative a good night’s sleep can be. And I’m not a good sleeper. I often require medical assistance. But when I do sleep, unaided, for nine hours on the trot, which I’d just done, I feel empowered. I was surprised I’d managed it, frankly. How odd. Usually when my mind’s in turmoil, I get about an hour and a half. It must be this house, I decided, looking around at the faded floral wallpaper. I definitely slept much better here. I got up, showered and dressed, and then, hearing my parents already about, went to my shopping in the corner of my room. Yes, I had made one purchase yesterday on my way back from the Ashmolean, in the Cornmarket. I picked up the plastic bag and took it downstairs. Popping my head around the kitchen door where my parents were having a quiet breakfast, I asked my mother how she was.

‘Radiant!’ she declared. ‘Never better. Must have another dodgy turn.’ I shot her a reproving look. Then I asked my father if I could use his study.

‘Of course, darling.’ He looked surprised. ‘What are you going to do in there?’

‘Oh, you know. This and that.’

He looked confused, and then his face cleared in recognition. He nodded; looked pleased. I grabbed a black coffee and departed.