‘Judge all you want, but if she was your mother you’d probably put her down,’ she said, and she walked away from a medical man with a gaping mouth. She wanted to run, just leg it, get out, go, never to return, like a man in the fifties just off to buy some cigarettes – in fact, very much like her own dad. See ya. She didn’t, though; she made herself walk into the room where her mother lay. Her body felt heavy, as though she were wading through mud. Why am I doing this? She’s my mother, that’s why. Shit mother, such a shit mother. If this were Molly I’d be here all day and all night. If it were Molly I’d buy a mini-fridge and move in, but Vera? Bloody Vera. In that moment she really hated Vera more than she’d ever thought possible. You get to live and Rabbit dies. How fucking dare you.

Vera Shaw looked small in the bed. Marjorie hadn’t seen her in a while, maybe a month or even two. In that time she seemed to have aged, but then again she wasn’t wearing make-up. Marjorie couldn’t recall a time before when she had seen her mother without make-up. It was her war paint, a carefully constructed facade, and she didn’t leave her bedroom without it. There she was, clean-faced, haggard and vulnerable, staring up at Marjorie looking down. She didn’t bend to kiss her. She just sat and placed a paper bag with three nightdresses on the floor by her feet.

‘I bought you some clean nightdresses and some underwear,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better.’

‘Good.’

‘I heard Rabbit died.’

Marjorie nodded.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and she looked like she actually meant it. ‘I was going to go to the funeral but then I had a stroke, so . . .’

‘As excuses go, it’s a good one,’ Marjorie said, and her mother sniffed.

‘I suppose it is. I wanted to pay my respects. I was fond of Rabbit,’ she said, and it hurt Marjorie because she knew her mother was not fond of her.

‘So send a mass card.’

‘Oh, I will. Once I get back up on my feet.’ Silence followed. She’d need minding until that day and Marjorie had no intention of offering to help. Find another sucker.

She stayed for forty-five minutes. She was relieved when the nurse announced that visiting time had come to an end. As she moved to leave her mother grabbed for her hand.

‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate it.’ Here we go – emotional blackmail.

‘You’re welcome,’ Marjorie said, and she felt that first pang of guilt spark in her heart and dart to her stomach. Bollocks.

‘Will I see you again?’ she asked in a sweet voice Marjorie found hard to recognise.