‘Pack it in the pair of yer!’ she yelled. ‘I’ve ’ad enough of it!’

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked gently. Then I caught sight of Daisy, propped in one of the old armchairs. She had grown into a rather quaint-looking two-year-old with straight brown hair and a round face. She suffered badly from eczema and was always on the move, trying to scratch at some part of her arms or legs. She was at ease with people, and normally came to me, chattering. But now she lay against the greyish pillow with her eyes closed, taking quick, fluttery breaths. Clearly she had a high fever.

‘How long’s she been like this?’ I knelt beside her.

‘A couple of days. She’s not been so bad in the daytime. It comes on worse of an evening.’

‘She’s coughing?’

As I spoke Daisy began to give out harsh, dry-sounding coughs.

‘It looks like bronchitis, Lisa.’ I looked round at her. She was frowning and biting the end of one finger. ‘Why haven’t you called the doctor?’

With a pang I realized that for a moment I had been thinking of Daddy.

‘I hoped she’d get better without it,’ Lisa gabbled tearfully. ‘I’ve been sponging her down. I give ’er a bath earlier with the oatmeal in for ’er skin. Thought it’d cool ’er down. The thing is, Kate – I can’t abide that Dr Williamson. It’s not been the same since your dad passed on. She will be all right, won’t she?’

Daisy stirred again and started trying to scratch, pulling at the cotton eczema cuffs on her arms. Her movements started off the coughing again and her face puckered with pain.

‘Look, if it’s the money you’re worried about I’ll help you out. She is my goddaughter, after all.’ I patted Lisa’s arm. ‘I’ll go and see if Dr Williamson’s still there – he often stops late, especially now he’s on his own. It won’t take long.’

I had never seen Lisa so upset before. It was usually her who had a calming effect on me. I felt anxious for her, and for Daisy, and angry with Dr Williamson. There was enough to feel helpless about nowadays without having to be terrified of your own doctor. Twenty minutes later Dr Williamson and I were on our way to Lisa’s house. He had not been pleased to see me or to be asked out on another call. As I explained the situation he nodded impatiently.

‘It’s very foolish to bath a child in this condition,’ were almost his first words as he set foot through Lisa’s door. He threw his hat on the table. I saw that while I was away she had been trying to tidy up.

Dr Williamson bent over Daisy, breathing his tobacco breath loudly at her. His balding crown was shiny with sweat. He looked into the little girl’s mouth, felt the glands in her neck with his pink, stubby fingers, listened to her chest with his stethoscope. Daisy coughed as he did so, barely able to open her eyes.