Hellie? Who the hell called her mother ‘Hellie’?

‘I know. I was pretty pleased with that one. She was probably just bitter that I did a better job than her with her larney inks.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about her. She’ll get over it.’

Petra had brought a couple of extra bags of coffee and a couple of cartons of long-life milk, along with some biscuits and fruit, and took her time packing the items away properly and rinsing and drying the fruit before arranging it in a bowl, all while she racked her brains to remember Ida. She was sure her mother had never spoken to her about this friend, but they were laughing and chatting so comfortably, they had to know each other well.

Weird. It just went to show, she supposed, that her mother had her own life, wasn’t stuck on pause between Petra’s visits. That was a good thing. She took a breath and walked through into the lounge.

She smiled at her mother and at Ida. The woman was fifty maybe, fifty-five, wearing thick, grey knitted socks and thin patterned cotton trousers that looked like pyjama bottoms, with a chunky striped sweater and scarf. Her fading dark-blond hair was kept back in a ponytail. She looked vaguely familiar but Petra couldn’t place where she might have seen her.

Petra put out her hand. ‘Hi, nice to meet you.’

Ida smiled and shot Helena a look. Helena rolled her eyes back in a way that eloquently said, See what I mean?

‘We have met, Petra,’ Ida said.

‘Oh, yeah. Of course,’ Petra said. ‘Sorry. Um, would you both like some coffee?’

‘Thanks. That’ll be lovely. Of course, Ida won’t touch hers. She’s got an appetite like a bird. But we always offer, don’t we?’

‘That we do, Mom.’

Once Petra had made the coffee and settled on the couch watching the women’s conversation for a few minutes, she started to relax. It was obvious from the details they were sharing about the art class rivalries and the way they chatted about their weekend plan to visit a National Trust property that they knew each other well. Petra was probably preoccupied when they’d met before, that’s all. In fact, it was starting to come back – she might have met Ida that time they went to the Artbridge Gallery and Petra had bumped into Reena and Emma from college and had stayed by the bar with them while her mother browsed.

Petra only realised she was dozing when her mother spoke. ‘Go have a lie-down on my bed if you want, love. You look tired.’

Petra started awake, the cooling coffee in her mug slopping dangerously. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’ve just… I haven’t been sleeping well lately. But I’m fine.’

Both women were training worried looks at her, and Petra squirmed under Ida’s scrutiny. Evading their eyes, she checked the time on the clock on the mantel. 10:45. She only had to be at the shop at noon today.