Sandra seemed aware of her scrutiny, and she snatched her hands from Becky’s grasp and tightly clasped them in her lap. ‘I’m not strong at all,’ she stuttered, the tears glistening on her lashes. ‘I’m weak, and a failure – a failed mother, wife and nurse. You don’t understand,’ she murmured as she dashed away the tears and tried to remain in control. ‘Nobody understands.’

‘You’re neither weak, nor a failure,’ Becky replied. ‘And I do understand, Sandra, really I do. When I lost Adam I thought I’d never get over it – and although it was the hardest thing I’ve done, I managed to come through. And you will too. I promise.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ she retorted. ‘You can get another husband. It’s not the same as losing a child.’

Becky experienced a pang of something approaching anger at this heartless response, but she knew Sandra wasn’t really thinking straight, so managed to contain it. ‘Of course it isn’t the same,’ she soothed. ‘But you’re not alone, Sandra. Terry is grieving too, and has to carry that awful burden of guilt at not being with you at the time.’

Sandra dipped her chin and didn’t reply.

‘He loves you, Sandra,’ Becky continued. ‘Don’t push him away.’ She watched the emotions flit across the tear-streaked face and knew that her words were being absorbed. ‘We are your family, Sandra, and we care about you. We’ll help you through this – but you have to help yourself. Why don’t we put the bottle away and have a nice cup of tea instead?’

Sandra pushed back her chair, her expression obdurate. ‘Don’t treat me like one of your idiot patients,’ she hissed. ‘I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this without you or anyone else sticking their nose into my business.’

Becky was about to reply when Sandra snatched the bottle from the table, turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen and along the passage to her bedroom, slamming the door so hard it rattled the pictures on the wall.

Becky gave a deep sigh of anguish. She’d handled the situation badly, and now Sandra would probably work her way through that damned bottle. Poor Terry. No wonder he’d needed to come home for family support.

But where on earth had she found the whisky? All the alcohol had been locked away at Gwyneth’s place to ensure Sandra couldn’t find it and, with the pub shut and Annie O’Halloran warned not to sell her any, Sandra must have been very enterprising to sniff it out.