Then she saw her mother frowning again, creases deepening between her eyes. ‘But there won’t be any salary until the end of January. That’s two months. I could ask for an advance, I suppose, or try the bank again.’

Helen took her hands and rubbed them between her own.

‘There’s no need, Mum. I can help, this time. I’ve got money in the bank – seven hundred and fifty pounds. I’ll write you a cheque for it tomorrow.’

‘Where did you get so much money?’

Helen saw a different anxiety in her eyes, and for a second her carefully rehearsed explanation eluded her. Then it came rushing back and she was lying convincingly.

‘The College. There’s a special fund, a sort of charity, for students in difficulty and the money’s a loan from that. I don’t have to think of paying it back until I’m established in a proper job. It’s almost a gift, really.’ She was relieved to see that her mother was prepared to accept this story without question.

‘I can’t think of anyone who deserves their help more than you do,’ she said, as proud of her daughter as ever.

Resolutely Helen squared her shoulders under the double weight of the lie and the knowledge of where the money had really come from, and why.

Their supper that evening was a more cheerful meal than any they had shared since before the terrible summer. Helen went down to the off-licence and bought a bottle of white wine. Her mother pursed her lips at the extravagance, then got pink and giggly after a single glass. She looked happier than she had done for months, proud of her ability to provide for the three of them after all. Helen glanced from her face to her brother’s, round and solemn behind his glasses, and struggled against the lump in her throat.

Later, after she had cleared away the meal, Helen went upstairs and tapped at her brother’s door.

‘Graham? Can I come in?’

He was lying on his bed reading. Helen turned the book over to look at the tide and saw that it was Heart of Darkness. The adult choice startled her, then she grinned at him.

‘You’re grown up, aren’t you? I suppose I still think of you as being about eight, with pockets full of fruit gums.’

‘Yes,’ he said, not smiling. ‘I’ll be able to take care of Mum soon, not the other way round.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that yet,’ Helen told him lightly. ‘She’s got me as well, you know.’

‘Helen?’

‘Mmmm?’

‘Will you be going back to Oxford now? Now that Mum’s got a job again?’

‘Do you think I should?’

‘Of course. But something’s happened, hasn’t it? Something important? You look different. Sad.’