It took an outing to a shopping centre that Friday for Nina to realise how bad things really were. All the noise and light were too much for Helen, who became increasingly agitated. Then a chatty shop assistant happened to mention Christmas and this started Helen worrying that she wasn’t ready. She needed to get her hair done. She needed to buy presents, something to wear. And what would they do for Christmas lunch?

Christmas was two weeks off, but it might as well have been in half an hour, the way she spoke about it. She had no grip on time, it concertinaed in her mind like an accordion being played by a deranged musician. The baggy folds were brought together with an alarming wheeze, and voilà! Time was compressed. Helen went into a panic.

Ronnie stood below counter-height, looking from Nina to his nanna. Trying to read the situation, he looked baffled and concerned. He knew there was a problem but could not pick what it was. Clamouring for Nina’s attention as she tried to calm her mother, he started tugging at her top. ‘Mama, Mama,’ he insisted, his voice taking on a sharp new edge.

‘Stop that, Ronnie. Come on, Mum. Why don’t we go home? Alright?’

Nina had always harboured a special hatred of shopping centres, but this was a nightmare of a different order. She shepherded her charges out of the shop and towards the exit, placating and steering Helen, and making sure Ronnie followed. They had to cross the car park, an acre of softening asphalt lined with glinting windscreens. She opened all four doors of the car to let out the hot air, then made Ronnie stand and wait while she helped her mother into her seat.

It was almost six pm. Brent had been at work in Sydney and Nina hoped he’d be back soon. The drive home from the shops did not take long. Nina talked brightly the whole way, keeping up a running commentary to help Helen orient herself. At the house, she enlisted Ronnie’s help to get his nanna inside, which was as much a ploy to occupy him as anything else. Nina was banking on her mum’s calming down once she was home. The small, dated kitchen should have been comforting, familiar, but Helen remained confused and distressed throughout dinner. When Nina was clearing up afterwards, Helen suddenly stared wildly at her and demanded, ‘Nina? Are you Nina?’