‘To people like me animals are hooks to hang one on to life. Think of the thousands of people hanging on because of the dog, the cat, the budgie. Think of all those thousands only hanging on for no other reason as they grow old, miserable, useless, bored. I bet your mother –’

‘Her cat died in May. It was a smelly old thing.’

‘But it didn’t murder her.’

‘No, there is that.’

‘And she didn’t replace it?’

‘I tried to give her a kitten.’

‘And she refused?’

‘Yes, she did. She was sentimental about –’

‘Old Smelly?’

‘Yes. How d’you know I called it Old Smelly?’

‘She didn’t want to be hooked any longer, not once her company had gone.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘No, you don’t. She didn’t want any more hooks. She didn’t want old age, arthritis, falling down, losing her teeth, her balance, her hair, her memory, her wits. She didn’t want dependence on other people, becoming a bore, growing incontinent –’

‘She was very spry for her age, not at all incontinent.’

‘So am I for mine, but I’m not waiting for all that: it’s against my principles; creaking joints, fatigue, clicking teeth, brown spots, wrinkled bottom.’

‘Bottom?’

‘Of course, one wrinkles all over. I’m for the last fling – the ultimate.’

‘Ultimate what?’

‘Adventure. Fun. Experience.’

‘That’s a serious statement if you are talking about death.’

‘Of course it is. I don’t suppose your mother had exactly thought it all out. You saved her the trouble with your tea-tray.’

‘Her tea-tray, she inherited it from her father.’

‘How pedantic you are. I was starting off in good shape and got interrupted.’

‘Sorry about that.’ Hugh stroked Folly’s ears.

‘That dog is yours, as Old Smelly was your mother’s.’

Hugh shook his head. ‘No.’

‘What future had your mother?’

‘There was nothing really wrong with her.’

‘And nothing really right.’ Matilda pounced. ‘Why should you and the Major bother? You would have put her into an old people’s home and forgotten her.’

‘Probably.’

‘That’s what I can’t face; losing my faculties and being put away into a safe place. I am leaving everything tidy, I’m off for my picnic, swimming out while the swimming’s good. Now you’ve turned up and spoilt it.’

Hugh laughed. ‘That’s tough.’

Matilda’s anger switched to merriment. ‘I think you did your mother a very good turn. One good bang with a heavy tray and Whoops! she’s gone. No more worries.’

Hugh winced. ‘She had no worries.’