I tried to remember what Joan had been reading as she lay on her blanket in her corner spot. If it was another Tolkien, then I wouldn’t be overly concerned about it taking a week. Then again, if it had been Tolkien, Ebenezer probably wouldn’t bother telling me about it.

It was a quick shower, my hair still hanging damp down my back when I knocked on her door. After two more tries, I went around to the back and had a peer through the window. No Joan in the kitchen. At least, I thought there was no Joan. It was hard to see past all the clutter. I banged loudly on the back door a few times and eventually a tiny face peeked around the side of the door that led from the hallway into the kitchen. I gave her a wave from the window so she knew I’d seen her, and after a long moment of indecision, she opened the back door.

‘Are you okay? I was worried when you didn’t come to see Nesbit this morning.’

Nesbit, upon hearing the door open, had raced over and squeezed past Joan into the kitchen, which to a greedy puppy must have smelt like doggy heaven.

Joan went to pull his head out of a plastic bag stuffed with rubbish, so I used the opportunity to step inside. Amongst the smell of dirty dishes and stale food cartons, when I moved closer to slip Nesbit’s lead on, I caught the whiff of unwashed clothes and a body in need of a bath. Joan usually wore her hair up; this morning it hung lank and greasy over her shoulders. As she bent to pat Nesbit, the nobbles of her spine stuck out above the frayed edge of her vest top, her shoulder blades jutting painfully either side.

My innards twisted even tighter as I blinked back the shock and dismay.

‘How’s your mum?’ I asked, having got no response from my first question.

Joan shrugged, her face buried in Nesbit’s fur.

‘Is she at work?’

A nod.

‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Joan.’ I crouched down and gently placed one hand on her shoulder, using the other to move Nesbit away so I could see her face. My tone was quiet, but firm enough that she knew I wasn’t about to let this go. ‘I’m a bit worried that Mum hasn’t been feeling well again, and has been so tired she’s got behind with some of the things that need doing, like maybe the shopping or tidying up.’ I smiled, in a vain attempt to convince Joan that while I might be worried, she didn’t have to be. ‘I’m wondering if she could do with some help, just until she gets better. What do you think?’