My first instinct is to say no, as it’s not long since my last cup at Mum’s, but, even though I’ve never been in a house so upmarket that they pay other people to clean it, I feel strangely comfortable here. The weight that’s been sitting on my chest since leaving Richenda’s seems to have finally shifted and I can feel myself unwinding.

‘That would be lovely,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you.’

19

‘Tilly!’ Jonathan beams as I walk into a living room that’s probably the size of our entire flat and is also festooned with paintings. ‘I wondered if that was your voice I could hear just now. Come to check I’m being a good boy and doing what I’m told?’

‘Nothing so sinister,’ I tell him. ‘I happened to be passing and saw Will, who invited me in.’

‘Of course you were,’ he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Well, it’s very nice to see you. Take a seat and keep an old man company.’ He indicates a generously upholstered leather recliner chair next to his own and reaches for the remote control to turn off the largest flat-screen TV I think I’ve ever seen. ‘I’m afraid I’ve already done today’s crossword,’ he informs me once I’ve manoeuvred my way into the chair. My attempt to give the impression I’m not staying long by perching on the edge of the seat fails spectacularly as I promptly slide backwards into its leathery embrace. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have saved you some clues.’

‘What were you watching?’ I indicate the now blank TV screen.

‘Nothing important. One of those property shows where people want to relocate somewhere hot and sunny. It’s something Geraldine and I used to do together when she got too infirm to move about much. It gave us something to think and talk about that wasn’t her illness, if that makes sense.’

‘Perfect,’ I tell him.

He smiles ruefully. ‘She was one of those people who refused to accept there was anything she couldn’t do. As her illness progressed, she was forced to come to terms with her diminishing abilities, but she found it so hard.’

‘Do you know the Dylan Thomas poem?’ Will asks as he sets down a tray with three mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘“Do not go gentle into that good night”? That was Mum. She raged against the dying of the light right until the end, didn’t she, Dad?’

‘That she did. She was always a fighter, your mum. She faced her condition head-on and, although she was realistic about the outcome, she never gave in to it.’