‘I’m only going off the report I’ve been given,’ the social worker says. ‘And it indicates that the clutter was a complication during patient retrieval. In any case, ah—’ she looks down at the papers on her desk ‘—Lena, we’re concerned, as well, that the cluttered nature of your aunt’s living space presents several ongoing hazards, increasing the likelihood of another fall or of items falling on her. There’s also the fact her home represents an unacceptable fire risk due to the amount of flammable materials accumulated and the inaccessibility of electrical connections and power cords in case of emergency.’

If she could walk away she would. She can’t even slam her fist on the desk. Maybe she could raise her hand and stick up a finger, but it would hurt. Speech is all she has and her weak and whiny voice adds to the humiliation: ‘Am I really being lectured and threatened because my house is messy? Is that what we’ve come to in this country?’

The woman smiles at her, not unkindly. ‘Nobody is lecturing you or threatening you, we’re merely con—’

‘Concerned, yes, you keep saying. And I do consider being told I’m not allowed to return to my own home a threat, actually. What else can you call it? Wait, don’t tell me! Concern.’

‘There are services available to help you, but you need to be willing to let them. Let us.’

‘What kinds of services?’ Lena asks.

The social worker hands a pamphlet across the desk. Nic manages to read Treating Hoarding Disorder before Lena flips it over on her lap.

‘That’s a more long-term approach for your aunt. In the shorter term, we can look at getting some commercial cleaners in. Some councils offer a subsidy in cases where there’s a threat to public health.’ ‘Public health! Are you fucking kidding me?’ There’s her voice! Hearing it is like a steadying hand of a friend on her back. ‘There is nothing unhealthy about my home! I’m not one of these mad people with thirty-five-year-old steaks in the fridge and cockroaches swarming over the toilet seat. It’s fucking pristine. I spend half my pay on Pine O Cleen and Glen 20 and all the rest. More hygienic than this bloody place, I’ll tell you that. Need to wear a contamination suit to go for a piss in here!’

‘Nic.’ Lena’s hand stroking hers. ‘Calm, yeah?’

‘Nah, actually. This is a bloody insult and I’ve had enough of it. Public health! I’m leaving here today. Call the police if you want. I’d love to see them arrest me for having a messy house. Bring it on.’ She tries to reverse the wheelchair; it moves a skidge then hits the wall.

‘Nic, can we just—’