She rubs her hands together. Dry and chapped. She has that look on her face. Just like old times. Like when she saw me in the bus shelter with Simon Williams. Like when she found the packet of pills in my drawer.

‘Your lips,’ she says, pointing.

I should’ve known better than to wear the bloody lipstick. I try to blot it on the back of my hand, but it’s a new long-wear formula. The colour’s going nowhere.

‘If you’re looking for a man around here you’ll be disappointed.’

‘I’m not looking for a man.’

She keeps doing that thing with her hands. The noise it makes. It drives me mad. If she doesn’t stop it she’ll rub the skin right off. I reach out to hold them still and she jumps like I’ve given her an electric shock.

‘Don’t!’ she says, ‘you’re always trying to meddle in my affairs.’

‘Your hands are sore.’

She folds her arms and leans back. ‘There’s nothing whatsoever the matter with them and I don’t need any help, thank you very much.’

‘Ok!’

‘And if you’re looking for a man you won’t find one around here. Not one with all his faculties at any rate.’

‘I think you’ve made your point now, Mum.’

‘Your body’s a temple not a colouring book.’

‘For God’s sake!’

‘I don’t like that kind of language.’ She’s shifting in her seat now, looking around for someone to back her up, or a way to escape. I need to change the subject but I can’t think of anything to say. I want to tell her all about Alex. I want to say, That grandson of yours is messing up his life. But who knows what she remembers? Knowing my luck it’d only make things worse.

There’s an old episode of Top of the Pops on the TV. The Bay City Rollers jiggling about on stage with their bare chests and stupid half-mast flares. Bye, bye baby, baby bye, bye. The man in the next chair starts to groan and swear. The care assistant seems to materialise out of nowhere. The pretty one. Pretty and foreign-looking. She helps the man to stand up and walks with him over to the door. She has a nice way about her. Not like some of the others. She touches Mum’s shoulder as she walks past and the way Mum looks up at her. Kindness and trust. Mum leans back in the chair and starts humming something with her eyes closed. Like she’s trying to imagine me away.

‘Tell me about Ned,’ I say, just on the off chance.

She stops humming. She opens her eyes. She says, ‘I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about it.’

‘You’re allowed.’