‘They should fix the damp and install proper heating for you,’ Agnieszka continued. ‘It’s Dickensian. I mean it, Mum. Enough’s enough. Either let Tomasz help you, or sell up and move out. It’s what everyone else has done.’

I was taking this exchange in. Rosa was nodding. She seemed to agree with her daughter but feel conflicted. ‘You said your brother has tried to help your mum . . . ?’ I looked at Agnieszka.

She shook her head. Perplexed. ‘Dad and Tomasz had some weird father-son clash. Tomasz had loads of ideas for the shop, but Dad was infuriated by anything he suggested. He tried for years to get Dad to sort out the damp. When the freeholders were difficult, he said he’d send his guys in to fix it, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. I think it was pride.’ She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice to a whisper.

It was what Tomasz had told me.

‘Mum wanted the work done and kept saying so, but since Dad died, Mum’s loyalties have become more complex. She seems to feel that if she doesn’t stick to Dad’s wishes, she’s dishonouring his memory.’

I pictured Tomasz Feldman with his snappy clothes, his intense energy and generosity. Theoretically, Rosa was free to do what she wanted now. Except – I knew from my own mother that it often wasn’t as simple as that. The tentacles of the past often reached into the present.

‘She’s still grieving, and we all get that. But she’s in her seventies and this place is making her ill.’

‘You can talk about me all you like. I can hear you. I’m not deaf, you know.’

‘I want you to hear me, Mum,’ Agnieszka said, now even louder. ‘Someone needs to make you see sense. Tomasz has given up, and I don’t blame him. You know what I think about this stupid shop. It’s a millstone round your neck. If you’re not careful, your stubbornness will be the death of you.’ She picked up a pair of children’s shoes and put them by the wall. ‘What gets me is that Mum wants to be here even after the fire.’