Andrew’s mother lived in a retirement unit, one of many in the Meadow Haven complex, which offered the convenience of a transitional completion of life. A free-standing, independent flat with amenities and entertainment handy to begin with, a serviced unit with aid to follow, then a room with shared facilities available and full nursing care. Meadow Haven wasn’t quite brazen enough to include a funeral parlour, but Pearly saw that as the likely addition. His profession had acquainted him with the burgeoning business of providing for the elderly. ‘Spare me this,’ murmured Pearly as he parked by Mrs Nisse’s unit, one within a brightly painted block with just its number — A23 — to give it individual identity. Pearly’s aversion wasn’t just because such places spoke of reduction and resignation despite the gloss of surface presentation but that he was aware of the financial subtleties in the ownership titles provided by the corporations. Pearly was a businessman himself, with all the instincts that commerce required, but was repelled by the rapacity he observed in some of his fellows.

Andrew’s suitcase was on the step and his head visible through the window as he sat with his mother in the living room. When he saw Pearly he stood up, raised his hand to show he was on his way out. Mrs Nisse followed him and stood in the doorway with a wide, uncomprehending gaze as if a multitude were gathered before her rather than solitary Pearly. And a wide, cowboy stance as if she’d just dismounted. ‘This is Pearly Gates, Mum,’ said Andrew. ‘We were at school together.’ Mrs Nisse nodded and tugged at the front of her cardigan. She looked past Pearly to the world with the grave diligence of the aged.

‘The mayor,’ she said. ‘You think I don’t know that?’ And then after a long pause, ‘What’s the day going to do?’

She was still there when they reached the car, and Andrew turned back briefly to wave. ‘I know this is probably the last time I’ll see her,’ he said as they drove through the ornate gates of Meadow Haven. ‘She’s my mother, and I love her very much, but life calls and you just go on, don’t you? There’s rarely the opportunity to follow the path your emotions suggest.’

‘What else could you do?’

‘I could afford to take her back with me and place her in a home there, but I imagine she’d be totally bewildered, and in reality what time would I have to spend with her? She’s never asked me to stay or wanted to come with me. So neither of us admits we’re parting for the last time. That’s too difficult. Better just to kiss and go as you would any other time.’