“Yes.” The woman stares at Gillem, pensively. “That’s … that’s … a … that’s a … person who worked for …” She’s thinking hard. She presses her fingers to her temples. “For my father?” she ventures, at last. “I think he’s somebody my father sacked for … for …” She gestures vaguely. “I never knew his name. Perhaps … Barry? He worked for my father, before I was born. My father was a greengrocer, you know.”

“And you, Celia, isn’t it true you was a top model?”

“No.”

“Now, Celia, I seen all your pictures when you were a famous model.” Mandy gestures to the dresser, which is covered in framed photographs. “Celia and I, we like to look over the photographs, she like to tell me about the beautiful clothes she wore. Gillem, maybe you can fill me in on this. Somebody told me it was your mum who invented the miniskirt. Is that true?”

“No,” the woman says, very definitely. “That’s not true. I … I helped my parents in their shop. I knew the … I was very good at the … at working the cash … the cash register. I was very good … I was very good at giving people, giving customers the correct change. I can’t …” She shakes her head in sudden distress. “I can’t …” Her eyes return to the television screen, and she is silent.

“Celia, don’t you think your granddaughter looks just like you?” Mandy demands, loudly. “How come you never tell me about your granddaughter named after you, living in France? We got to get a picture of her, up on your dresser. Where do you live, darling? You live in Paris?”

“No,” says Rat. “I live in the South of France, by the sea.”

“You hear that, Celia? Your granddaughter lives by the seaside in France. Don’t you think it’s about time you and I took a little trip to the South of France together to visit her? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

The woman mutters something under her breath.

“What’s that, Celia? You better speak up so your visitors can hear.”

The woman makes an effort to speak. Her tone expresses an almost bottomless disgust and weariness. “I don’t know who they are. I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know why they keep bringing them around. She’s less hideous than the last one they brought, but I can’t bear the way they dress and their shrill voices.” She addresses Rat directly, for the first time. “You might as well just go back into your box and leave me be. All of you.”

“What box?” asks Rat, curious.

“THAT box!” shouts the woman, suddenly furious, pointing a finger at the television set. “Go on, now, scoot! Back in your box! SCOOOOT!”

She waves her arms at them, making pushing motions, till Gillem and Rat finally make their good-byes and leave her.