If her one and only son hadn’t emigrated to Australia she’d not have asked him to help her, either. Well, Connor wouldn’t have done it. He was the most thoroughly selfish young man she’d ever met. She and Tom had failed somehow with their much-loved baby, who had come as a delightful surprise after years of trying to have children. Connor had been obnoxious as a teenager and had left home as soon as he could, to ‘find himself’.

He was forty now and had never looked like marrying or settling down in any way. Last time he’d come to England she’d asked him straight out if he was gay and he’d been furious with her for even thinking that. He didn’t want the responsibility of raising children, that was all, nor did he want a mortgage hanging round his neck like a millstone, thank you very much. It was easy enough to pull the chicks without committing to marriage, so he got the best of both worlds.

‘Pull the chicks!’ What a way to talk about women and relationships. He was another one who’d joined The Me! Me! Me! Brigade, just like his cousins.

‘I really am grateful for your help, Mary,’ she repeated, trying to soften her niece’s steely determination.

‘You’re family. It’s what family do for one another. Anyway, today I want to take you to see the care home. Do that for me, at least. Come and see it.’

Elise had been intending to say no, but perhaps she’d better have a quick look round the place, because then she could say she didn’t like the looks of it. End of story.

When they got out into the car park, Mary’s car refused to start, giving off only a sickly cough and expiring with a dull thunk. Thank you, car! Elise told it. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble.

But to her dismay, Mary got out her phone and called a taxi, then phoned her husband and told him to come and sort out her car at once.

Goodness, her niece was certainly into ordering people around.

The taxi didn’t arrive for fifteen minutes, by which time Mary had given up trying to make conversation and was fiddling with her phone.

When the taxi did come, a cheerful young man with a name tag saying ‘Ali’ helped Elise transfer to it. ‘You getting better now, missus?’ he asked with a strong accent.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Could you just help me with these, driver?’ Mary called.

Elise looked out and to her horror saw two of her suitcases from home being lifted from Mary’s car into the taxi, followed by the bag she’d brought with her to the rehab centre. There was no mistaking the cases and bag because she’d painted flowers on the tops for easy recognition when travelling.

‘Take me back inside this minute,’ she demanded as Mary slid into the taxi beside her. ‘And take my belongings home. How dare you pack cases for me without my permission?’