‘Ho, ho! She loves us, listen to that,’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Love!’

‘I think that’s enough.’ Laura straightened her back after sponging Nicholas. ‘Let’s wrap you in hot towels and put you into clean things.’

‘It’s supposed to be people with uneasy consciences who bother about soap. Oh, look at the colour of the water, Emily, that was all us.’

‘Yuk,’ said Emily. ‘You dirty old man.’

Laura hustled them back into bed, tucked them in and plumped up their pillows. She took Bonzo downstairs and sent him out into the garden while she boiled a kettle for the hot bottles. Waiting for the water to boil, she wondered how Nicholas and Emily, particular about nice things and a presentable house, could endure so much physical dirt, being both able to lie for hours in a bath without ever using soap or nailbrush. They must have India-rubber consciences, she thought, and warded off feelings of anger and frustration, familiar and useless. Better, she thought, screwing the top onto a hot bottle, to love them as they are, stop judging. She called the dog and went back to her parents carrying the hot bottles.

Nicholas had brushed his sparse hair and put on clean pyjamas. Emily lay against the pillows pursing her mouth. ‘We hope it’s allowed, we changed our minds about my nightie and his pyjamas and put on others. It’s all right, we put your choice back in the drawers.’ She grinned like a child.

(They don’t look like—like what? They look like ordinary old people—perhaps they are.) ‘Should you take your pills now?’ Laura asked (but they do look very frail now they are clean).

‘About now, yes.’ Nicholas nodded hard to show willing. ‘Four times a day the doctor said.’

‘What have you had to eat?’

‘We haven’t felt like eating.’ Emily’s pathetic accents would wring the best of withers.

‘Okay. Lie back, relax, take your medicine, I’ll take care of you.’ Laura dished out pills, popping one into each obedient mouth. ‘I’ll do some shopping, get you some grapes. Has Mrs Datchett really lost her husband?’

‘He’s not lost. She buried him as Bonzo does his bones,’ said Nicholas.

‘I see that you are feeling better. I’ll stay until you are quite well.’

‘Oh, goody!’ said Emily. ‘Would it be too much to ask you to bring up the television?’

‘All right.’

‘Most noble,’ said Nicholas. ‘What a saintly girl.’

‘I am going to do some work in the garden when I’ve finished with you.’

‘Most therapeutic.’ Emily coughed.

‘Any chance of a little nip?’ enquired Nicholas.

‘Nips don’t mix with antibiotics.’

‘Oh, God, what a life,’ sighed Emily.

‘Don’t start complaining or she’ll beat it to London and leave us to die, won’t you, darling?’

‘I—well—might,’ agreed Laura. ‘There’s not much to keep me here.’

‘What about—’ Emily began.

‘Watch it,’ Nicholas hissed and slapped his sister’s hand.

It is admirable in its way, the way they never let up, thought Laura, guessing that Emily was hinting at Claud.