She looked at me as though I was talking about cushions hand-crafted by magical gnomes, and I wanted to shout in her face, ‘They’re all over fucking Groupon!’ But, of course, why would a woman like this know about Groupon? A tinkle. Ice-cold eyes, no-smudge matte lipstick, brick-coloured.

She spoke. ‘Yes. I would expect nothing less. As I’m practically bankrupting myself to pay for this place, I expect you to be able to provide the appropriate basic equipment. However, you understand that you need to make an exception for my father’s particular condition? This brand –’ her taupe fingernail tapped item one again and again until I had to break eye contact ‘– uses natural fibres that assist his posture during the night. Not only that: there are eucalyptus leaves embedded in the core of the pillow. To help him breathe – sleep better at night.’

Finally, Mona butted in, her matronly elbows sliding in next to mine. ‘I’m sure we can arrange that, Miss Hancock.’

‘Of course, I don’t mind paying extra.’

‘Not a problem.’

‘Great.’ A tinkle. Item two. ‘Woollen blankets. I’m getting them sent over from Foxford. Lovely little mill in rural Ireland. Used to be run by nuns, you should look it up – fascinating story. They should be with you in the next couple of days. My father has a soft spot for the natural feeling of hand-loomed wool. There should be one folded at the foot of his bed at all times. I cannot emphasize this enough.’

‘Our regulation duck feather duvets …’ I began. Mona’s clog pressed on to my toes, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to interrupt my sentence.

‘No problem at all, Miss Hancock,’ said Mona. She glared at me – my mother’s glare. Mona has never met my mother but she manages to convey her so exactly that I’m not sure if it’s my mother’s glare I am thinking about when I think about my mother’s glare, or Mona’s. She was letting me know that I was about to cross a line. I stepped back and waited next to the switchboard as they reached the bottom of the list. Then I dialled the code for the porter’s pager on the interphone. Donal arrived glistening with sweat, comb in pocket, iPod earbuds tightly screwed in, and I looked away so that I didn’t have to see the frown on Miss Hancock’s face.