“Who the hell are you?” she would say. “You look like Nora but you don’t smell like her.”

As the elegant pillars of the hotel came into view at last the fretful figure of the daughter appeared on the steps, casting anxious glances up and down the road. She swooped on them, almost frantic with relief and reproach.

“Oh, Mother, where on earth have you been? I’ve been out of my mind. I only left her for a minute to get some clean towels. Oh, you are the limit. Thank you so much,” she babbled.

“I found her down on the edge of the pier,” said Jean, who felt the matter of tragedy narrowly avoided warranted a mention.

The daughter rolled her eyes. “You are kind. I can’t thank you enough. Now come on, Mother. You’re as cold as ice.”

The old lady, who up to this point had been meekly linking Jean’s arm, suddenly wrenched herself free and gave her daughter a terrific shove, sending her sprawling onto her back, and stomped past her into the hotel.

For a moment it seemed as though the fall had knocked her out or worse, as she lay motionless, crumpled up against one of the pillars with her skirt up over her knees. Presently, however, she gave a moan and drew her legs toward her, raising her hand to explore the back of her head for damage.

Jean squatted beside her, an embarrassed onlooker in a domestic drama that had now become horribly public.

“Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?”

From behind her hands the woman gave a muffled sob.

A young couple, out walking their dog, had now stopped to offer assistance; Jean had a sudden fear that they might assume the woman was drunk. At this angle and in this state of dishevelment she did look quite unlike the respectable spinster of previous days.

“Do you need some help?” the man asked, tugging at the dog, a fox terrier, who was now pulling on the lead.

“She’s had a nasty fall,” said Jean, feeling that the real story of maternal violence was hardly hers to relate. “I’ll look after her. We’re both staying at the hotel.”

Shrugging their assent, the couple moved off, giving Jean a doubting backward glance.

The woman had shuffled herself into a sitting position against the pillar but made no move to get up.

“Will you let me help you in?” Jean said, putting a tentative hand on her arm. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea or something.”

At this gesture of kindness, tears filled her eyes and rolled down her face.

“That was quite a bump. Does she often do this?” Jean asked.

The woman nodded, sniffling. “She’s so strong. She’ll kill me one day. If I don’t kill her first.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Jean. “You are so patient with her.” She held out her hands and lifted her to her feet, noticing, as the wide cardigan sleeves fell back, arms smudged with bruises.