‘Oh no!’ Irene swung herself out of bed. Her stomach lurched and the great metal ball inside her head swung and smashed against her skull. Her legs crumbled beneath her and the room tipped. She grabbed the bedpost. ‘Three days! Three whole days! What if something’s happened with the girls and they’ve tried to contact me and I wasn’t here?’

‘Calm down. Listen to me now, Irene. I’m going to run you a bath. While you’re in it, I’ll strip the bed and clear up as much of this mess as I can. Then you’re going to eat a proper meal.’

‘But I need to listen to the messages on the answering machine, just in case.’

‘You’re not doing anything until you’ve cleaned yourself up. I’ll listen to them for you. I’m sure I can work it out.’

‘Thank you,’ said Irene feebly. A few final tears ran down her face. ‘I don’t know what to say. You must think I’m mad.’

‘Hmm. We all go mad sometimes.’

Later, Irene remembered it in a blur: Catherine lowering her into a bath, making her drink several glasses of water. She said that the only messages on the machine were two from someone called Karen, one from Sarah, and two from a man called Jem. She could relax. Lying in the warm, soapy water with her stinging feet, the water turning pink, and listening to the sounds of cleaning going on, Irene felt as if she was a child again and her mother was bustling around next door, opening windows, pulling sheets from the bed and vacuuming the carpet, opening and shutting cupboards.

She washed her hair twice and rubbed her skin with a soapy flannel, feeling as if her skin had been peeled off her entirely. She scrubbed her nails with a brush. Then Catherine came in with a large towel and helped her out, wrapping her in its soft folds and giving her another towel for her head.

‘Why are you here?’ asked Irene, sitting down on her newly made bed.

‘I came yesterday for your violin lesson, as arranged. I thought it was strange the curtains were all closed. You would have told me if you were going away. Then I came again today and peered through the letterbox. There was blood all over the hallway. So I broke in through your kitchen window.’

‘Oh,’ said Irene weakly, a little giggle forming in her chest. She couldn’t imagine Catherine doing any of that – squeezing her stout, dignified body through a small gap, clambering into the kitchen like a thief.

‘I thought it was better than calling the emergency services.’

‘Yes.’

‘I made up your children’s beds while I was at it, by the way. And put the bins out to be collected – I saw all your neighbours’ were out so it must be collection day.’

‘Thanks,’ said Irene weakly.