He is struck by how tender she is as she cleans her mother’s face. Eleanor starts writhing. Again, pushes her daughter away.

When she is clean, Edie tries to hook her arms under her mother’s, but after a few futile attempts to lift her, she sits back on her haunches, defeated.

Jago rests a hand on her shoulder. ‘Let me do it.’

She still doesn’t look at him, but wearily nods. He bends and lifts Eleanor, slides one arm under the back of her knees, the other under her shoulders. She smells of alcohol and puke. Her forehead is slicked with sweat, eyes and cheeks smeared with make-up. Edie pulls the sheets back on the bed and he lays Eleanor down. As her head touches the pillow she seems to relax. She moans softly. He steps back from the bed so Edie can cover her with the sheet. Within moments she’s snoring softly.

‘We should turn her on her side.’ he says. ‘My dad taught me that. Stops her suffocating if she’s sick again or swallowing her tongue.’

Edie’s eyes grow wide and she reaches quickly for her mother. He helps her manoeuvre Eleanor then arranges her arms so she can’t roll back.

‘Don’t leave her for a bit. Even like that there’s a chance she can choke.’

Edie doesn’t reply. She sits with her back against the bank of wardrobes, knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on them like a little girl.

He goes downstairs and fills the kettle. Finds teabags. A mug. He adds three spoons of sugar.

‘It’s sweet,’ he says, when he comes back into the bedroom. He holds it out to her. ‘My grandad says sugar is good for shock.’

At first she doesn’t take it, but then she looks up at him and smiles weakly. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘For helping me.’

He shrugs.

He sits down as well. Not too near her though. His hands are clasped and rest between his knees.

‘She used to be so much fun, you know. I liked having her as my mum and not one of the other boring ones,’ Edie says. ‘I have memories of her always being the first to start dancing. When they had parties I’d lie in bed upstairs and listen to her laughing. Always louder than everybody else. She’d light up any room she walked into. Even though I was young, I remember that. I used to think she was a princess.’

Jago doesn’t say anything. He lets her breathe. Gives her space to talk.