I hand her the glass of water and she puts it to her lips, her hand trembling. ‘It’s me, Gran. It’s Saffy.’ I point to the photo. ‘Your granddaughter, remember?’

But there is just confusion in her eyes. Confusion and fear.

So I start to talk. About Skelton Place, about Snowy, about Mum, the house in Bristol with the pebbledash and the greenhouse, anything to help her remember who she is.

‘And you used to show me your tomato plants in the greenhouse, remember? You taught me how to plant seeds and radishes.’ I have to stop to swallow my emotions. ‘And now I’m going to have a baby of my own.’

‘A baby.’ She smiles and it lights her whole face and she’s my gran again. My wonderful, kind, quiet-mannered gran, who loved knitting and gardening and watching daytime TV and dunking custard creams in her over-stewed tea.

I lean forward to take her hand. ‘You’ll be a great-grandmother, imagine that,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light.

‘Imagine that,’ she repeats, her eyes glistening. She hasn’t got her teeth in and it makes her look so much older, the bottom half of her face like a Punch and Judy puppet. And then her eyes cloud. ‘You’ll be a good mother, won’t you? You’ll look after the baby?’

‘Of course I will. And Tom will make a good father.’

‘Tom . . . Tom . . .’ she says, then recognition flashes across her face. ‘Tom is a good man.’

‘He is.’

‘You’re very lucky. Neil wasn’t a good man. And neither was Victor.’

Victor. I’m relieved she’s brought him up. This is my chance. ‘Is Victor your ex-husband, Gran?’ I ask.

She lets out a snort of laughter. ‘Of course not. I’ve never been married.’

‘But Victor is Lorna’s dad. Lolly’s dad?’

Her big hazel eyes meet mine. ‘Yes . . . yes, I think he is.’

‘You think?’

Her face crumples. ‘Everything is so foggy . . . my memories. They aren’t always clear.’

‘I know,’ I say gently. ‘I know, Gran.’ Her eyes fill with tears and mine immediately follow suit. ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s not,’ she says, as a tear falls from her eye and snakes down her crinkly cheek. ‘Even after all these years I miss her.’

My heart aches. ‘Miss who, Gran?’

‘I miss her.’