‘So, where did she get it from? You in journalism too?’

Kate let out a bark of laughter. ‘Me? No. I work in B&Q. She’s the one with the brains.’

‘You have brains.’

‘Seriously. You have to stop it. It’s embarrassing.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t even finish school.’ Kate picked up the next application and showed it to Greg. Attached to the front was a picture, not of the applicant but of a cat dressed in a blazer and balanced behind its ear was a pen.

When she got back, Tim was in bed, reading, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He pushed them onto his forehead as she walked into the bedroom.

‘I was about to call,’ he said.

‘Sorry. Got carried away, lost track of time.’ She snuggled up to him.

‘Did it go well?’

‘We found a few good candidates in amongst the crazies.’

‘Good.’

She leaned over and kissed him, and Tim cracked a smile. ‘You stink of booze. He take you anywhere nice?’

‘Some ridiculously fancy cocktail bar.’

‘Did he.’

‘Don’t be jealous. It was rubbish.’

‘I know you’re lying. By the way, something I need to tell you.’

‘What?’

‘It’s Iris. She’s been in hospital.’

Alarmed, Kate sat up. ‘What?’

‘She had another fall. Bashed her face. She’s fine now,’ he quickly reassured her. ‘I called the ambulance, she was checked out, a couple of strips put on, and then I brought her home in a cab.’

‘Thank goodness. Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I didn’t want to disturb you . . . knew you were busy,’ he said, and she frowned. ‘It wasn’t like I couldn’t take care of it myself. She’s fine,’ he reiterated.

‘Did she call? Here?’

‘No, she couldn’t get to the phone. I saw the sign,’ he explained. ‘The flamenco lady hadn’t been put back on the windowsill.’

Kate bit her lip. ‘Maybe I should cancel my plans tomorrow.’

‘That doctor? It’s taken you ages to track him down.’

He was right. Kate would go and see Iris in the morning and then decide what to do for the best.

TWENTY-FIVE

Kate was horrified to see that Iris was sporting a black eye to go with the cut on her cheek, when she went round the next day. ‘It’s the sideboard’s fault,’ said Iris. ‘Attacked me on my way down.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine. Bit bruised. Ego too.’

She pointed to the handrail she’d reluctantly decided on putting next to the toilet. ‘I feel like an invalid,’ she grumbled to Kate. ‘Never get old.’

‘I think that might be out of my power.’ Kate had come over with her toolkit and was marking the place on the wall where she was about to screw the rail in.

‘Good God, to think it comes to this. Still, if I’m going to have one, it should be there. The last thing I want is to fall with my knickers around my ankles.’ She clutched her bosom. ‘The shame of it!’