‘However,’ she continued, ‘I am an observant person. Not that it was hard to miss – all those trips to the attic.’

She raised her eyebrows again and the heat on Connie’s face grew stronger. What exactly did Dorothy know?

‘The thing is,’ she said again, folding her hands neatly on her lap, ‘Johnny hasn’t contacted you and he hasn’t contacted me. Those are the plain facts. We can only hope that he’ll come home when he’s ready.’

Connie wanted to shout out that she didn’t have time to wait. She needed to speak to Johnny now. Instead, she said awkwardly, ‘Yes.’ She was beginning to feel quite sick again.

A moment passed. Then Dorothy stood up, crossed to the sofa and took Connie’s hand. ‘Poor girl. It can’t be easy without a mother to advise you.’

Dorothy’s palm felt rough from hard work. Connie’s mother had had skin like that too. Connie pictured her applying cream, kneading it into her hands. She remembered how it had smelled of lavender, but what had the cream been called? And now she felt a panic because she couldn’t recall. How many other memories was she losing?

The idea made her feel strangely dizzy. She passed her hand across her damp forehead. Dorothy was still looking at her with that bright, blue stare. She thought of her mother’s kind, gentle eyes, of Johnny’s distant gaze, always wanting something else. And then she thought of her father and how disappointed his expression would be if he found out about the baby. And there was Dorothy still watching, a small, knowing smile etched on her face. Connie tried to speak but her tongue felt thick. She tried to see clearly but the light was fading and the room was turning.

‘Head between your knees,’ came Dorothy’s distant voice. ‘Deep breaths. I’ll fetch some water.’

Connie obeyed, leaning forward, breathing steadily, and by the time Dorothy returned, the room had stilled and the light had brightened. Taking the glass, she drank deeply.

‘There,’ said Dorothy, sitting down and patting Connie’s knee. ‘Feeling better?’

Connie nodded although the dizziness had left an ache inside her head. She finished drinking and Dorothy took the glass.

‘Now then,’ she said, setting it down on the carpet. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

Connie massaged her temples. ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t eaten. I think that’s what it is.’

Dorothy sighed. ‘Oh dear, do you think I was born yesterday? It all comes back to the idea that the younger generation think they invented it.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Connie, and she really didn’t. The conversation had gone around so many corners she had lost her way.