Chloe leaves her there – in, when, the late fifties? – while she stands beside her in 2004. Instead she sits down in an armchair and waits in case the years catch up with her. They both look out of the window that overlooks the gardens. Just a few feet away, on the other side of the glass, a thrush pulls a worm from the lawn and above it, a blue tit clings to a bird feeder. The two women sit in silence for a while and that feels like enough to Chloe, enough just to be next to her. To imagine their hearts beating in time.

There is no way of telling how much time passes like that before Nan turns to her.

‘Chloe, dear,’ she says, ‘how long have you been sitting there?’

‘Not long,’ she replies.

‘Have you had a cup of tea yet? I’d love a cup of tea.’

Chloe glances at the full cup beside her, cold now, of course, tan already staining the porcelain.

‘Shall we go and have one in my room? I’d love to show you all my pictures.’

Chloe is happy to have her back. She helps her out of the armchair and they shuffle slowly together to her room. Chloe forgets how much she slows down when she’s around Nan and suddenly feels sad that even these last few days have stripped some memories from her. Goodness knows what they’ve stolen from Nan.

Inside her room, Nan sits down on the bed. She picks up the photograph of Grandad taken just before he died. He’s sitting on the beach at Sheringham eating chips with a wooden fork.

‘Do you remember that day?’ Chloe asks her.

She nods. ‘Is that Hughie?’

‘Yes, that’s right. We all went to the seaside together, do you remember?’

‘Were you there too?’ Nan asks.

‘Yes.’

‘What did you say your name was again?’

‘Chloe.’

‘Chloe. I don’t know a Chloe.’

‘Nan, you . . .’ She sighs. ‘Don’t worry, let me go and get that cup of tea.’

‘Lovely,’ Nan says as she leaves. ‘I just fancy a cuppa.’