‘He was always the same, Elaine, even as a child. Always in a world of his own. Always a dreamer, was my Georgie. That’s why he never got on like the others. Look at Edith, out in America. Her Joss is a surgeon. Living the life of Riley them two. Off to the Bahamas every few months. It does a mother’s heart good to know that at least some of her children did well.’

Her voice was reproaching George with every word she spoke.

‘Edith always enjoyed travelling, Mother. Do you remember when she ran off to Brighton with the travelling salesman?’

Elaine felt the tension she had created and was actually enjoying it. Edith’s foray down to Brighton was never mentioned. Neither was the child she gave up for adoption a year afterwards.

Nancy pushed her plate away from her, her heavily powdered face looking more wrinkled than ever with the deepness of her frown.

‘Only you, Elaine, would bring up something to break my heart. Joseph, George, help me into the lounge. I want to be alone.’

‘I’m sure Elaine didn’t mean anything by it, Mother.’

‘Shut up, George, and help an old woman to a comfortable seat.’

George and Joseph both rushed to their mother’s side, helping her heave her bulk from the chair. She leant on their arms as she slowly trekked from the kitchen to the lounge. Elaine and Lilian watched the three leave the kitchen. As soon as the door shut behind them Lilian whispered: ‘The woman is like a waking nightmare.’

‘I heard that, Lily! I may be old but I’m not deaf!’

Nancy’s voice seemed to drill through the wooden kitchen door.

Elaine put her hand over her mouth to stifle a high laugh.

‘She has ears like an elephant, Elaine, you don’t know what it’s like.’

‘I can imagine, thank you very much, and before you ask the answer’s no. Both George and I work and she can’t be left on her own all day.’

Lily sighed.

It was worth a try, even if you already knew the answer.

In the lounge George and Joseph had set their mother on the settee, packing cushions all around her.

‘Joseph, you go back to your dinner. I want to speak to George in private.’

Joseph left the room as quickly as possible. He was nearly sixty years old. He had his own prosperous business. Yet his mother could reduce him to an eight year old in a few sentences. When Joseph left, Nancy patted a tiny expanse of seat beside her.

‘Sit with your mama, Georgie boy.’

He sat beside her warily.

Nancy looked into her son’s face for a few moments.

‘The years haven’t been kind to you, my boy, have they? No. You know this yourself.’