She looked back at an ashen-faced Tom who appeared as if Death himself had cast its shadow over him. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, trying to peek under his fringe. He nodded. ‘What’s your dad’s name?’

‘Paul.’

‘Right, Tom. You go and get yourself showered and changed and I’ll sort things out here.’ She took off her coat and hung it over the newel post and watched Tom trudge upstairs. She took a deep breath. She’d dealt with worse.

‘Paul? Can you hear me, Paul?’ Tom’s dad made an inaudible groan. He was sound asleep. That was fine, it would be easier to work around him. She was surprised Tom had managed to get a coherent sentence out of the man to be able to indicate he didn’t want an ambulance called but she didn’t doubt Tom’s honesty.

Maggie relocated a pile of dishes in the kitchen to free up the washing-up bowl and set about clearing up the worst of the mess in the living room. She was cross at Paul for putting Tom through this but deep down she was also pleased to be able to help Tom. She took the covers off two cushions and slung them in the washing machine along with a random sock she found. She cleaned and tidied around the man and he barely moved, even despite the vigorous carpet scrubbing she did right next to him.

In her opinion Paul should be checked over by a paramedic but he was a grown man and she wasn’t going to interfere. If he’d said he didn’t want them called then that was his decision, however foolish. Her main concern was Tom and she wasn’t sure on where social services would stand if they’d walked in with her earlier. The last thing she wanted was for Tom to get whisked into care. That wasn’t a fate he deserved.

Maggie worked around Paul, who now appeared to be sleeping quite peacefully. It looked like the danger had passed. Given the state the carpet had been in she doubted there was anything else to come up. She moved behind the sofa and her foot hit something that made a tell-tale clinking noise. Underneath the sofa she found a stash of bottles – mostly empty and one full bottle of whisky. She hoicked them all out.

Maggie went on a brief treasure hunt checking the most unlikely places in search of alcohol where she unearthed two more almost-empty bottles and two half-full ones. She ferried them all to the kitchen and began pouring their contents down the sink. The bottles made a pleasant chink sound each time she popped them in the recycling box.

‘Hey!’ said the slurred voice behind her. ‘Who the hell are you?’