Anna sat deep in thought. Suddenly the pieces clicked together. ‘William, are you going to invest in this bar?’ she asked, thinking of the bag of money sitting upstairs.

He shrugged, glanced at her. ‘I think he could do with a little help from me on that side of it.’

Of course he could do with help. He wanted nothing to do with his father all year round, but now that there was money involved…

‘When is he coming?’ she asked, her mind racing now.

‘Tomorrow,’ said William. ‘He’s got some business here and then we’ll probably leave in a week.’

There was more, but he wasn’t saying it. She took a deep breath and walked over to him, sat on the arm of his chair and touched his shoulder. William took a deep breath and scrubbed at his nose. ‘I don’t think he would agree with you being here.’

Anna’s body went cold.

‘I’m your carer,’ she said stiffly.

‘Yes, but…’ He offered her a watery smile. ‘You’re more than that, Gemma. So much more.’ He planted his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself unsteadily up. ‘I’ve got something for you. A little going-away bonus.’ He jerked his head at her. ‘Come.’

Half of the money, she thought. I’ll go quietly for half of the money that’s in that bag up there.

It took an age for them to make it up to the bedroom, and Anna stood primly in the door as William lowered himself to the floor beside the bag. He unzipped it, plucked at a pile of money. As he counted it carefully, Anna looked at the bald spot on the back of his head, the scalp baby-pink and flaky, the hair surrounding it fine and white.

Finally, he looked up at her, holding out a thin pile of notes with one hand, his other absently rubbing his chest.

She reached over and took it.

A hundred quid.

One measly hundred fucking pounds.

She straightened up, pulling her shoulders back, and tucked the money in the back pocket of her jeans. ‘Come on, let’s get you back downstairs and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’ She moved around behind him, hefting him up.

William staggered to his feet and leaned heavily on her.

‘Thank you, Gemma,’ he said, his voice paper-thin.

She nodded, manoeuvred him in front of her and steered him to the stairs. On the top step, he stopped abruptly and twisted round to look at her.

‘You’re a good girl, Gemma,’ he said.