‘Yessir, the gate. She’s done well for herself. She’s going to visit again.’ She frowned in disapproval at the books. ‘I asked for Mary Cleveland.’ It was the second time he’d let her down today; the latte he’d brought home at lunchtime had been lukewarm.

Christian was picking up the empty éclair box off the floor. ‘They’re all out on loan. You never mentioned any Sarah before.’

‘We lost touch after school. I did have a life before you, you know.’ She pointed at the book cover featuring a woman standing in front of a police car. ‘Look at that. Her pants are so tight you can see her religion.’

‘They’re your usual reads, Mom. I did my best.’ Muttering something about making sandwiches, he sloped off to the kitchen.

‘I’ve run out of E45 cream!’ she called after him. ‘And I’m low on talcum powder. You’ll have to pick up a batch from the pharmacy.’ Her skin was a cracked landscape of red, her joints in constant pain. She had tried to clean and powder the weeping sores in the folds, but there was only so much she could do on her own. She rubbed the back of her neck as another dart of pain made itself known. When Christian was young, he would dutifully wash and powder every crack and crevice in her skin in exchange for a chocolate bar or a bag of crisps. But now he was eating healthily she had even less in common with him than before.

Tomorrow. She sighed. She would drag herself into the shower tomorrow, maybe even look at getting a wet room. ‘What happened here?’ Christian’s voice echoed from the kitchen as he surveyed the cat litter trays lining the floor. ‘Did your friend tidy up as well?’

‘No, I did it,’ Elsie said proudly. The ache in her lower back was a testament to that. It was burning like blazes, but she’d felt better about herself as a result. ‘I changed my bed linen too.’ Her old, stained sheets were sloshing around on a boil wash, along with her underwear. Christian did what he could, but it was a long time since either had been changed.

Christian was standing in the kitchen with his back turned to her, buttering a half loaf of bread into peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – a snack to keep her going until suppertime. The cats were eyeing him hopefully, protesting with hungry mews.

‘That’s good,’ he said, kicking the fridge door shut. ‘I’ve been busy too. I let the police into Blackhall Manor so they could have a look around. Some kids were messing around in there last night.’