‘I’m not hungry,’ I said. I had a headache that seemed to start at the bottom of my neck.

‘There’s two aspirins here,’ she said, picking them out of a saucer and handing them to me. She poured water from the jug at my bedside and I got them down somehow.

‘I called in at The Oaks,’ she said, ‘and I told her I’d come back later when they’d got things sorted out a bit. The place is full of kids now on top of everything else.’

‘Kids?’ I said.

‘Margaret’s dad’s new two,’ she said.

‘Oh, them.’ I drank some tea.

‘And his new wife’s brought everything bar the kitchen sink.’

‘Sit down and tell me about it,’ I said, with a perverse wish to wallow at second hand in the awkwardness and discomfort that I was sure now characterized The Oaks.

‘She doesn’t seem to have any luggage. She’s brought everything in paper bags,’ said Mrs Raffald, ‘and left them in the hallway.’

‘Perhaps she can’t afford luggage,’ I said, thinking of Monica’s lifestyle on alimony.

‘Don’t suppose she can,’ said Mrs Raffald, who knew everything about the circumstances of Monica’s divorce. ‘Only it needn’t be alligator skin. Anyone can afford a cloth holdall.’

‘I hope it won’t mean too much work for you,’ I said.

‘I won’t neglect you,’ said Mrs Raffald, familiar with the weak selfishness of the aged.

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Hand me my top teeth and I’ll smile at you.’

‘Eat your toast,’ she said.

Despite the headache I felt happier that day, more relaxed. I had made a conscious decision not to worry myself to death, since it couldn’t be long before he came for me anyway. Why waste strength?

‘Where’s Lili?’ I asked.

‘I saw her going down the garden before I left,’ said Mrs Raffald. ‘She’ll probably be along any minute.’

‘Will you send her up if she comes?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ said Mrs Raffald. ‘Shall I tell her to bring anything up with her?’

‘Cigarettes,’ I said, ‘and sherry. I’m not going to drink whisky all day long. Only when there’s a wedding in the offing I do think one needs something.’

‘I’ll tell her to bring the dog up too. He’s pining down there.’ Mrs Raffald had a soft spot for dog despite the mess he made. I think she was one of those unusual folk with a genuine tenderness for the old. It’s easy for most people to like babies, but the helplessness of the aged does not have the same appeal.

‘Cuckoo,’ came the cry from the stairs.

‘Come on in,’ I said.

Lili put dog on the bed and his claws scraped at the silk counterpane.

‘Put the little beast on the floor,’ I said, ‘and move those clothes off the chair and sit down.’

She was wearing a bright red coat and was clearly going further than my house. Underneath she wore a black jersey dress, more suitable for tea at the Ritz than a drunken morning with an old lady.