At the very mention of that place the resistance in Izzy slumps and she becomes fearful. When she slides a glance at Flo it’s as if the elderly dementia patient has just called to her without moving her lips. And as if rapt by the advice of a helpful adult Izzy appears to listen to mute Flo.

Jess tries again. ‘Izzy. Come here, please. Now.’

Oblivious to her mother’s request, Izzy remains rooted beside Flo and continues to stare into the woman’s murky eyes.

SCRAPE. From the other side of the front door, a key angrily buries itself into the lock.

Jess jumps. ‘Jesus!’

As soon as Morag has squeezed herself into the vicarage, Jess is in her face. ‘She’s wandering.’

‘Hang on. Ain’t got me coat off yet!’

‘She took my phone. Last night. My bag yesterday.’

Morag lumbers past Jess. Once she’s ambled into the kitchen she unleashes a weary sigh at being back again.

Unseen by Jess as she pursues Morag, intent on making her point, Flo collects one of Izzy’s hands and holds it with her own. Izzy giggles then turns her hand up and looks at whatever it is that Flo has placed upon her palm. Secretively, she slips the object into the pocket of her cardigan.

‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ Morag roars at Jess from inside the kitchen. ‘Loss of executive function was three years ago. She ain’t taken a step since her stroke. Before I started.’

At the rebuff, Jess zips up her coat angrily.

Morag matches Jess’s annoyance by yanking her own zip down. ‘You only been here five minutes. What makes you so special? Heal the lame, can you?’

‘This place, it . . . ain’t right.’

‘What you on about?’

‘Something happened. Last night.’

‘Making no sense. As usual.’

Through the kitchen doorway, Jess glances towards the stairwell. ‘Flo has a daughter. A son.’

To be heard above the explosion of a bag’s contents that she scatters across the kitchen counters, Morag raises her voice to a familiar bellow. ‘I ain’t blind! I seen the pictures!’

‘And what? Where are they when their mum’s like this?’

‘Her daughter died when she was little. Sheila said. And her son can’t fink much of Blossom. Never been to visit. No letters. Nothin’. Can’t say I’m surprised. But nothin’ to do with me. Or you.’ Morag bustles out of the room and crosses the hall to barge into the living room.

Jess follows as far as the door. From there she can see that Flo has resumed the inexorable rocking back and forth in her chair while whispering to Jess’s disobedient, avid, smiling daughter.

‘All right, Blossom?’ Morag roars on entry.

Flo ignores the greeting and continues to chatter emphatically to Izzy in a hushed voice.

Jess tries again from the doorway. ‘Izz!’