‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Heather,’ Rachel said as she shook Heather’s delicate hand.

‘Pleasure’, admittedly, was a stretch. After all, ‘pleasure’ was a good bottle of wine, a belly laugh, a perfectly iced chocolate éclair. Under different circumstances, Rachel might have felt pleasure at this meeting. For example, if her father had started dating someone after Mum died. A nice widow named Judy, perhaps – someone he’d met down at the tennis club, who had adult children and plans for a huge blended family Christmas with vicious games of Stealing Santa. After all, the idea of Dad not having to spend his golden years alone did indeed bring her pleasure. But the way things stood? Pleasure was a bit of a stretch.

Heather smiled as Rachel sat down. ‘It’s good to meet you too, Rachel. I’ve heard a lot about you. Your dad says you make cakes.’

‘The best wedding cakes in Australia,’ Dad chimed in. Rachel didn’t bother clarifying that she also made cakes and pastries for other occasions. She’d deduced a while back that her father only had the capacity to understand high-powered jobs. Banker. IT professional. Business person. She was fine with this. In her opinion, when you saved lives for a living, you didn’t have to remember jobs.

Rachel tried to catch the attention of the waiter.

‘Where have you been?’ Tully asked curtly.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I dropped in to see Mum on the way here.’

Rachel wasn’t sure how that particular piece of information would be received. Mum had been moved to a high-security nursing home with a specialist dementia wing a month ago. She had been diagnosed a couple of years back, after many more years of searching for a diagnosis before that. First, her doctor thought it was concussion (she’d had a fall before the confusion started), then depression (Pam’s own mother had died around that time), and they’d even blamed a urinary tract infection briefly. By the time they’d got the diagnosis and a second opinion, Mum was already lost to them.

Upon admitting her to the nursing home last month, the doctors had advised that it would be good to give her time to settle in before visiting. Rachel had agreed and then promptly showed up daily, with cookies for the nurses. She felt sheepish about it, but the idea of leaving Mum there alone, without anyone who cared about her, was simply too much to bear. Her guilt was eased by the knowledge that Tully was doing exactly the same thing.

‘How was she?’ Tully asked.

‘A little agitated,’ Rachel admitted.

In fact, when Rachel arrived in her room, Mum had been irate. She’d pointed at Rachel. ‘Did you take my bag thingy?’

‘No,’ Rachel had said.

Pamela narrowed her eyes. ‘It must have been your father. He was just here, you know.’

‘Dad? No, I don’t think he was here.’

Her mother shook her head, tutting. ‘He’s an awful man. I don’t know how I ever put up with him.’