‘Mothballs. They might repel moths but they repel other folk, too. Let’s get this window open as well …’

She put down the boxes and reached up to the window catch. Gina saw a large bruise on her arm as the sleeve of her blouse rode up.

Dad’s work. Hateful man. How I wish—

‘Now, we’ll take all Mrs Thwaite’s things from here and put them in these boxes. Be careful, mind. Then we’ll do the same with the bedroom. There are more boxes in the corridor.’

‘Yes, Mum. And we mustn’t forget the bathroom down the corridor, though you know I’ve been using that anyway and I’ve put all her stuff in a box already.’

As they worked, Gina wondered how she could find the money but keep the find to herself, while leaving her mother to ‘discover’ the bottles. By the time they’d cleared the sitting room and Mrs Thwaite’s meagre belongings were packed up, she had a plan.

‘Mum, if you pass the clothes out of the wardrobe, I’ll fold them and put them in a box.’

They started their tasks. Mrs Thwaite’s clothes were mostly black. It seemed she had no dresses for life outside her job. Probably she had no life at all outside her job – the thought passed through Gina’s mind. Well, what did she care?

Dora handed each garment, still on its hanger, to Gina, who laid it down on the bed. As she folded each one, she quickly and discreetly felt in the pockets for the money.

Soon the number of garments left hanging up was sparse and Dora bent down and removed the handbag from the floor of the wardrobe.

‘She’ll be needing this, poor lady,’ said Dora. ‘I feel bad that I never thought to send on anything she might want since she came out of hospital.’

‘Not really your job, Mum. She could have asked. Anyway, she’ll have it very soon.’

Dora passed Gina another garment, then: ‘Oh, my goodness!’ She lowered her voice. ‘Gina, there are bottles at the back – gin bottles.’

‘Gin? Are you sure?’

‘’Course I am. They look the same as the ones in the sitting room upstairs.’ Dora pulled out the two bottles, one half empty. ‘Oh, my word, do you think Mrs Thwaite was a secret drinker?’

Gina couldn’t help laughing so she decided not to pretend to be shocked. ‘Who’d have thought it? And she so strict and respectable!’

‘Shush, Gina, it’s not funny.’

Gina was laughing aloud. ‘It is, Mum. It’s brilliant. Mrs Po-faced Thwaite and her secret love of mother’s ruin.’