But we are not sure. They have placed their relatives – in almost all cases, their parents – here to be cared for, because they can’t do it themselves. They pay for this service. But they have contradictory feelings about it, we have been told.

They feel guilt, and relief, increased anxiety, reduced anxiety, satisfaction, dissatisfaction, happiness and unhappiness. Sometimes all at once. How is this possible? It is complicated, being human.

The problem perhaps is that care is something you are supposed to do for others out of a feeling of love. But if you pay someone else to do it, even though it may be logical, because they are better at it, you feel you have failed to do what you should.

*

I was stationed at the front door to greet relatives as they arrived. Mr Jordan had sent them a personal invitation to attend a reception at which wine and canapés would be served. Many had responded.

I detected some surprise at my appearance. I am 1m 70cm in height – a little above average but not abnormal for a UK woman of North European genetic origin. I have blue eyes and brown hair, and fair skin.

I think they looked surprised because of the contrast with the previous staff.

Many of them (the staff) suffered from obesity and skin conditions. They had low self-esteem and poor education, and many had chosen to colour their hair and tattoo their bodies.

The meaning and symbolism of their tattoos was obscure. A mixture of mythological and cultural sources seemed to have been involved.

The best word I have discovered to describe this is ‘hodge-podge’. Derived from Old French.

In addition, the staff spoke English with either a regional accent, or, if they had come from outside the UK, a foreign one. My accent is called RP.

I do not have tattoos, of course, and my hair is the colour it was made. My personality is as follows: enthusiastic, committed, competent, calm under pressure, friendly, curious, outgoing and empathetic.

All of which may account for the relatives’ reactions. I greeted them with a smile and showed them where to go for the reception with Mr Jordan and Dr Morton. They all thanked me but many seemed shy and awkward.

One of the last to arrive was John Woodruff, son of Margaret, who is to be one of my primary responsibilities, if he consents. He too seemed surprised to meet me, but he responded well and I judged him to be pleased with my appearance and demeanour.

All the relatives assembled in the central atrium of the home. We had arranged chairs in rows facing a lectern, and a screen onto which Mr Jordan could project images.

I stood with my fellow carers at the back of the room and we all watched.

First, the relatives did not immediately sit down. Instead they stood around in small groups conversing. They did not appear at ease.