A woman approaches. A resident – she looks ancient, but like my mother, she walks with confidence and stands up straight.

‘Hello, Margaret.’

‘Cecilia – goodness, you’re looking well!’

‘I am, aren’t I? I’m feeling very well indeed. Better than – I don’t know, better than I’ve been for years. Do you know, I think I haven’t felt like this since I was seventy-five.’

Charlotte and I exchange a glance. The old bird goes on.

‘Is this your family? Hello, everyone – I’m Cecilia. I’m the oldest person in this home. I’m 104. I can’t believe I’m still alive.’

‘What have you been up to?’ Mum asks her.

‘I went to heaven. For a visit.’

Charlotte and I exchange another glance. This is more like it. She might look well enough, but listen to what she’s saying.

Mum and the children, however, take her answer seriously.

‘What was it like?’ asks Emily.

‘Yes, do tell – I’ve often wondered,’ adds Mum. Bloody hell. Don’t encourage her.

‘I wasn’t there for long. They were all charming people though. It was like arriving at a grand hotel – the ones we used to go to at the seaside, before the war. But brighter – it was sort of glowing. And I started to check in. They were expecting me. And it looked nice and clean. Of course it was – it was heaven. I asked, you see. Because I’d gone to bed here, as I always do. And then woke up there.’

‘Were you frightened?’ asks Tom.

‘No, dear, not at all. What would I be frightened of? They were delightful. And there were lots of people there. I was hoping to meet some of them.’

Her face, which was shining up to then, clouds over.

‘Oh Cecilia,’ says Mum. ‘I know what you’re talking about. I understand.’

‘My dear Arthur – my husband, you know. He went 30 years ago. And my little Amy…’

She wipes her eye, and now she does look 104. I get up and take her arm gently.

‘Can I get you a chair? And do have some tea.’

‘Oh, thank you dear, no, don’t let me disturb you. I’m being silly. I’m happy to be back here for now, and it’s a comfort to know where I’ll be going, and soon enough, I dare say.’

*

When we leave, Winifred comes with us to the front door. Outside there’s still a sea of journalists and vehicles.

‘Winifred,’ I say. ‘Can I ask you a few questions?’

‘Of course.’

We step into a small office and leave Charlotte and the children looking out at the waiting mob.

‘My mother… She’s – much better. I mean, she’s – it’s astonishing.’

‘Yes, she has responded well to our new regime.’

‘It’s like you’ve resurrected her.’

‘She wasn’t dead.’

‘Not far off. And I thought people in her condition…’