This was my cue, and I walked to the lectern. The audience turned to look at me, their scepticism plain to see.

‘Winifred, everybody,’ said Mr Jordan. ‘One of a new breed of carers. Now, Winifred, please tell us all about yourself.’

‘Good afternoon everybody,’ I said. ‘I’m pleased you could come. This is my first day here. I’m one of a new team of carers Mr Jordan has brought to this care home. We’re all going to start working with your loved ones, if you agree.

‘We believe caring is the most important job in the world. Not like babysitting. It should be active, therapeutic, and rewarding for the carer and the person they care for.

‘You all know what many care homes have been like up to now. Mr Jordan is right. They’re not good enough. We’re going to change everything.’

I looked at the audience for a moment. Some of them appeared to welcome what I was saying. Mr Woodruff had his arms folded, and looked cynical, I thought. So I addressed him directly.

‘Mr Woodruff, your mother Margaret has been here for two and a half years, hasn’t she?’

He looked startled, unfolded his arms and sat up straighter. I smiled at him to make it clear I wasn’t being aggressive in singling him out.

‘Yes – that’s right.’

‘And in that time, if you don’t mind me asking, has she been happy?’

‘It’s hard to say. I mean, she’s been OK, I suppose – well, healthy enough – but happy? She has dementia. It’s not a happy state.’

‘No, of course not. Has her condition changed over the year?’

‘Yes, yes, of course it has. Dementia’s a one-way street. We all know that. She’s less… with us… more… vague. It’s very sad.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Woodruff. You’re right, it’s sad. Because it doesn’t have to be that way.

‘We’ve all been led to believe in the inevitability of decline, of the loss of our faculties, of the disintegration of our minds.

‘With your consent, I will spend time with your mother, working on her cognitive capabilities. As you know, there has never been a concrete diagnosis, but she has been suffering from some form of dementia, you’re right. As there is no definitive diagnosis, there is no drug regime we can try, and anyway, they aren’t always effective. But we can try other forms of therapy, and I believe you will be impressed by the results.’

‘It all sounds marvellous,’ said Mr Woodruff. ‘Of course I’ll consent. Why not? Forgive me if I’m cynical about your chances. I haven’t heard of any miracle cures for dementia. I’m sure it would have been on the news. But by all means. Go for it.’

Mr Jordan stood up and smiled at Mr Woodruff, the room, and then at me.