My grandmother was sitting up alone in a rumpled bed, looking like a frail bird in a dishevelled nest. Clothes and books were piled everywhere around, scattered with mouse droppings. A little walkway showed worn carpet to Bette’s side of the bed, and another snaking around to the other side, which lay empty. The old woman’s breathing was shallow, and her chest heaved as though she were having a panic attack.

‘Grandma? You okay?’

Bette looked startled.

‘Is it your arm? Does it hurt? Are you feeling hot?’

Bette stared at me, wide-eyed. She seemed unable to answer, so I stepped into the room, holding my breath against the mousey smell until I could sit down on the bed in front of her. I reached out to put a palm against her forehead, but Bette intercepted – she grabbed my hand and held it hard against her cheek as though she would never let go. For a moment I felt shocked – the desire to pull back was really strong. But I resisted the urge and gently took her hand in both of mine and returned them to the bed while I put my palm against her forehead. She felt warm but I didn’t think she was alarmingly hot.

‘Where’s Hessel, Grandma?’ I asked.

Bette coughed, a choking sound, and I stood decisively. ‘Let’s get you up and into some fresher air,’ I said. ‘We’ll take your temperature and I’ll make you some tea, get some fluids into you, okay?’

As I helped Bette out of bed, lifting the bare gnarled feet down to the floor and offering her an elbow to help her stand up, Bette, still sitting, reached out a shaking hand and moved an envelope from the bedside table into the drawer underneath it. She looked up at me, a strange, forlorn, lost kind of look, and then took my elbow and wobbled to her feet.

It was still early. I set her up in the armchair and smoothed the fluffy silvery hair to one side. She had calmed down a bit and now she felt almost cool to the touch, but still I got her to direct me to a thermometer in the crowded pantry and a moment later it confirmed a normal temperature.

‘Have you eaten anything?’ I asked. She shook her head. I switched on the television and delivered her some painkillers with a glass of water.

‘Hopefully those will help. That seemed like a lot of pain.’ Bette popped the pills eagerly into her mouth and swallowed a gulp of water. ‘So, where is Hessel, Grandma?’ I asked, as she handed me back the glass.

‘At the vet with Polly.’

‘Oh no,’ I said. That couldn’t be good, not this late in the evening. I took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Poor Polly, and poor you,’ I said.

‘She is very bad. In a lot of pain. He is very afraid he might lose her.’

That poor beautiful horse. It was terrible to think of that poor horse being sick and pregnant and in pain. But it was also quite terrible to think of Bette here, all alone, in pain, unable to even feed herself . . .