Page 33 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Clarissa was already digging her phone from her jeans, on her way to do it privately.

‘It’s closed, the local one. Cuts, of course. But in extremis, there’s Oxford. Wait, I’ll see if I can get Rogers first– he’s a friend.’

‘A we know him too, actually, chap called Peter Hunter. Very good at…’ even Clarissa stopped short of saying ‘senility’. Or worse. ‘Trauma,’ she muttered.

Ginnie and I nodded quickly. Well done, Clarissa. And actually, that’s what this was, I realized. Some sort of post-traumatic stress.

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Let’s go, then.’

‘What, all of us?’ asked Clarissa. ‘No, no, I’ll take her.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ginnie quickly. She looked at me. In that glance was said– all three daughters will be too much for Mum. One of us clearly has to go, to soften Clarissa. Let it be me. My glance back, which started hesitantly, became one of solidarity.

‘I’ll stay here with the dogs,’ I said. ‘Or actually, Ginnie,’ I suddenly had a better plan. ‘I’ll go, and you take the dogs to your house.’

My mother’s face cleared for a moment. ‘Oh, the dogs are going to Ginnie’s?’

All three daughters’ heads swung round at this sudden moment of lucidity.

‘Yes,’ said Ginnie immediately, recognizing Mum’s relief, and also the sense of this option. ‘And Lara’s at home, too, she’ll love to have them. She’s… anyway.’ She tailed off.

Devastated. Anguished. Like Polly. My darling, animal-loving niece. Ginnie got to her feet. ‘I’ll pop them in the car, Mum, with their beds and food. I’ve got the Range Rover, masses of room.’

Neither of us even looked at Clarissa. This was what was happening, full stop. It wasn’t up for debate. In my peripheral vision I saw Clarissa open her mouth to protest that she was quite capable of taking our mother to hospital on her own and having the dogs here, then shut it again.

We gently extricated Brown Dog from my mother’s side and then slowly got her to her feet.

‘We’re off somewhere?’ she asked, bewildered. Clarissa had already belted upstairs to pack an overnight bag for her, mouthing ‘packing a bag’, as she left.

‘Yes, just a little trip,’ Ginnie said soothingly. ‘With Clarissa and Annabel. Just to check your temperature, your blood pressure, that sort of thing.’

‘Oh yes. Blood. I remember.’ She shuddered. Good. She seemed to be recovering, but she still looked horribly stricken.

‘And Ginnie’s taking the dogs,’ I reminded her, to keep her on track.

We were finding her handbag now: putting it gently over her arm.

Through the window I saw Clarissa dash outside to the yard and quickly stash the overnight bag in the back of her car, then jump in and drive it around towards the front door, gesturing to me to follow, to bring her out that way.

Fewer steps. Fewer dogs. Or lack of dogs, in the kitchen.

Brown Dog was firmly at my mother’s heels, though.

‘It’s all right, Mum, I’ve got him, he’s coming home with me.’ Ginnie put a restraining hand on his neck, not even his collar. He stayed still beside her, obedient as ever.

‘But you’re not coming, Pammy?’ She looked at me.

I stared. It was so awful. She seemed to recognize the other two. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m coming.’

‘I need to spend a penny,’ she told me.

‘Right.’ I escorted her to the downstairs loo. I waited nervously outside as Ginnie nipped out of the front hall, presumably to tell Clarissa.

When Mum came out, she put her hand on my arm. ‘Murray agreed,’ she told me earnestly. ‘Remember?’ Ginnie returned and together we gently escorted her to the door. ‘No one was to blame. Decent of him. Ask Joan. Well, you don’t have to, do you, Pammy?’ She looked me right in the eye. ‘You know.’

And with that she let us help her into the front hall, through the door and thence to the car, popping her carefully in the back.

Ginnie clipped her seatbelt for her as I got in the front with Clarissa.

Ginnie watched as we drove away. She raised her hands in bafflement, in response, no doubt, to the completely bewildered look I must have given her from my window.

But I wasn’t just bewildered. I was scared, too.