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‘That is brilliant news.’ I picked up the glass of wine. ‘Is that something I should be watching out for?’

‘Yes, but it’s more the falling that could be the problem.

If she breaks something next time, her recovery will be long and .

. .’ The doctor’s voice trailed away. She didn’t need to finish the sentence.

The stroke had felled my mother and she’d turned from fit and fabulous to old overnight.

Dad’s death had added yet more years to her.

‘Check in the morning. She may be able to come home tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’ I put my phone down and took a big swig of wine, ignoring the taste of it, just looking for something to numb me a bit. Everything was too raw. This was why Paul didn’t like me drinking more than a small glass. I softened and said things that were best left unsaid.

‘How’s the asshole?’

There was no pretence from Tash any longer. Both of them had dropped the veneer of polite tolerance.

‘He’s missing me.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘The doctor rang. Mum didn’t have another stroke.’

‘Phew.’ Tash raised her glass in a silent toast.

‘She may be able to come home tomorrow, which leads to another problem. Paying Meg.’

‘Does your mother have her own account?’ she asked.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Can you cover the bill?’

I drew a deep breath.

‘Don’t tell me, you only have a joint account, and Paul wouldn’t like it if you paid for your mother.’

I looked down at my feet.

‘Christ, every woman needs her own account. No excuses.’

I picked up the bottle of wine and topped up our glasses.

‘Tonight we will open you an account and change your payment details so your money comes to you first and then you can pay into the joint account.’

‘I don’t . . .’ I twisted the glass in my hands.

‘You will not win this one. Don’t even try.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘You are a self-employed contractor and a thirty-year-old woman who is clever enough to be in charge of her own funds, full stop.’

‘But . . .’

‘No, you used to have your own account and managed just fine.’

I couldn’t deny this.

‘You paid your rent and your taxes, and your overdraft wasn’t that big.’

‘I know, you don’t need to tell me.’

‘Clearly I do.’ She took my arm and led me into the sitting room. ‘Since you’ve been with him, I’ve watched that clever, impetuous, funny woman disappear, to become quiet, bland and quite frankly boring.’

‘That’s not true,’ I said, though part of me agreed with her. I slumped into the sofa. ‘My life in London is fulfilling and I live in a beautiful flat.’

‘It’s his flat, not yours.’

‘He’s my partner.’

‘Is your name on the deeds?’

I pressed my lips together.

‘Thought as much. But I bet your money pays the mortgage as well as his.’

‘It’s like rent.’ I crossed my arms, willing her to stop.

‘Is it? If you were renting, your landlord would pay for a new boiler, for the plumber, but that’s not the case, is it?’

My feet twitched.

‘I’m right and your feet prove it.’

Treacherous feet. I placed them flat on the floor. They had betrayed me so many times. If my thoughts were in turmoil, my feet wouldn’t stay still.

‘OK, you have a point.’

‘I do.’ Tash stood and grabbed my phone off the side table. She handed it to me along with my mother’s tablet. ‘First check to see if your mother has an account.’

I took a guess at my mother’s password and hit the jackpot. It was a good thing I knew she’d once had a dog called Spot, and my father’s birthday was obvious. But there was no banking app on the tablet and no messages from the bank in her inbox.

‘So we struck out there. When she comes home tomorrow, you can ask the awkward questions.’

I nodded and opened my phone to find the app for our joint account.

‘Right, you have any number of choices for banks. Any preferences?’ Tash took the phone from my hands. ‘I suggest you don’t use the same one as your joint account.’

‘No?’

‘No. I use this one.’ She pointed to the third one down on the Google search of online banks. ‘If you get stuck, I can help.’

‘OK.’

‘You’ve got your driving licence with you?’

I nodded.

Before my glass of wine was finished, Tash had helped me to open a bank account of my own. ‘Now you need to transfer in some funds. Fifty pounds will do.’ She handed the phone back to me. I stared at it. If I did that, then he would know.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Can’t I simply change the payment details on the invoices I send out?’

‘You don’t want him to know you’ve done this?’ She raised an accusing eyebrow. ‘Good communication makes good relationships.’

I couldn’t argue with that. ‘Even you have to admit that timing can sometimes be crucial, and also being face to face.’

‘I’ll give you that.’ She opened her own banking app and immediately transferred fifty pounds.

‘Tash, what?’ I gave her a hard look.

‘You can send it back when you’ve put some money into the account.’ She crossed her arms.

‘Fine, I’ll do the work invoice right now.’ I reached for my laptop.

‘No, right now we are going to make dinner and drink some more of your father’s lovely wine.’

‘I don’t often drink.’

‘Good, it will be even easier to get information out of you.’ She led the way to the kitchen.

‘You could just ask,’ I suggested.

‘Ha, you know how to sidestep a question, but when you’re drunk, the truth comes out. Do you remember when . . .’ She raised her glass in the air.

‘Do not go down that road.’

‘Why not? It’s fun.’

‘For you.’ I shuddered.

‘Well, call it payment for lending you a hand with our two distinguished ladies.’ She pulled out two plates and some cutlery. ‘I mean, really, couldn’t they have said in this day and age that they were a couple?’

‘I know, typical of my uncle not to be direct, and also not to give me all the information.’ I pulled the lasagne out of the oven. ‘How did he miss the Chippendales?’

‘That is odd, but then I’ve always found him shifty.’

I turned to her. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

As I put the food on the plates, I thought about Stephen. He was odd and awkward, but he was one of the best in the business when it came to furniture.

‘Shall we eat here, or on our laps watching something mindless?’ I asked.

‘Here.’ Tash brought the wine bottle over. My plan to remain silent had been foiled by that declaration. What did she want to know?

‘So how’s work?’

I blinked. That was not the opener I expected. ‘Fine. Thankfully quiet at the moment while they put together the next series.’

‘Do you find that it’s enough for you?’

This was an even odder question. I studied her. ‘I enjoy it.’

‘But isn’t it true that you could do this research in your sleep and it only occupies a small part of your time.’

That might be correct, but how would she know it?

‘What I’m wondering is what you’re doing with the rest of your time.’

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ I countered.

‘I don’t know, which is why I’m asking you.’

I picked up my fork. The bulk of my time was spent on the donkey work for Paul in his research. This she didn’t need to know, because the first question she would ask me was whether I was being paid for it. And of course I wasn’t. How could I be when it was just a bit here and a bit there.

‘Does he still make you do all his research?’

I didn’t answer.

‘You didn’t think I knew, but I did.’

‘That was then.’ I filled my mouth with lasagne so I didn’t have to add anything further.

‘And what about your master’s? You’d written your thesis.’

‘It wasn’t good enough.’

Tash put her fork down. ‘How do you know if you never submitted it?’

‘I didn’t need to.’ I wanted to stomp my feet like an angry child.

‘Because you were shagging a professor in the department and he told you it wasn’t good enough.’

I played with my wine glass. ‘What’s up with you? Can you just stop?’

‘I’m worried about you.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Fine isn’t fucking good enough. You deserve to be good and brilliant, and be shit sometimes and bloody marvellous other times. But you can’t be fine all of the time.’

‘Have you taken up psychology?’

‘No, but it’s not a bad shout.’ She filled our glasses again.

‘Look, don’t worry about me. Let’s discuss what I do going forward for Mum. I don’t think she can live alone.’

‘You’re thinking of sheltered housing or assisted living somewhere?’

I nodded, though I couldn’t hate myself more for this. But it was the only answer. Paul would never move to Cornwall.

‘The activities and other people nearby might help.’ Tash took another helping of lasagne. ‘Unfortunately, that type of care doesn’t come cheap.’

I closed my eyes. Why had Dad been paying out all that money?

I took a sip of wine. ‘I need to work out what the business is worth and talk to my uncle.’

‘I can work out the value for you.’

‘Thanks. I just can’t figure out what’s going on with Dad’s accounts.’

‘We’ll sort it out.’ She pointed to the corkboard. ‘I love that picture of your dad with his bike. Who would have thought all those years ago that Mr Tweed would end up a MAMIL.’

‘MAMIL?’

‘Middle-aged man in Lycra.’

‘Tash!’

‘Sorry, very poor taste even if true.’ She stood, walked to my end of the table and wrapped her arms around me. ‘Him dying is totally shit, but at least he was doing something he loved.’

I nodded, unable to speak.

‘You have so much to deal with along with the grief.’ She handed me a piece of kitchen roll. ‘I’ll go through your father’s accounts and the business’s.’ She paused. ‘But whatever is going on, remember it isn’t your fault.’

I blew my nose. I wasn’t so sure of that.