‘She’s in great form,’ Hugh remarked when he walked into their bedroom a few moments later, pulling off his tie.

      ‘Yes, very happy,’ said Rose who was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror attempting to zip up a cream beaded evening dress. ‘Will you do me up?’ she asked Hugh.

      He ambled across the room and threw his tie on the bed.

      ‘Were you talking to Stella today?’ he asked as he expertly pulled the zip to the top.

      ‘Not today,’ replied his wife. ‘She said she was going to have a busy day. And her neck’s been at her all week. I might phone her now.’

      ‘Great.’ Hugh grinned. He stripped off his clothes quickly, while Rose sat on the edge of the bed and dialled Stella’s number. She wedged the receiver in the crook of her neck and began to paint a coat of pearly pale pink on her nails.

      ‘Hello, Amelia,’ she said delightedly when the phone was finally answered. ‘It’s Granny. I thought you and Mummy were out when you didn’t answer.’

      ‘Mummy is in the bath. She has a cricket in her neck,’ said Amelia gravely, ‘and Aunty Hazel gave her blue stuff to put in the bath to get rid of the cricket.’

      ‘Poor Mummy,’ said Rose. ‘Tell her not to get out of the bath, whatever happens.’

      ‘She’s here,’ Amelia announced. ‘And she’s dripping wet bits onto the floor.’

      ‘Sorry darling,’ apologised Rose when Stella came on the line. ‘I told Amelia not to get you out of the bath.’

      ‘It was time I got out,’ Stella said. ‘I was in danger of falling asleep in there.’

      ‘How’s your neck?’

      ‘A bit better,’ Stella admitted. ‘It started off as a little twinge, or a cricket, as Amelia says, and today it just aches. I can’t lift a thing and Amelia has been very good, haven’t you, darling?’

      In the background, Rose could hear her granddaughter say ‘yes’ proudly.

      ‘Have you got any of those anti-inflammatories left from the last time?’ Rose said worriedly. ‘If you’re out, remember, you left some here just in case. I’ll drop them up tomorrow if you want.’ Kinvarra was an hour’s drive from Stella’s home in Dublin, but Rose never minded the trip.

      ‘That would be lovely, Mum,’ Stella said. ‘I don’t have any tablets left,’ she admitted. ‘But are you sure you want to drive up? The traffic’s sure to be mad this close to Christmas.’

      Rose smiled. ‘What else are mothers for?’ she said simply.

      ‘Can I say hello?’ said Hugh.

      Rose held up a finger to indicate that she’d be another moment. ‘Tell me, what time do you want me there for?’ asked Rose. ‘If I come up for ten, you can go back to bed and I’ll bring Amelia swimming.’

      ‘Oh, Mum, that would be wonderful.’ Stella sounded so grateful. ‘But I feel so guilty…’

      ‘Rubbish. You need a break,’ her mother said firmly. ‘Here’s your father.’

      Rose and Hugh changed places.

      ‘I’ll come too,’ Hugh told Stella. ‘Amelia loves swimming with her grandad.’

      As he talked to their oldest daughter, Rose hung Hugh’s tie on the rack in the wardrobe, then picked up his shirt from the beige carpet and popped it into the laundry basket. The master bedroom was no trouble to tidy. Knowing Hugh’s propensity for mess, Rose had furnished it so there was nowhere to put clutter. There was just a king-sized bed with a quilted cinnamon-coloured bedcover, a small boudoir chair in the same fabric, and pale wood bedside cabinets which were adorned with lamps and photos of the girls in wooden frames. Rose kept her scent and make-up in the big cupboard under the washbasin in the adjoining bathroom. The unfussy lines of the room were comforting, in her opinion. Relaxing. Apart from the family photos and the big watercolours of four different varieties of orchid on the walls, there was nothing to distract a person from going to sleep. Hugh had wanted a TV in the room but Rose had put her foot down. Bedrooms were for sleeping in.

      Sleep sounded very alluring right now. Rose wished they weren’t going out tonight. She’d prefer to get an early night and head off for Stella’s early in the morning. Supper on a tray would be lovely.

      Hugh said goodbye and hung up.

      ‘Try phoning Holly,’ Rose said from the bathroom. She hadn’t spoken to Holly for a week, not that this was unusual, but even so, Rose still worried when there’d been no word from her youngest.

      ‘Nobody there,’ said Hugh after a moment. ‘Her machine isn’t on, either. I might buy her one for Christmas. That old thing she has is useless.’ He dialled another number. ‘Her mobile’s off too. Hi, Holly, it’s Dad. Remember me? Father-type, silver hair, known you for, oh, twenty-seven years. Just phoning to say hello. Your mother says hello too. I suppose you’re out enjoying yourself as usual. Another wild party? Talk to you sometime over the weekend, darling, bye.’

      He hung up. ‘Holly’s terrible at returning phone calls,’ he grumbled.

      ‘She’s enjoying her life,’ Rose said automatically. ‘She’s entitled to be out having fun and forgetting about us. That’s what girls her age do.’ Well, she hoped that’s what Holly was doing.

      ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Hugh.

      In the bathroom, he and Rose stepped round each other in the expert dance of people used to forty years of sharing a bathroom. While Rose applied her lipstick in the mirror, Hugh ran water to shave.

      In the harsh light of the bathroom, Rose noticed that there seemed to be more wrinkles than ever fanning around her eyes. If she’d religiously slathered eye cream on for years, would it have made a difference? Rose didn’t care. She’d do. She left Hugh to his shaving and went back into the bedroom to sort out an evening handbag, and to mentally plan her trip the next day. Then she scooped the dirty clothes from the laundry basket and went downstairs to the kitchen to put on a wash. She felt happier from just talking to her beloved daughters.

      Stella had sounded so grateful that Rose was going to drive up and visit, but the reality was that Rose adored seeing Stella and little Amelia and loved being able to help her darling Stella out in some small way. Not that she pushed herself into their lives, no. Letting your children go was the one part of motherhood there was no manual for. Rose did her best not to be a clingy mother. She let her daughters live their own lives, which was why it was doubly wonderful that they wanted her around.

      The kitchen in Meadow Lodge was Rose’s favourite room in the whole house. Probably, because it hadn’t changed much since Stella, Tara and Holly used to sit at the scrubbed pine table moaning as they laboured over maths homework. The walls were still the same duck-egg blue, the floor was still terracotta tiled, with a frayed scarlet kelim beside the shabby two-seater couch, and the cupboards had only changed in that they’d had several