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The thought of how her mum would react to outside help made her stomach tighten, but the painful feeling wrenched even more at the thought of her mum, or the hall, being in danger.

“I’ll be working from home this afternoon.”

“Great idea,” Mara said, heading towards the door. She stopped briefly, turned, and added, “I really am sorry about your mum. I’m always here for you. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.”

Mara nodded and disappeared into reception.

Realising the time, Frances packed up her laptop, grabbed the parcel, and headed home.

Where would she even find help? Were there specialised companies, or would she need a general carer? It all sounded far too complicated when reworking her schedule might solve everything. She could leave a little later in the mornings, return a little earlier for lunch, or work from home more often.

Mara’s words — that she shouldn’t feel ashamed — came to mind as she reached the bottom of the spiral staircase. Frances wasn’t sure that ashamed was the right word, yet she couldn’t deny the knot in her chest at the thought of people knowing. It wasn’t exactly embarrassment. It was the loss of her mum as she once was, a woman who had known every corridor, every member of staff, all the inner workings.

She had once been the commanding, sharp, unquestioned presence at the heart of Winterbourne Hall. Once the truth was out, there would be no separating that woman from her illness. The staff who had respected her, who had worked under her for years, would only see what she had become. She was guarding her mum’s dignity or, more likely, clinging to it for both of them.

As she reached her house, she slipped the key in the door and heard her mum’s voice call out.

“Is that you, Frances?”

“Yes, Mum. I won’t be a minute.”

Frances placed everything on the hall table and opened the parcel to find a box with two cameras nestled inside — the blessing of next-day delivery. One she intended to place by the front door to record any comings and goings; the other was for the sitting room. Even as she planned their exact locations, she wasn’t sure she would go through with it.

The practicality of the cameras offered a brief flicker of relief, the promise of a few uninterrupted hours without the constant, gnawing fear of what might happen in her absence. A wave of guilt followed for choosing to monitor rather than be there. It didn’t feel morally or ethically right to watch over a woman who didn’t know she needed watching, even if it was for her own welfare.

She closed the box again, aware that this small intervention marked another step away from who her mum had been, bringing with it the role reversal Frances had been resisting. Now that her mum was diminished by Alzheimer’s, Frances had become the maternal one, the one who observed, decided, and protected. Not that her mum had embraced the role as much as Frances would have liked; she’d left much of it up to the nanny and, later, boarding school.

Having set up her laptop on the dining table and settled her mum in front of the television with a sandwich, she was finally able to get to the end-of-year reports she’d been putting off. Her peace didn’t last long, though, as her mum began interrupting, asking what she was doing and whether she could help. She joined Frances at the table.

“I’m going to try this puzzle again.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mum’s arm catch a glass of water as she sat down. She reached out to stop it tipping, but it was too late. Water splashed over her laptop and pooled around the jigsaw.

“Oh, Mum,” Frances shouted, jumping up as water soaked through her trousers.

“Sorry! Oh... I didn’t mean to,” she said, scrambling up, her voice wavering.

Seeing her mum’s face crumple with fear, Frances quickly softened.

“It’s okay, Mum. Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

Shooting across to the kitchen, Frances grabbed some tea towels. Placing one over the jigsaw, she held the other against her laptop keyboard and tilted it. After giving it a quick shake, she set it upside down.

“Have I damaged your thing?” her mum asked, stepping back from the table, her hands wringing in front of her.

“It will be fine, Mum,” Frances said, trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left my glass there.”

“I’m so clumsy.”

So much for working from home being the solution. If that wasn’t an option, there was only one left, and it was time to test it.

“How would you feel about having someone pop in and spend some time with you?”

Her mum’s face brightened. “The elf?”

“Lucie? No, of course not her.”