What if it was too late? What if those agonizing screams were her mother’s last words? If a heart attack or haemorrhage had taken her? Janet wasn’t ready yet, not halfway ready. Losing her father had been hard. Her dad, a lovely man. But her mum? The thought of life without her filled Janet with dark panic. Her mum had been there for her in the worst times, in the wilderness days after she and Ade had lost their first baby to cot death, when Dorothy had cleaned and shopped and cooked and nurtured them, both of them, until they began to function again. And after Janet had been attacked she had done the same, and, more important, given the girls the love and reassurance they needed when it was uncertain that Janet would survive, and then that she would fully recover. And Janet had imagined she would in turn look after Dorothy as her strength waned, as she became older and less independent, frail even. She had always imagined there would be years ahead, with all the stress and worry of ensuring proper care and all that, but what if this was it?
