Angela was facing some serious maintenance problems. She opened the door to me, ushered me in without speaking, knocked on Sarah’s door as we went past and continued through to the sunroom. She was wearing jeans, rubber boots and a faded denim shirt. She picked up a straw hat and a can of insect repellent from a table near the door to the wooden steps leading down to the garden. ‘She smokes. I hope you don’t mind.’ ‘A lot do. The smart ones stop.’ ‘We live in hope.’ A quick smile and she was off. Sarah came into the sunroom wearing white jeans and a black T-shirt with the face of Cold Chisel’s Jimmy Barnes printed on it. She was barefoot but stood several centimetres taller than her mother. The makeup had gone and her long, fair hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was a good-looking young woman with a generous mouth and big eyes that did not bulge in the slightest. I met her in the centre of the room and we shook hands. ‘Hello,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sorry about what I said to you the other day.
