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“I have a bit of help now.”

“Good for you,” Mara said with a smile. “I thought you seemed a bit brighter this week. More focused.”

Frances couldn’t help smiling with her. She did feel brighter and more focused. Thanks to Lucie.

“So did you get a carer in, then?”

“Not exactly.”

Mara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’? You got someone in?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to share?” Mara pressed.

“Lucie Brown.”

Mara blinked. “What?”

“She and Mum seem to have hit it off. I asked if she would pop in for a few hours in the afternoon during the week, and she agreed.”

Mara stared at her.

“What?” Frances said. “It’s working. You just said that yourself.”

“I did. It’s just...” Mara shrugged. “Is it appropriate?”

“How would it be inappropriate?” Frances questioned, even as she recalled herself saying that to Lucie when her mum first suggested she visit her.

“Lucie’s been here a month, and your lives have seemingly entwined.”

Frances gave a small shrug, feigning ignorance. “We get on well. Mum has taken to her...”

“And you? Have you taken to her, too?”

“I’ve grown fond of her.”

“Fond?”

“Yes, fond,” Frances repeated firmly. Even if the truth was she was growing helplessly more so by the day.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Mara said lightly. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

Unsure if that was reassurance or a warning, Frances took the opportunity to escape and headed towards the spiral staircase. A few minutes later, she was admiring a Christmas wreath hanging on her front door. That was new. Her mum and Lucie must have made it.

A flicker of inadequacy, or guilt, perhaps, rose from somewhere within her. Lucie could do all these little things while she, who should be the one helping her mum every day, didn’t. She was good with spreadsheets and reports, not passing the time of day over small tasks to entertain her mum. Not that time with her mum was meaningless — far from it. It just didn’t come naturally.

Inside, she placed her bag on the hall table and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it beside Lucie’s. They looked good there, side by side. After a moment’s hesitation, Frances nudged her own coat closer, just enough that the sleeves brushed, hopeful that some trace of Lucie’s scent might cling to the fabric.

With a small, self-mocking huff, she went through to the sitting room.

“Sorry, I got caught on a call.”

“It’s fine,” Lucie said, already by the door.

After only a week, Frances had started to look forward to the small lift she felt every time she saw Lucie. Coming home to find her there quietened something restless inside her.

“Since you aren’t working tonight, would you join us for dinner?” Frances said, almost without thinking.