‘Shush.’ Maddie rounded on Tom.
‘Who’s the blue one?’ I said.
‘Mummy,’ Maddie said sharply, ‘go away. You’re ruining it.’
I went.
Agnes lived in a small redbrick terrace in Ladybarn. The house had colourful stained-glass panels at the sides of the front door. The woodwork was painted a deep jade green, an old-fashioned flavour. It was the sort of place that the estate agents describe as full of original features.
The creamy lace curtain moved when I drew up. Agnes looked out and waved. She was ready and waiting. Her white hair was carefully styled and she wore the same navy coat. I got out and opened the passenger door for her. She was nervous. She got the seat belt tangled up with her handbag and the more she struggled the worse it got.
‘Here, let me sort that out.’ I leant across and unwound everything, buckled the seat belt. Set off.
‘Have you told Mrs Palmer we’re coming?’
‘Yes. I popped in on Tuesday after I’d been to see you. I don’t know whether she took it in really. I said I’d be back later in the week, that I’d be bringing a friend. She didn’t ask who.’
‘We’d better agree on who I am, in case anyone asks. Perhaps we should pass me off as your niece or something like that.’
‘No.’ She was shocked. ‘No, I’d rather a friend of the family.’ Her hand worked away at the jet brooch on her coat. I’d obviously touched a nerve. A niece she preferred to forget? I couldn’t ask about it. The colour had drained from her face and I needed to put her at ease before we reached Homelea.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘A friend of the family. Call me Sal – it sounds better than Miss Kilkenny. I prefer it anyway.’
‘Yes, and you had better call me Agnes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I know a lot of my generation like to keep to the formalities but it really doesn’t matter any more. There’s hardly anyone left to call me Agnes now, you know.’
‘OK. How was Mrs Palmer on Tuesday?’
‘Very restless. Other times she just dozes off.’
‘That could be the side effects of the medicine. Anyway, I just want to meet her today and get a look at the place. I’ve had a word with a GP I know and she’s suggested we find out from Mrs Palmer’s doctor exactly how the trouble started and what drugs she’s on. It’s possible that there’s been a wrong diagnosis and that she hasn’t got Alzheimer’s at all. I was reading this book…’
‘Acute confusional disorder,’ said Agnes.
‘Yes.’ My surprise showed.
‘I’ve been reading too,’ she smiled. ‘I got some books from the library.’ She pointed. ‘It’s left here.’
We turned into a gravelled driveway between large stone gateposts. I parked in front of the house. It was a huge place with outbuildings beyond and a conservatory along one wall of the house. Homelea was probably built by one of the Manchester merchants, a visible statement of his wealth and success. It even boasted a small turret on one corner.