Much.

Throwing herself on her bed, Perdita pulled out her BlackBerry and pressed the short dial to call her mother.

‘Mum? It’s me,’ she said when her mother answered. ‘How are you?’

As always, Helen James insisted that she was absolutely fine, but Perdita couldn’t help worrying about her. It was hard to put her finger on why, but her mother seemed to have got older and a little querulous quite suddenly. She wasn’t as active as she had once been, and the house she had once kept so immaculately clean had begun to seem less well cared for, as if she couldn’t be bothered with dusting and polishing any more.

Once or twice, Perdita had suggested getting her some help, but her mother refused point-blank to even consider the possibility. ‘I’m not having strangers poking around in my private business!’ she declared. ‘I suppose you’ll want to put me in a home next!’

She got so upset if Perdita tried to pursue the matter that, in the end, Perdita had to let it drop and took to calling in every couple of days instead to help out as discreetly as she could.

‘Millie popped in to say hello,’ her mother told her. ‘She said she was just passing.’

Perdita was relieved to hear no hint of suspicion in Helen’s voice. She had asked her best friend to look in on her mother while she was away on the course, but it had been a risk. If Helen had thought she was being checked up on, she would have been furious.

‘Oh? How was she?’

‘She’s put on weight since her divorce,’ her mother said disapprovingly. ‘She’ll have to be careful not to let herself go.’

Millie had more important things to worry about than her figure, Perdita reflected as she said goodbye to her mother. Her husband had left her with a huge mortgage and the main responsibility for caring for two teenage daughters, and there had been times when her friend’s buoyant sense of humour had been severely tested over the last few years.