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Page 6

Jane Downing

His mother looked grey and small on the so-called throne. She had her flannelette nightgown pulled down discreetly over her thighs; there was no strength in them to help as he pulled her to standing.

‘Why didn’t you shout?’ he asked as he lifted her underwear from her ankles until they were high enough for her to pull them up. Her skin was cold.

‘You were painting. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘Let’s get you into bed.’

‘Sorry to be a bother.’ She leaned on him. She wasn’t heavy. ‘Gaby suggested…’

‘I think we should put in some of those metal hand railings,’ he interrupted. ‘In the toilet and bathroom and up to the back step.’

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