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‘One more set,’ Amrita encouraged her patient with a smile.

‘You said that last time,’ Sylvie complained.

‘What are you going to do about it? Fire me?’

‘I could.’

‘You’d miss my cooking. And my sweet, sunny nature.’

Just as she’d hoped, Sylvie laughed but carried on with her leg lifts. After five she paused, holding her breath, and Amrita wondered if she might be pushing a bit too hard. Sylvie was one of her best patients: incredibly focussed on results and the improvements she was fighting for, and good-humoured – exactly the attitude that worked best. But it also meant she didn’t complain, and could push herself too hard.

‘Are you doing OK? Do you need to stop?’

‘No.’ Sylvie fixed her with a look and slowly, deliberately, started the exercise set again. ‘I want to be back on my feet. I’m fed up of that thing!’ She gave the walker in the corner a glare so venomous that Amrita was glad not to have got in the way.

‘It’s just temporary.’

‘This one is.’ Sylvie glowered again. ‘But you and I both know there’s eventually going to be more things like that – and worse – in my life. That’s what degenerative means.’

‘I know.’ Amrita smiled sympathetically, hating what she knew the older woman was facing. ‘But this one is temporary while you’re recovering from your fall. We’ll get you there – but not too hard or fast, or you risk hurting yourself and needing it for longer.’

‘I’m not patient enough to be a good patient.’

‘You’re fine,’ Amrita reassured her. ‘And I don’t need you to be that patient. I prefer stubborn, so long as it’s in the right direction.’

‘And I’ve got stubborn in spades.’ Sylvie grinned.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’ Amrita grinned back. ‘It would be far too unprofessional!’

‘I like you. You’re a good laugh.’

‘Thanks. I try.’

‘Mostly my patience.’

‘Nope. You’re the stubborn, impatient patient.’ Amrita giggled. ‘Are you finishing your set or are you finished?’

‘Me, finished? Far from it!’ There it was – that spark of determination Amrita admired so much. ‘In fact, for the right price, I reckon I might be able to manage some of those stupid frog wriggles you like so much.’

Amrita had to think for a moment. ‘Do you mean the plié squats?’

‘Yeah, those. Caught sight of myself practising them in front of the mirror the other day and realised I looked like a frog too stupid to remember how to jump.’

‘Oh.’ Amrita had to bite her lips together hard and concentrate on mentally running through the different muscles and tendons they were working to strengthen, to maintain her professionalism.

‘You can laugh.’ Sylvie was watching her, amusement and mischief sparkling in her eyes as she lowered her leg for the third time. ‘I bloody well did. Looked ridiculous – and at my age too!’

‘All right.’ Amrita gave in and chuckled. ‘What are a couple of sets of frog squats going to cost me?’

‘Some more of those things you brought the other week.’ Sylvie finished her leg lifts and wobbled to her feet and into position behind the back of the chair. ‘The…’ She shook her head and tutted at herself. ‘It’s on the tip of my tongue. You know, the crunchy, hot-tasting pointy things.’

‘Samosas?’

‘Samosas. Yes. Thank you. Now you’ve said it, it’s obvious.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, some days I think it’s a competition between menopause and Huntington’s trying to drain my brain and turn me into a blithering idiot first. Did I tell you I spent half the morning looking for my glasses?’

She had, but Amrita wouldn’t remind her. Sylvie’s often unreliable memory was a frequent source of frustration for the older woman – sometimes more than the physical discomfort she was in. ‘Obviously you found them.’