Ordinarily, Moira Weston would not have been so appreciative of the lack of net curtains in Olivia's flat. No, not flat. The slightly nicer ones were known as "apartments", weren't they? Moira had learned this fact from her younger son, who lived in one himself.
Of course, Claudine's had, undeniably, been a flat. A council flat. But Claudine - well, she had been Claudine, hadn't she?
And Moira's daughter had ended up in that house, of course. A shared house, some sort of supported housing. The very house opposite, which was being steadily emptied by a housing clearance firm. Yet another lorry was being filled with the clutter Claudine had accumulated, over the years. Such a silly girl. She ought to have been throwing out her junk as she went along, but there was no telling her, never had been, and Moira had long since given up trying.
After all, they all had their own lives now. And hers was centred around her ninety-nine-year-old mother, two sons, and four grandchildren.
"Tea or coffee, Moira?" asked Olivia.
"Tea, please. Milk, no sugar," Moira replied, thinking what a lovely, polite girl her nineteen-year-old great niece was.
Pity Claudine hadn't been a little more like her.
And, whilst Olivia certainly should purchase some net curtains in the near future, that wasn't for Moira to say. At present, their absence had its advantages.
"It's so sad, about that woman across the street," said Olivia. "I didn't know her at all - saw her around sometimes. But, according to Leanne from Number Twelve, they think it was suicide."
Time for appropriate, and brief, words, prior to a rapid diversion. It really did no good to dwell upon these things. You did what you could in life, but in the end, they all had their own lives to be getting on with. That was what Moira herself was doing, and she would continue to encourage the same approach in those around her, particularly family.
Of course, Olivia hopefully knew nothing about Claudine, and Claudine was told as little as possible about anyone or anything. Moira was grateful for the cooperation of her brother and two sisters, who had complied with her requests that her daughter be given no information at all about who any of Claudine's brothers or cousins married, or had relationships with. She was to know nothing about the next generation. The less she knew, the less trouble she could be to any of them. People simply didn't want to hear Claudine, going on about her problems. She might have called it "being open", but in Moira's day, you did not discuss mental illness and period problems and the like, as if those were things to be proud of.
The one major advantage of the fact that Claudine had married That Man was that she no longer bore the name of Weston. Even if anyone actually read those so-called "novels" of hers, which Moira doubted, there was nothing to connect her to any of them. And even her Christian name meant nothing to the younger members of the family. Moira had done all she possibly could, in that direction. Even she couldn't control the spread of information entirely, in this day and age, with the internet at everyone's disposal. But, let's face it - people had their own lives. No one was interested in tracking down missing second cousins online. Long-dead ancestors, perhaps - but not mysterious, recently-dead-by-suicide, second cousins.
If it even had been suicide, which Moira frankly questioned. Her daughter had been an attention seeker. At best, her death had probably been self-harm-for-attention-gone-wrong. Claudine always had brought these things on herself.
For her part, Moira had only to ensure that her daughter did not bring shame upon Moira herself, or the rest of the family. Claudine was such a selfish person, always had been. Typical of her to be creating drama, to the bitter end. All she need have done, after all, was to get on with her own life, like everyone else. How difficult could that have been?
Of course, Richard's side of the family had refused to entirely shun Claudine. That could present a few minor issues. But Moira's late husband's side didn't have much, if any, contact with hers. The situation ought to be manageable.
She thanked Olivia for the cup of tea, before taking her first sip.
