Page 6 of Safe Hands

She’d planned to stay longer, to prove she wasn’t just a name on the lease, but it was approaching seven. Her nieces would be going up soon, and Carly knew what it was to lie under a duvet mapping the argument downstairs, tracking whose voice was winning.

They didn’t need to know it too.

Fifteen minutes later, Carly stood in her sister’s hallway, staring at a decapitated Barbie doll.

“What the hell happened?”

She stepped over a minefield of Lego. The harsh spotlights illuminated chaos: jam smeared across the table, bags emptied on the floor, dishes strewn along the worktop. Carly’s stomach tightened with the old reflexive urge to tidy and restore order before anyone noticed the mess.

Samantha appeared in the doorway, arms folded, her new shoulder-length bob lacquered into a helmet.

“It wasn’t me. I went to see Dad and came home to find the house destroyed by three children.”

“You’ve only got two.”

“I’m married to the third.”

Carly managed a weak smile. “Where are they?”

“I sent them out for a walk while I cleaned. I needed five minutes of peace, because on top of this circus, I’m looking after the damn dog.”

“Berkeley?” Carly scanned the room for their dad’s German Shepherd. “Why?”

“Because Dad hasn’t walked him in weeks, and he won’t admit he can’t manage. That’s why I was calling you. We need to talk about what happens next.”

Something moved under Samantha’s brisk delivery—a hairline crack, right on what happens next, there and gone before Carly could be sure she’d seen it. Samantha covered it by squaring a coaster that didn’t need squaring.

Carly draped Beth’s blazer over a chair and grabbed a cloth. “Go on.”

“He needs full-time care.”

“And who’s paying?”

“The business, surely. Otherwise, what was the point of all his hard work?”

Carly scrubbed at a sticky patch on the table. Samantha had done well out of that hard work. The wedding. The house deposit. The new kitchen.

“Care homes are not cheap,” Carly said. “If he won’t sell the house, he’ll end up paying two sets of bills. I need to see the accounts before we promise anything.”

“And Berkeley?” Samantha asked. It wasn’t a question. It was an eviction notice. “Maybe you could take him.”

“He needs space and company. I’m out all day.”

“Then rehome him.”

“No chance.” Carly’s head snapped up. “He’s Dad’s dog.”

Samantha narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps we should try Beth. She must still be good for something. Have you heard from her?”

“Yes.” Carly held her gaze. “She’s managing the new gym.”

“She’s what?”

“She needed work. Dad asked me to help her.”

“Oh, great. So while we’re scraping for care money, you’re handing out salaries to loonies?”

“She’s not a loony. She’s family.”