The woman who "does"

My sister has a largish family house to run, somewhere in the West of England. She is not well at the moment, so, to lighten the household chores, has acquired a cleaner.
I should say that my sister has had a life long passion for helping the unfortunate and the disposessed. That passion usually manifests itself in terms of dogs from the shelter, taking in an unwanted guinea pig and the like. Two legged animals are not immune though.
The cleaning woman comes for a couple of hours, two or three times a week. My sister described her most recent visit thus:
“There’s a routine. When she gets here, the first thing she does is to put the kettle on and wait for it to boil, then she makes a cup of coffee for us both.
“Over the coffee there’s a discussion about what she’s going to do. Agreement having been reached, she says
“‘I don’t want to light up in front of you in your condition’ but she has a cigarette anyway, in spite of herself.
“After doing whatever it was we agreed, she has another break complete with cigarette, then we chat for a bit and after that I drive her to the bus-stop.
“I think it’s doing her good, though, coming to me!”
I wondered aloud who paid whom and for what service.
“Oh, I pay her, but it nearly all goes on bus fares now she’s moved to the next town.
“Mind you her brother’s even worse, never worked at all and just came out of prison.”
I asked her what he’d been in prison for.
“A failed armed robbery, he tried to hold up a post office with a toy gun” she said. “I was thinking of getting him to come round and do something here, but I’m not going to bother: I haven’t the strength to pick up any more waifs and strays at the moment.”
Good decision.