‘I know I’m going to die, Doc, I should have died last night, shouldn’t I?’

‘Not “should have” – but you easily might have done, that’s why –’

‘And I’m all right with that, I’m old – I’m too old. But I’m not dying in that hospital. My wife, Lois, did that and it was terrible, and I’m not having it happen to me. Why won’t you just take some notice of what I keep saying? Why doesn’t anyone take notice of you when you’re old? I’m ninety-five but I’m still all there, I’m the same person I always was and I know what I want and why, but nobody takes any notice. I thought you’d be different, but you’re not.’

His eyes were full of tears, not of sadness but of frustration, of apprehension and deep loneliness, and Cat felt ashamed of her own obtuseness. She had been thinking medically, which was right, but over her years as a GP she had prided herself that she always thought of her patients first and foremost as people, individuals, who needed and deserved more than fast diagnosis and treatment. It was those other things that took the time, but which were as vital as the medicine and which had always given her deep job satisfaction.

She stood up. ‘You’re absolutely right, Mr Brown, and you do right to remind me. I’m sorry. Listen, I’ll help you as best I can but I am not going to promise that I won’t ask you to go into hospital. I can’t do that, it would be irresponsible of me, and I would rightly be held to account if I gave you anything but the proper treatment. But I am going to make absolutely sure it is the best thing, I promise you that.’ She took his hand again. ‘Deal?’

His temperature had started to go up because she had covered him in blankets and a duvet, he had a hot-water bottle and the heating was now on. He had drunk two large mugs of sweet tea and one of water but he still needed intravenous hydration, his blood pressure was much too low and his breathing rattled. But his sight and hearing were fine, he had no numbness or paralysis, and although his speech had been slightly slurred when she had first arrived, it had improved. Nevertheless, even if his stroke had been minor and transient, at his age he was at high risk of suffering another, and it would be negligent not to send him into Bevham General for rehydration, and a full assessment – the stroke unit there was outstanding.

She was still holding Lionel’s hand, mulling it over, when the ambulance arrived and the paramedics were knocking on the door, accompanied by the warden, Sadie Logan.

‘I’ll go with you to the hospital, Lionel, it’s not a problem.’