‘Sam, if you’re finding it isn’t what you expected or you’re not as keen as you thought you’d be, that’s perfectly OK. There is no branch of medicine at all which you could spend your life in, loving every single minute. Every area has its downside and midwifery isn’t all joy and delight.’

‘Not that. Hang on . . .’ They had turned into a side road and now Sam was slowing to a crawl behind an L-plated scooter which was skidding and sliding. ‘He’s not safe.’

Cat waited while Sam negotiated the tricky overtake, and glanced in his rear-view mirror to check that the scooter rider was still on the road.

‘I am so relieved you never once thought of wanting a scooter, even if you did have a flirtation with the idea of a souped-up Harley- Davidson. Your present motorbike worries me enough as it is.

‘Mum, I was fourteen.’

‘What’s happening with Rosie?’

She had always found it best with her elder son to attack a potentially touchy subject when he was off guard.

‘Nothing.’

‘Listen, you don’t have to tell me, but I don’t believe you. You kept ringing me and hanging up, you’ve barely mentioned her, you said you –’

‘OK, OK. Get off my case, Ma.’

‘Fine.’

‘And don’t get in a huff, and yes, I do know I can talk to you at any time blah-blah.’

‘No, you turn left.’

‘Not what the satnav says.’

Cat was silent. The road he had turned into was a cul-de-sac which had not been gritted, so that reversing down it and round the corner took all Sam’s concentration.

‘Well done.’

He grunted but there was no more conversation for the next ten minutes, until they pulled up outside a large detached house, one of four, very new and spaced well apart.

‘Ah, the luxury of private medicine,’ Sam said.

‘Will you ring the vet while I’m inside? Number’s on the sticker.’

Sam rolled his eyes. In spite of being a long-time and efficient smartphone user, his mother still insisted on having various coloured Post-it notes, scrawled with vital numbers, stuck to the dashboard.

A text message came in with a name and address, and Girl, 4, high temp and rash, a second followed immediately with an address and Mr Curtis’s headaches again. There was a pause and Sam was about to call the vet when he saw a missed call. Listened to the voice message.

‘Dr Cat, this is Sister Odewe, Fleming Ward at Bevham General. I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Please contact me about Lionel Brown.’

Sam called the vet’s before anyone else could jump in.

‘Oh yes, poor little Wookie . . . Michael is in charge of him, hold on.’