‘Is everything OK?’ Holly trailed behind him. Still in her jeans, a white T-shirt and a patchwork waistcoat, she’d clearly just finished cashing up in the shop and hadn’t started getting ready for their date.

‘Holly…’ Charlie, who’d headed up the stairs to Holly’s cosy living area, turned helplessly back around as she came into the room.

‘Oh God, what’s happened?’ Immediately she was by his side, seeing the stricken look on his face. ‘Are you OK? Have you had some bad news?’

‘I think you’d better sit down.’ He felt as though his own knees were going to give way but resolved to stand for as long as he could, otherwise he knew he’d collapse.

‘What is it, Charlie? Please, you’re freaking me out.’

Charlie shook his head and then realised he was going to lose the battle with his legs. He reached out and took Holly’s hand, leading her gently to the sofa.

‘I’ve come to tell you that I can’t take Harry’s case for the new medication any further,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t be able to speak for him any more, for the moment at least.’

‘Wh-what?’ Holly looked as though she’d been slapped. All of the colour drained from her face, until a horrible red blush started to spread up her neck and into her cheeks as what Charlie had said began to sink in. ‘What do you mean? You asked the question at PMQs. How can you say that’s it?’

‘Holly…’ he swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to budge. ‘I got carpeted by the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care this afternoon. I thought she wanted to see me to discuss getting the case going again. She didn’t. She told me to take a step back. Let the committee do its job. Stop poking my nose into things I didn’t understand.’

‘And you listened to her?’ Holly’s voice, formerly a whisper, rose suddenly. ‘She told you to back off and so that’s it? You’re dumping Harry and the rest of the CF patients just like that?’

‘There was nothing else I could do,’ Charlie said wearily. ‘If I don’t agree to back off, she’ll see to it that I never get anywhere near the Department of Health. All doors will be closed. I’ll be stuck on the back benches for the rest of this Parliament and probably the one after that, if I’m fortunate enough to get re-elected. Powerless to do anything, for anyone.’