Charlie looked from Harry, who seemed incredibly little, propped up on the brilliant-white sheets of the hospital bed, to his mother, who, though calm, looked tired. This was the reality of a hospital stay with a CF patient, he realised; long hours waiting for medications to take effect, constant monitoring, and in between, trying to fill the time for a young child. No wonder Rachel was tired. He felt his throat constrict as he glanced back at Harry, who, aside from being a little bit pale, seemed in good spirits, possibly to do with the huge pile of sweets on the top of the cupboard next to him. Tearing his gaze back to Rachel, he took a deep breath.

‘I want to help properly this time,’ Charlie said, keeping his voice low, respectful of the fact that Harry, like all children, had ears on elastic. ‘I made a mistake by stepping away from your campaign. This time, I’ll do things right.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘When Hugo Fitzgerald was the MP, I was frustrated because he wouldn’t speak up for us, but at least I knew where we stood. It became a fight from the grass roots, with people who truly understood what it was like to be in our situation.’ She paused, and Charlie swallowed hard. Her clarity and grace under pressure was inspiring; he wished he’d had half her composure when he’d been caught on the hop during that ill-fated interview. ‘When you stepped up and asked that question at PMQs, I actually dared to hope that finally we’d have some support for getting this new medication funded. For a little while, Holly, me and all of the other families affected hoped things would start to change. But then you stepped back, for whatever reason.’ Rachel held up a hand as Charlie opened his mouth to interrupt. ‘I don’t expect you to explain or justify yourself to me, Charlie. I’m sure you’ve been through all that with Holly, and she’s made you go through it until you’re blue in the face as it is. The fact is that it happened, and suddenly we were back on our own again.’

‘I’m sorry—’ Charlie said, but Rachel cut him off.

‘I know you are.’ She smiled gently. ‘But being sorry doesn’t make Harry get better any faster. We need action, and we need it now, Charlie.’ She reached over and squeezed Harry’s little hand, and he promptly stuck his tongue out under the mask. ‘If you truly do mean to help us, then make it count. Otherwise it’s all just hot air and wasted breath. And this little one, and all of the other patients out there, they don’t have the breath to waste.’