Off we went at quite some speed, with blue flashing lights, siren blaring, even jumping traffic lights – the full bollocks, as Imo would say. The journey seemed to daze my mother and she sat there quietly without a word. In fact, I wondered for a moment if Dad were right, if we were overreacting. The minute, however, the ambulance stopped outside the hospital, that terrible rasping cough, together with the green slime, began again. She started to shake violently. After that, I was a mere spectator. The ambulance crew jumped out and ran round to open the doors. We were met by a team of two, one a capable male nurse with a wheelchair. When they’d lifted her into it, off he shot.

‘Should I come in?’ I asked his colleague as we trotted alongside her, down the corridor.

‘Just wait in the waiting room when we get there, please. We need to assess her and do some tests. You’ll know as soon as we have any results.’

I was jogging to keep up with her. She was still shaking and hacking away and looked terrible, what I could see of her, bent double as she almost was now, in the chair. Her tiny frame was heaving with the effort. I felt panicky. Why so small? Surely I’d been feeding her? But she ate so little. Some grey swing doors were approaching and I bent down in front of her, without interrupting the flow of the chair.

‘Mum? Mum – I’m going to be right outside, OK?’ I said loudly. ‘You’re in good hands and I’m right here, all right?’ She looked alarmed and it occurred to me she didn’t recognize me for a moment. ‘Mum, it’s Lucy, OK?’

‘Lucy,’ she repeated and her face cleared a bit with recognition.

The male nurse shot me a sympathetic look. ‘All right, love, we’ll take her now.’

‘Yes, of course.’

And they were gone. I stayed still for a moment as the doors swung shut in my face. Then my shoulders slumped and I turned in defeat. She’d be OK. She’d be absolutely fine. Of course she would. And heavens, she was in the best place. The finest hands. We’d got her here in double quick time.

I got myself a black coffee from the machine and took a seat at the back. It was still early, but already it was noisy with children. Worried parents were trying to calm them. A television above the nurses’ station was showing CBeebies. An old wino was stretched out on the three chairs beside me, fast asleep and snoring. Understanding, suddenly, why that seat had been free, I moved to one at the front. Now I was squashed between an enormous man with breathing difficulties and a small boy who couldn’t stop crying. Actually, I’d stand.