I leaned against the wall in the corner, registering now that I looked a fright. I’d thrown a jumper and coat on, but I was basically in pyjamas and Ugg boots. Although these days it could easily be taken for leisure wear, I realized, looking around at the track-suited crew. Happily my phone was in my coat pocket. I took it out and checked it. No messages – good. No family members I had to reply to and lie to by omission. I wouldn’t reply, I decided, if anything came through from Helena or the children. Could easily just be out of signal. I also held off from ringing Dad. I’d wait until I had something concrete to report, and if it was bad, I’d go home and tell him myself. I shut my eyes. Please God, don’t let it be bad. Please God, don’t let me have to break terrible news to my father.

Finally, some people left and I nipped to a chair. They’d left a copy of The Times behind, so I made myself read it from cover to cover. That was no quick feat, so when I glanced at the clock, an hour had passed and it was mid-morning. The waiting room was thinning out so, confident I’d keep my chair, I approached the desk, behind which sat a team of nurses. They didn’t look up. I cleared my throat, and asked about Mum in an apologetic, British way.

A ginger-haired nurse looked away from her screen and regarded me wearily. ‘Name?’

‘Cecily Hartley.’

She scanned her computer. ‘We’ll let you know.’ She resumed her tapping.

‘Right. Thanks.’

I crept back to my seat. No news is good news, I told myself. If there was anything badly wrong, they’d come and find me. Time ticked by.

‘Lucy?’ I’d been in the far corner of the room, scrabbling around for another newspaper on the plastic coffee table. I glanced up. Dan was standing over me in an old Barbour jacket. He looked kind and concerned.

‘Oh – Dan! Gosh, what a coincidence. What are you doing here?’

‘Mum rang your mother for a chat this morning and got your father. He told her what had happened. I’ve just dropped her off. To sit with him and have some lunch.’

‘Oh, that’s so kind, thank you.’ Dad had been on my mind. ‘He’ll cheer up immeasurably with Nance there.’

‘Exactly. And Mum’s delighted to be in a strong capable role for once. She was heating up soup we brought and telling him it’ll all be fine when I left them. Will it be fine?’

I swallowed hard. ‘Who knows. I mean, she’s eighty-four. It’s an occupational hazard at that age, isn’t it? Death?’ I made myself say it.