Outside, in reception, I rang my father. Told him the good news.

‘Oh darling!’ he bleated. He had to take a moment to steady himself. Then he shouted to Nance: ‘She’s fine!’ His voice cracked with emotion when he said it, which brought tears to my eyes. I swallowed. I was so pleased I’d beaten Dan to it; he was doubtless en route to pick his mother up. Not that he’d want to overtake me, but it was lovely to give my father the good news myself, and hear his voice.

It was lovely to see his face, too, when I got home half an hour later; Nance, indeed, had already departed. My father, bathed, shaved and dressed rather nattily in red cords and a pale yellow shirt, damp hair combed back, was coming out of the front door. He’d clearly heard the car and was eager for more news.

‘No drama. Apparently we caught the UTI and the chest infection before they became a problem, and apart from that she was just very dehydrated.’

‘You caught the chest infection and the whatchamacallit,’ he told me, giving my shoulders a squeeze as we walked back into the house together. ‘I was absolutely hopeless. In denial. Wouldn’t have done a thing. Would have told myself she was fine and brought her a cup of tea. For days, probably.’

‘Well, that’s natural, Dad,’ I told him gently. ‘We none of us want to face reality, and there was a good chance it could have been a bad cold.’ There wasn’t, but I wanted to give him this.

‘Well, thank God you were here, love. Can I see her?’

‘This evening,’ I told him. ‘In visiting hours. She’s just in a normal ward now, out of A&E. And home, as I say, tomorrow.’

He nodded, eyes bright, not quite trusting himself to speak. In a moment I saw him straighten his shoulders as he set about tidying the newspapers from yesterday, putting them in the recycling pile in the kitchen. Then he came back and insisted on taking the ash out of the grate himself, laying the kindling, and generally getting the house bright and cheerful for her, even though she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. I realized he’d thought the worst, as I had. At least I didn’t have that, I thought: the terrible grief my father would of course have one day – but not right now – of losing his life partner. The love of his life. I’d been spared that, with my life partner. But an empty, lonely feeling prevailed instead.

‘Nance must have been pleased,’ I said. ‘When you told her?’

He chuckled, bending down with almost superhuman ease to put a match to the fire. ‘Nancy’s a tough old bird. I think she’d almost moved in. Was practically rearranging the furniture.’