He sighed. Then jerked his head in defeat to his phone on the side. I gave it to him and he scrolled down and handed it back to me. I tapped it into mine.

‘And Trisha’s?’

He groaned. ‘Is that really necessary?’

I assured him it was, and actually, he was getting very drowsy now. I knew he wanted me to go. His eyes were shutting, so when I’d got the number I drew the curtains, shut the door and went downstairs. I sat on the bottom of the stairs and rang Trisha. She was in a meeting, but she came straight out. She was appalled and furious with him at the same time. And clearly worried. We decided I should go, and that she and Tilly would manage, and that she, Trisha, would not take no for an answer.

‘He won’t want you nursing him at this stage,’ she warned me. ‘It’s too demeaning for him. He’s proud.’

‘I know, that’s what I thought. It’s why I rang.’

‘So you disappear. And I’ll keep you posted regularly. I’m coming round now, can you leave me a key?’

‘I’ll put one under the flowerpot.’

‘Stupid fool. Imagine if Tilly hadn’t persisted? If he were coping alone?’ I shut my eyes. I didn’t like to imagine, actually. Knew, from nursing Ned, how serious the condition could be, how easily it could turn into sepsis, be fatal. ‘Some men think no fuss is honourable,’ Trisha went on. ‘Not mine, of course. Mine’s in bed if he so much as gets a tickle in his throat. Go, Lucy, and I’ll be in touch.’