Grace was coming in and out of it. ‘I can’t feel the catheter, Ma,’ she said. ‘It’s like I have no bladder. Haven’t wanted to go all day.’

‘Oh, you’ve gone all right,’ Lenny said.

‘My mouth is dry.’

Lenny poured her water.

‘And this button isn’t working again.’

‘It’s not broken, Gracie,’ he said. ‘You’ve just reached your limit.’

‘They’re very scabby with the painkillers, Ma.’

‘I’m sure they’re doing their best, love,’ Molly replied. It was hard to see Grace so diminished. She was pale, with flushed cheeks, the pain etched into her face. She hadn’t moved anything but her button-pushing thumb since Molly had arrived. She was petrified in place.

‘Are you going to the gig, Ma?’

‘Ah yeah, I’ll pop my head in through the door. It’s for Rabbit and Johnny, after all.’

‘If you’re not careful, you’ll miss it,’ Lenny said.

‘You’re not going, Lenny?’

‘Nah, Stephen took the kids, and he’s going off with his girlfriend afterwards. I’m staying here as long as they’ll let me.’

‘You don’t need to,’ Grace said.

‘I’m not leaving you alone, not if I don’t have to.’

When Lenny left to get some tea, Molly moved closer to her daughter.

‘Better, Gracie?’

‘Better, Ma.’

‘Good girl.’

‘Do you want to see them?’ Grace asked. ‘I still can’t look but Lenny says they’re nice.’

‘Well then, he wouldn’t lie.’

‘He fuckin’ would.’

‘What matters is you’re here with us, I’ve got your hand in mine, I hear your voice, I see your mouth move as you speak. I feel your breath on my face—’

‘Oh shite, sorry, giz a mint, will you?’

Molly took a mint out of a packet and tried to hand it to Grace but her arms refused to budge, so she popped it in her mouth. ‘I was being poetic.’

‘Well, you were trying . . .’ Grace said, and she chuckled a little. ‘Ow, ouch, ow, ow, ow . . . No laughing.’

‘Well, that’s OK,’ Molly said. ‘I’m not laughing.’

‘My da’s still angry with me, isn’t he, Ma?’

‘He just doesn’t understand, Grace.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Does he hate me?’

‘Of course not. You know what he’s like. He’ll come round.’

‘He’s hurting me, Ma,’ she said, and she was suddenly weeping.

‘I’m sorry, Grace.’ In Molly’s mind she was hitting Jack across the head with a bag of oranges.

Grace pressed the button urgently once more and the meds coursed through her veins and her face relaxed. ‘Ahhh, it’s working again, Ma,’ she said, and she smiled a little, ‘like warm waves. Do you remember when we were kids those summers in Blackpool – Davey, me and Rabbit all playing in the warm waves?’

‘I remember Blackpool. I don’t ever recall it being warm.’