‘There’s nothing new,’ Marina said. She lay quietly with her eyes closed, and then her mouth trembled and she began to weep. ‘My white cell count is very high. All my joints are swollen, my elbows and knees, everywhere, and you can see the awful bruises. It’s too much pain, darling. I don’t want to end my life like this, lying around like a dead weight, useless and ugly. I’m so hideous I can’t bear to look at myself. All I ever had was beauty, and now that’s been taken away from me too. I don’t want everyone to remember me withered and helpless. Oh God, I can’t do this. I just can’t do it.’

She began to cry. Great gulping sobs shook her frail body. Camilla found a soft facecloth and sprinkled it with cool water and cologne, smoothing it over Marina’s face and arms, trying to calm her. There was no sense in cheery phrases intended to bolster her confidence or to offer false hope. They both knew that the circumstances were bleak and finite, and neither one of them was given to platitudes. When Marina was quiet again, Camilla made her way to the kitchen and heated a little vegetable soup that Mrs Maskell had prepared. The smell of toast made her realise that she had only eaten an apple all day, and she cut two slices of bread and ate them quickly, spread with a thick layer of butter and jam. Then she put her mother’s tray together and spent half an hour coaxing her to take a small amount of nourishment.

‘You must eat something before you have your medicine, otherwise it will give you a horribly upset tummy and add to your problems. Would you like a hot-water bottle? Some socks on your feet? You seem to be very cold. Mother, are you sure you shouldn’t be in the hospital, just until this swelling subsides? What about another blood transfusion?’

Marina shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’m seeing David Ward again next week, but I don’t want to be in the hospital. Not yet, please. Give me my tablets for the pain and then I’ll sleep. That’s what I’d really like to do – just sleep.’

‘I’m staying the night. Will that be all right?’

There was a question within the question and Marina nodded, resigned. Camilla helped her into the bathroom, looking at the delicate limbs with their angry, bulbous appearance and the bruised skin. It was an effort for Marina to use even a soft toothbrush, and there were crimson traces from her bleeding, swollen gums when she rinsed her mouth. She was like a rag doll that flopped and dragged as she moved, and Camilla staggered a little as she half carried her to bed, surprised at the dead weight of the slight body. She pulled up the bedclothes and turned out the light.