“Aztec biscuits?” Jem’s guess was confirmed when she spied the pieces of cornflakes. She offered Rosie first pick. “I’ve not had these in ages. Mum would make them for me whenever I landed in the hospital.”

Her dad chuckled. “I should’ve bought shares in Kellogg’s. Jem was single-handedly keeping the buggers in business.”

“They’re really good,” Rosie said through a mouthful, her hand catching crumbs. “Can I leave my butty and have these instead? That’s okay, isn’t it? We’ve had a very stressful day.”

“Just this once,” Jem’s dad said. “Ferg was all for hopping on the next train when I spoke to him, but I persuaded him to stay put and give his presentation.”

“Thank you,” Jem said. Knowing how much preparation Ferg had put in for the event, she hadn’t wanted to tell him what had happened, but neither had she wanted him to read about it in the paper. “I’ll text him later and make sure he’s not on the sleeper express.”

Her dad put his half-eaten biscuit down. “Did the news get it right? They said the fire was started deliberately.”

“We think so,” Jem said. She could see he was furious, but she couldn’t be angry or vengeful or anything much at all when just staying awake was demanding everything from her.

“Bloody bastards,” he said. He rarely swore unless severely provoked. He sniffed in deference to Rosie; if he’d been wearing his cap, he would probably have tipped it. “Sorry, love.”

Rosie bit into another biscuit. “No need to apologise. I swear like a sailor.”

“It’s true,” Jem said. “She’s a terrible influence.”

Her dad was watching them both, his expression inscrutable, and she saw him relax in subtle increments. His jaw unclenched, and he stopped picking at the dry skin on his fingers. His mobile had chimed with her mum’s ringtone twice since he’d arrived, but he hadn’t looked at the messages. He’d always been the one to stay with Jem in the children’s ward, making dens out of the camp bed he was supposed to be sleeping on, and bringing in enough sweets to share around. The habit had died hard, although these days he tended to keep her company only if she was admitted to the HDU or the ITU.

“Get going if you need to,” she said. “I’m all right, really.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve only just arrived.” He sighed as his phone rang again. “We got twins on an emergency placement this morning. The lad’s autistic and a real handful. He helped to make those biscuits, but ten minutes later he smashed the kitchen up.”

Jem turned over to face him properly. It left her winded, but she persevered. “Dad, please go home, or I’ll be worrying about Mum.”