“I don’t cope very well,” Jem said. She’d been hanging on by a thread for hours now, tolerating the needles and the side effects of the drugs, and telling herself they were a small price to pay for being alive. In truth she was sore and cranky, and she wanted to go home to her own bed and sleep for a week. “I hate being in the hospital, and I hate my fucking crappy lungs. They’re rubbish at the best of times, but when they’re bad they…It feels…” She faltered; she hadn’t tried to put this into words before. “It feels like there’s a brick wall sat in my chest, and I have to force every breath over that wall, and sometimes I get to the point where I can’t do it on my own.” She started to cough and took a gulp from the glass of water Rosie handed her, swallowing convulsively until the irritation subsided.

“I think you’re dead brave,” Rosie said.

“I’m just used to it.” It was a fact, not a play for pity. “And you saw me in Resus, Rosie. I’m anything but brave.”

“Bollocks,” Rosie said, and she sounded like she meant it, despite Jem’s scepticism and lingering embarrassment. “I was scared to death watching you. You, meanwhile, were busy cutting deals with Dr. Lacey. I bet there aren’t many people she does that for.”

It took Jem a minute to catch Rosie’s reference. She couldn’t remember the specifics of that conversation with Harriet, only the all-encompassing fear and the sheer relief brought about by the outcome. Given the circumstances, Harriet probably hadn’t decoded any of it for Rosie, and Jem thought she should at least try to.

“I didn’t want to be tubed,” she said. “When they put you to sleep and stick you on a ventilator. I’m terrified of it.” The admission cost her nothing; Rosie had already seen her at her worst.

“Right.” Rosie’s eyes widened. “Christ. Was that on the cards?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t far off. If the CPAP hadn’t worked, it would’ve been the next option.” Jem stretched her palm on the windowpane, letting it cool before placing it against her sticky forehead. “My dad’s always been there when they’ve done it, and his face is the last thing I see before the drugs hit me. He’ll smile at me and tell me he’ll see me when I wake up, but he gets this tic at the corner of his eye when he’s worried, and I don’t know whether I’ll be able to wake up again, and he obviously doesn’t know either.” Her voice and her courage wavered. She had never said this to anyone. Not to her dad, not to Ferg, not to anyone. “Perhaps one day I won’t.”