It was quiet for a moment, and the room darkened as the morning’s persistent drizzle became a downpour that splashed off the windowsill. Beyond the door, someone’s off-key whistling competed with the drone of a floor cleaner.

“Can our second date just be dinner and a movie?” Jem asked as the cleaner moved on and the whistling faded.

“That sounds perfect.” The words left Rosie in a rush of unguarded happiness. Last night had been hell, but they’d got each other through it in one piece, Jem was on the mend, and a proper date was still on the cards. Rosie felt weightless somehow, as if she too had had a brick wall in her chest and it had suddenly fallen. She ran her fingers across the back of Jem’s hand, tracing the livid bruise left behind by an IV. “How’s about I cook and we sprawl on the sofa to watch something daft?”

“Mm,” Jem murmured, half-drowsing. The hand Rosie was still stroking was splayed on the sheets. “Can we have popcorn?”

“I think that can be arranged. Now go to sleep, or Harriet won’t be letting you out on Sunday.”

“She bloody will,” Jem said, but her vehemence was undermined somewhat when she began to snore.

Rosie’s search for the paper’s sudoku was interrupted by a nurse coming in to start Jem on a neb. Inured to being mauled about with, Jem didn’t stir, and the nurse nodded his approval as her sats improved.

“Brew?” he whispered to Rosie.

“Yes, please.”

Shortly after he had left, the door opened again. Rosie turned in anticipation, but her smile vanished as Steph hurried over to her. She crouched by Rosie’s chair and pulled her into an embrace, then cupped her face and kissed her. Rosie froze, caught completely off-guard, though every fibre of her wanted to smack Steph’s hands away and wipe the taste of Steph’s gloss from her lips.

“Just—no.” She shoved back hard in the chair, sending its legs squealing across the tiles and waking Jem, whose eyes widened as she yanked at the nebuliser. Rosie went to Jem’s side, evading Steph’s attempt to intercept her. “Hey. Sorry, it’s okay,” she said, perching on the bed and righting the mask. She had done this so many times in the night that it felt like second nature. “You’re okay.”

Jem glanced beyond Rosie, and there was an uncommon ferocity in her expression when she looked back. She laid a hand on Rosie’s thigh, despite Rosie’s reassuring nod, and didn’t move it even when Steph’s lips thinned into a bitter line.

“I was worried about you,” Steph said before Rosie could speak. “You didn’t answer my calls.” She stood, forcing Rosie to look up at her, and folded her arms. Rosie recognised the stance and the tone, but neither had any impact.