He scurried to the bedside table, picked up the tray and placed the water jug next to my lamp. I took the chair away, opened the door and stood to one side to let him out. He stopped in the doorway.

‘We didn’t want to lose you, Ash,’ he said again.

‘There’s more than one way to lose someone, Dad,’ I said as I shut the door on him.

Maybe I should’ve eaten something, even though the thought made me want to throw up. But I needed a clear mind and my blood sugar must have been disastrously low. I knew Dad would bring those chips back in a flash, but I didn’t want anything from them. The water would have to do. Maybe hunger would sharpen my mind, rather than dull it. Because at two o’clock I would be a defence lawyer. Mum, the prosecutor, would be arguing for the death penalty and she’s educated and super-intelligent and articulate and … and ruthless.

I had an oral presentation to prepare. I suck at them. Always have. That would have to change.

Mum sat on the couch in the living room. The windows had been dimmed, but there was still plenty of light. She didn’t look good, as if she hadn’t had any sleep either. I rummaged through my feelings to see if I could find any sympathy. Nope. I’d used it all up. Dad sat at her side. He was chewing his lip and one hand plucked at his earlobe. Mum was like a statue. I took the armchair opposite, a glass coffee table between us. That was another antique, like the couch and the chairs and the paintings on the walls. I used to think the whole place was beautiful. I didn’t feel that way now.

‘Aiden doesn’t have to die,’ I said. Mum held up her hand, but I knew what she was going to say. I’d had plenty of time to think all this through. ‘You were going to say he has never been alive, in the biological sense, so he cannot die. That’s just words. I’m going to talk about life and death. You might not like those terms, but to be honest, I don’t care. We will not be arguing about the meanings of words, because that’s just going to get in the way.’

Mum wanted to say something, she wanted to argue. I could see it in her face. But she nodded, folded her hands in her lap, fixed me with her eyes.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So, I’ll come back to that, but I want to ask a couple of questions first. Is that goo he eats vital to his survival?’

Mum shook her head. She was on solid ground here. We were talking about facts, rather than feelings, and Mum always was the master of facts.