‘It means we’re going to have to take your granddad to hospital,’ she says. ‘Is your granddad diabetic?’

‘Yes. He’s got a black bag in the car.’

‘Great, that’ll help me lots.’ The paramedic stands up and starts to move Granddad further into the ambulance.

‘Felix!’ I look out and see Mr Keytes standing by the ambulance doors. Beside him, Jake and Rebecca are standing on tiptoes, peering in.

‘Is your granddad okay?’ asks Jake. ‘Tell him I’m sorry I thought he was a spy.’

‘Jake,’ says Mr Keytes. ‘We don’t need silly stuff from you now.’ He holds out his hand to me. ‘Felix,’ he says. ‘I think it best you come with us.’

‘But my granddad,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to leave him.’ I look back at Granddad. His tie is skew-whiff and his best suit is creased. He tries to speak, but all I hear is a muffled mumble.

‘What’s that, Granddad?’ I ask.

‘Francke,’ says the paramedic, ‘I know it’s frustrating, but for the moment it’s best you leave the mask on and try not to speak.’

Granddad shakes his head irritably, like a bee just went into his ear. Granddad mumbles again.

‘BP one hundred and eight over sixty-two, HR eighty-two. We’re beginning to stabilise now, Francke, but we’ll go to the hospital to be safe,’ the paramedic says calmly, which begins to make me feel calmer too.

‘Can I talk to him before he goes?’ I ask.

The paramedic looks at Granddad, like he’s going to ask him, but Granddad’s already pulling at his mask.

‘Go on,’ says the paramedic, smiling. ‘Just a quick word.’

Granddad moves the mask onto his cheek and mutters something, but he’s so breathy I can’t hear.

I lean over him.

‘It’s okay, Granddad,’ I say. ‘I love you too.’

Granddad shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

‘No,’ he whispers. ‘Did you win?’

Is It Okay to Pray Only When You Want Something?

Dear God . . . Dear God . . . Is it okay . . . Do you mind if . . .

I’m lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling with my hands on my chest. I’ve been thinking of a prayer for Granddad, but every time I go to start I hear Mum’s voice downstairs as she talks to Dad on the phone. Part of me wants to listen, the other part of me wants to wrap a pillow around my head and block it all out.

Dear God . . .

‘Is he awake?’

I know I haven’t prayed since Grandma was ill.

‘Is he talking?’

And I know that didn’t work.

‘Does he know you’re there?’

But I’m sure you tried.

‘I’m sure he’ll be okay.’

And . . .

‘One minute . . .’ For a moment Mum’s voice gets louder as she walks into the hallway. ‘Yes. I know. I’ll move into the sitting room.’

Click.