‘Okay,’ says Julia. ‘The muscle pain sounds normal for someone who has spent several weeks in the ICU. As for the lungs, we’ll monitor the progress of their recovery closely. You’ll have another X-ray when you go for your out-patient appointment and that will pinpoint any anomalies. Otherwise, it appears that, physically, you’re recovering well.’

I look down at my fingers. The skin is regrowing. It is pink and wrinkled, like a newborn baby. It makes me angry. The fact that my body, its skin and cells, are regenerating while my beautiful daughter is decaying in a grave.

‘It’s your psychological recovery that I’m more concerned about,’ says Julia.

I look up. She is staring at her computer screen, her chin resting on her hand.

‘Maggie,’ she says, turning to me. ‘If it’s all right with you, I’d like to ask you some questions.’

‘What sort of questions?’

‘Don’t look so worried,’ she says, smiling. ‘It’s nothing scary, just part of the check-up.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. ‘Worry seems to be my default setting at the moment.’

Julia nods her head then pulls her computer keypad towards her. I watch as she begins to type.

‘I’ve noticed your hands are very shaky,’ she says, without looking up.

‘Yes,’ I say, placing my hands palms down on the desk. ‘They’ve been like that since I came round.’

‘It’s very common for that to happen after suffering hypoxia,’ says Julia. ‘Though your CT scan shows very little damage to the brain, your nerves will have been affected by the lack of oxygen when you were in the water. But in your case I think the tremors may be exacerbated by your emotions. So if we’re going to treat it I think we come at it from a psychological rather than a physical angle.’

I look down at my hands. The shaking has stopped for a moment because I’m pressing my palms into the desk but I know that as soon as I lift them up it will start again. It’s like they are shaking in tandem with my heart.

‘Now you mentioned you’re taking codeine,’ continues Julia, turning from her computer to me. ‘How are you getting on with that?’

‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘But to be honest, I can deal with the physical pain.’

Julia raises her eyebrows.

‘The not knowing is just … it’s horrific,’ I explain, choking back the tears. ‘I just want to get my memory back.’

‘I know you do,’ says Julia gently.

‘It’s frustrating because I can remember snippets,’ I say, dabbing at my eyes with the sodden tissue. ‘But that’s all they are. I have no way of connecting them.’

‘What do you mean?’