‘All sorted. The concierge had a bikini delivered to the room for you.’ I lean right in. ‘Make sure you send me a selfie. It’s the least you can do.’

When I pull away again, I see with immense satisfaction that her attempt at looking outraged has flat-out failed. She looks a mix of pleased and flustered. I wink at her.

I promised I wouldn’t lay a finger on her at work.

I never said I wouldn’t play dirty while we weren’t at work.

‘So which bit do you want to build first?’ I ask, laying out the two main instruction booklets between us. ‘The swimming pool or the main house?’ I’m hoping she opts for the pool. The transparent blue bricks are begging to be assembled.

Tabby studies the booklets with the seriousness of a structural engineer.

‘The house book says number one. The swimming pool is number two. I think we should do them in order.’

Such a good little rule follower, just like her mum.

‘That’s a good point, but it’s just us. Sometimes you need to build LEGO stuff in order, but not with this one, because they’re both separate. So you should choose whichever one you’re most excited about. Life’s too short to leave the good stuff for last.’

She purses her lips as she focuses on her decision, then nods. ‘Then the swimming pool. Definitely.’

‘Excellent choice. Swimming pools are my speciality.’ I wink at her as I rip the first bag open and shower the table with bricks. ‘You know, I've probably built at least ten LEGO pools in my life, and God knows how many real ones.’

‘Ten?’ Her eyes widen. ‘That's a lot.’

‘Well, I'm practically ancient compared to you.’ I start sorting the blue pieces while she organises the tiny deck chairs. ‘Hey, when you're all better, I'll show you my LEGO room. It's my secret happy place.’

‘You have a whole room just for LEGO?’ She looks genuinely impressed.

‘Yep. Some people think grown-ups shouldn't play with toys.’ I lower my voice conspiratorially. ‘Those people are very boring.’

She giggles, and I notice her laugh has the same musical quality as her mother's.

‘My friend Emma says her dad doesn't play anymore. He just works and sleeps.’ She’s making quick work of sorting the blue, transparent pieces away from the others. ‘I think that's sad.’

‘Super sad,’ I agree, handing her another one. ‘What's the point of being a grown-up if you can't buy all the cool toys you want?’

‘I can’t wait,’ she says. It’s funny and wise and sad, because if feeling powerless is a pretty fundamental part of being a kid, God knows how powerless her health and financial woes have made her feel.

We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I'm surprised by how patient she is—no rushing ahead, carefully following each step.