‘The grant? One of the applications finally came through.’ I clear my throat and blink away the tears from my eyes as I stroke up and down Tabby’s back. ‘Here’s the thing, though. It covers a lot, but it doesn’t cover everything, so this is where the new job is really important. I’ll be able to afford it all,’ I add hurriedly, because I absolutely don’t want my parents worrying about the money side when I’m about to have the fruits of my prostitution raining down on me.

‘But the downside is that, for the next month or two, I really have to put my nose to the grindstone.’ I turn back to Tabs. ‘That means I have to work really, really hard. So Nana and Grandpa will start picking you up from school again, if that’s okay with them⁠—’

‘Of course it is!’ Dad interjects forcefully.

‘Okay then. Thank you. But the other thing is’—I scrunch up my face—‘I have to prove to my boss that I’m really committed. So if you have to go to hospital during school hours, it might have to be Nana and Grandpa who go along with you and not me.’

I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I’m telling my daughter that I’ll have to prioritise my new job over being there for her during one of her terrifying trips to A&E.

‘But it’s just for the first few weeks,’ I hasten to add. ‘Because once we’re back from the US, you should be right as rain and you won’t need any more hospital trips. Not emergency ones, anyway.’

‘Really?’ she asks, her brown eyes wide.

Yeah, she got my eyes. Fuck you, Professor Joseph Penn, and your recessive genes.

It hits me that she hasn’t fully processed the implications of her operation, and why should she? She’s eight years old, for crying out loud.

‘Really, sweetie. The doctor I spoke to earlier put it really well, actually. He reminded me that you’re not sick, you’ve just got one little piece of equipment that doesn’t work so well. It’s a bit like a bike that has a punctured tyre. If you change the tyre, it’s all good. So once they swap out your valve for a bigger one that can carry enough blood to your lungs, you should be dandy. No more blue spells. No more feeling faint. No more trips to A&E. That’s the plan, anyway. He said you’ll be turning cartwheels in no time.’

I give her my brightest, most optimistic smile, and she returns it.

‘Can I start rollerskating?’

‘Rollerskating. Dance lessons. Parkour. Whatever you like.’ I make a mental note to save a few extra grand for my daughter’s fully fledged extracurricular fun.