The surgery had gone as well as hoped, she was told as Marcy was settled on the ventilator while drugs to maintain her blood pressure were tapered down. Again, her entire head was swathed in dressings, apart from her eyes and mouth forming three shadowy gashes in the ghoulish white of the helmet. It was stifling in the cubicle, the way it had to be for burns patients, but Claudia hardly noticed the heat. She was transfixed by the discoloration around her mother’s left eye where fluorescein dye, the nurse explained, had been used to check the depth of the burns. There was no sign of infection, she was assured, although it remained a concern, so drops would be regularly applied to reduce the risk. A further surgery was scheduled for tomorrow to take skin from her underarm in order to remake the left eyelid.

Claudia had never heard of such astonishing procedures before, and would have been happy to remain unenlightened.

“We’ll be keeping her sedated for at least the next few days,” the senior nurse informed her. “This will stop her fighting the ventilator, although the aim is to get her off of that as quickly as we can to avoid a chest infection.”

Claudia didn’t ask how much pain there was going to be once her mother was conscious; it was something that would have to be dealt with when it happened. For now, it was important simply to take one step at a time, and the fact that the second surgery hadn’t uncovered anything worse than was already known—as if that wasn’t terrible enough—must count as a blessing.

As the nurses worked quietly around the bed, Claudia sat down and took her mother’s right hand between both of hers. The skin was as soft and unblemished by fire as her own, while the other hand was in a boxing-glove-size dressing that continued up to her shoulder. All blisters had been removed during surgery and the small amount of exposed skin on her neck glistened red and raw each time a soothing coat of paraffin was applied. Through the small frame of bandages around the mouth it was possible to see that her lips were swollen and taut and silvery, and each time a nurse gently moved her head Claudia was reminded that beneath the dressings her mother’s burnt scalp was now entirely bald. What had been left of her hair on admission had been shaved off to avoid infection.

Time hissed and bleeped quietly by as Claudia tried to connect with her mother by telepathy, to assure her that she would get through this. You mustn’t worry about the house, she told her silently, or about anything else. You’re all that matters.