The pain which hits him is astonishing in its severity and suddenness, as if he’s suffered a violent sledgehammer blow to the chest. Without knowing how he got there, he finds himself on his knees, leaning on the toilet seat with one arm, holding himself with the other, as if doing so will help reduce the pain. He’s going to be sick, but doesn’t want to be, as being sick’s incompatible with lying down. He lies down now – his body compels him – as his mind is urgently weighing the possibility that this might be it, whatever it becomes. Yet there’s a remnant of instinct crying out, a glimmer of hope that he might survive, if he can get help. It’s that instinct which makes him struggle to shout – though the best he can manage is more of a groan – and realise if there’s to be help, he must let them in. Before the black descends, with everything that’s in him he reaches up and turns the key to unlock the bathroom door.

What Jack remembers next is a view of the basin pedestal and his face on the bath-mat; the pressure of the door in his back, and someone calling his name; two men in green suits, and a yellow mask over his face; a needle in his arm, and the lessening of pain; being manhandled into a chair, and a skewed view of the pictures on the landing walls; Evan’s tearful face, and the worry written on Claire’s; the slam of the ambulance doors.

Beyond that, nothing.

Even though he feels like death, tender and sore inside and weighed down with a tiredness that makes it an effort to raise a cup of water to his lips, Jack’s cheered to see their faces. Matt’s hiding his concern behind a smile full of relief. Claire just looks pleased to see him, and Evan’s beaming and proud to be carrying gifts – black seedless grapes, a James Patterson paperback and a copy of Farmers Weekly.

Evan’s intrigued by the environment, the mechanics of the automatic bed, the table-on-wheels with its jug of water, the drip and needle arrangement in the back of Jack’s bruised hand.

Claire’s finding chairs as Matt sits down on the bed.

‘How are you feeling, Dad?’

Jack wants to lie and say he’s fine, but he’s feeling so unwell it’s too much effort.

‘Better than I did when I was lying on that bathroom floor. I thought my time had come.’

‘We brought you these,’ says Evan, and lays the presents on the over-bed table. ‘I wanted to get you a Mars Bar, but Mum says you’re probably not supposed to have chocolate for a while.’

‘What have they said to you?’ asks Matt. ‘What have they done?’