I put my hand on her shoulder, felt her bones and thin muscles jump away from my touch.

“Grace, I fancied loads of boys when I was seventeen. It’s OK, I won’t tell anyone.”

Her eyes widened with relief. “You won’t say anything?”

“Promise,” I said, perching on the edge of her bed. “But you’re sure he’s not some internet freak?”

“No! He’s lovely, he wants to meet up, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Look at me, Cara.” Grace lifted her skinny arms to show me her deadened legs in the chair, as though I’d never seen them. “He’d never fancy me.”

I tried, I tried desperately to think of the right thing to say, to tell Grace that was superficial bullshit, that she was the kindest, sweetest person I knew, but I wasn’t quick enough and Meg’s voice traveled down the hall. “Grace, Cara!”

And Grace pushed herself past me, towards the door, to call back to her: “Coming, Mum!”

In the sitting room, Grace sang “Happy Birthday” louder than any of us and then sat silent as we ate Mum’s cake, heavy with chocolate icing. She kept looking at the cake, following it as fat slices were raised to open mouths. Meg kept a slice back in case Grace’s diarrhea was better later and she could swallow a few bites. I wanted to talk to her about GoodSam, tell her that if he was a decent guy he wouldn’t care about her chair, about her epilepsy, about any of it. But even if I had found the right words, we were never alone together again, so she never knew.

Jon’s quiet next to me. I’m glad he doesn’t try to chat. It gives me the chance to take my phone out, go on the Wishmakers website. The same photo of Meg and Grace that Mum’s got up in the salon window fills the screen. I click on the button for the forum, but the car slows and next to me Jon says, “Here we are,” and a large sign by the side of the road tells me we’re pulling into Resthaven Nursing Home. It is a low, squat building covered in stucco. The parking lot is practically empty; not many visitors, then. Jon stops the car but doesn’t move to open his door. Instead, turning to me, he says, “You know what, Cara, if it’s all the same to you I think I’ll sit this one out. My dad was in one of these places for a while. I’m not a huge fan of them I’m afraid.”

I shrug, I don’t mind. Besides, now all I can think about is getting home to my laptop and trying to find GoodSam. Suddenly I feel as though I don’t have time for the long, cozy chat I had pictured having with Grace’s granddad.

The door buzzes to let me in before I’ve even pressed the bell and a thin nurse in her sixties says, “Hello, can I help you?”