‘You’re a natural.’ I’ve spent so long teasing and nagging him that paying a compliment feels awkward. ‘So, what now?’

‘Now it’s party time.’

The Coasters, as they call themselves, are having a Christmas get together in the Anchor nearby. Partners are invited along too, filling a big section of the snug.

‘This your girlfriend, Joel?’

‘You’re punching above your weight, mate!’

I blush, but Joel is shaking his head. ‘Not my girlfriend, she’s too good for me. But she was my lifesaver.’

‘Oh, come and sit with me, sweetheart,’ one of the women says, budging up and pouring me a glass of red. ‘We can swap war stories.’

Her name is Ali, and she’s married to Luke, the thin man who looks so much sicker than the others. ‘Most of the guys have only had trivial stuff like heart attacks or stents or quadruple bypasses. But Luke had a cardiac arrest, like Joel.’

She tells me that her husband, fit as a fiddle and a big deal in the local tennis league, went to bed one night and she woke up to hear him gasping. She couldn’t wake him and she called 999. ‘It felt like it was happening to someone else. They told me what to do and . . .’

Her eyes are huge and haunted as she remembers. It’s the side we never see in the control room.

‘He’s OK, though, right?’

Ali glances up at Luke. ‘They say he’s doing well. His memory is crap and he gets very tired. He’s a teacher and, at the moment, I can’t see how he’ll be able to do that job again. I hope it’ll get better . . .’

‘And you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine!’ she says. ‘I mean, I don’t sleep that well. I get nightmares about waking and finding him dead next to me in the morning . . .’ She stops suddenly and I realize her husband is watching her closely, and she grins back, though it looks strained. ‘Really, we’ve been so lucky. And seeing how well Joel is, what, nearly five years after his arrest, gives us both hope. Did he recover quickly?’

The question stumps me. Physically, yes. But mentally – should I lie to reassure her?

I scan the room for Joel. He’s in the centre of the group standing by the bar, telling stories and laughing. When he sees me, he raises his bottle of Coke and winks. Happiness glows inside me, a football-sized sensation of warmth and acceptance.

‘Joel had his struggles, believe me. But I think he’s on the right track again now.’

‘And what about you, Kerry? You gave him CPR too, didn’t you? Are you OK?’