But my father reaches across the marble countertop to touch her hand. ‘Lynette. Let him finish.’

‘What more is there to say? Our son got some druggie pregnant with our grandchild and this is the first we hear of it?’

‘To be fair, it seems like it’s the first he’s heard of it too,’ Dad says. ‘Why did you originally decide to end the pregnancy?’

I tap the place where my ICD sits under my skin. ‘I was scared a baby might inherit whatever it was that made me need this.’

Mum’s face falls. ‘The baby is ill?’

I hear the change in her voice, and I love her for it. Why did it take her seconds to begin to care, when it took me days? I suppose it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I do care now.

‘I don’t know for sure. He was premature, but only by a few weeks. It’s possible that Zoë started taking . . . stuff again after we broke up.’

‘What kind of a mother does that?’ Mum says.

‘The kind of mother who is desperate. Zoë’s a good person at heart. Grew up in care; I don’t think she ever knew her parents, never mind had the support you two have given me. But when she’s not using, she’s funny and sharp and full of life.’

‘That’s what Zoë means,’ my mum says softly. ‘Life. I always liked the name. It was on the list for you if you’d been a girl, Joel.’

Dad looks at me. ‘The child, your child, where is he now?’

‘I don’t know where he was born. When she called I think it was because she wanted to hurt me. She said she wanted to keep him, but if she’s not allowed to, she’d rather he were adopted than come to me.’

‘What do you want?’ Mum asks.

‘At first I freaked out.’ I shake my head, remembering how I responded and how Kerry – rightly – disapproved. ‘But now I want to be in his life. Or at least, for him to know I cared enough to try.’

Dad taps his fingers against the counter. ‘Are you sure? Adoption would be better than you getting involved and then changing your mind.’ His face is stern, testing me.

‘I’m sure.’

Mum and Dad glance at each other and I see, so briefly, a look of solidarity pass between them. ‘What do you think, Granny?’ my father says, and I expect her to slap him, but instead she grips his hand and mine.

‘OK, Grandpa.’ They smile at each other, almost shyly, and for the first time in days I know I’m not alone. ‘Joel, what can we do?’

‘I’ve been reading up on what it’s going to involve. It might be expensive.’