Though those times are getting rarer. Her weekly chemo is brutal. I go with her when I can, sitting in the overheated therapy room while she endures the poison entering her body, hoping it’ll buy her precious extra months. The only thing she’s made a fuss about is refusing a central line because she’s scared Tim might notice it.

The weather is cold enough that she can hide her cannula under cardigans but they keep having to put in new ones when the blood vessels fail. The bruising makes me want to take her in my arms – she’s almost light enough now – and carry her out of the hospital because this isn’t going to cure her.

At most, she’ll get a few extra months. But she endures it for Tim.

‘Oh, I’m colder than the Grampians, Kerry.’

‘Shall I get a blanket?’

She shakes her head, gently. ‘It’s not my body, it’s this bloody thing.’ She’s got a cold cap, even though this drug isn’t the worst for hair loss, but it’s the one thing she knows Tim might notice. He’s oblivious to the blue-black patches under her eyes, and the way she’s getting smaller and smaller.

As she shrinks, the residual fear I have of her shrinks too. I begin to forgive her what she’s done to her son because I see she hasn’t treated him any worse than she treats herself. Her response to her own sickness is self-critical to the point of brutality.

‘You could take it off, Elaine, for a bit. It won’t make a difference, I’m sure.’

‘No. Only two more weeks to go. I am going to see it through if it’s the last thing I do!’ She smiles at the irony.

The day after Tim’s last exam, and five weeks after diagnosis, Elaine arranges afternoon tea.

We all travel together in Mum’s car, with me driving. As Elaine climbs into the passenger seat, I notice how she winces when she pulls the belt across her sore, exhausted body.

‘So where are we going?’ Tim asks, clambering into the back. He’s a little hungover, after going out with Wilcox and the others to celebrate last night.

‘It’s a surprise,’ Elaine says.

Not to me. She’s treating us to the Grand. It’s her money and her choice. Why shouldn’t she enjoy every bloody moment that’s left? But it does mean that every time Tim walks past this place in future, he will surely remember the news he’s about to hear.

‘You’re teasing me, Mum.’ He catches my eye in the rear-view mirror as I reverse out of the drive, and smiles. He’s told me he is as sure as he can be that he’s passed, that all the work he’s done has paid off.