I watch his face and I can see the exact moment that he really looks at his mother for the first time in months. ‘What kind?’ he whispers.

‘It’s pancreatic cancer. I’ve been having chemo for a wee bit and they think it’s put the brakes on, but it’s a tricksy thing and—’

He talks over her. ‘I know what pancreatic cancer is like, Mum. I’m a bloody doctor. I know what it does. I—’ He stops. His face ages ten years as the glow from the afternoon champagne fades away.

He turns to me. ‘How long have you known?’

‘Five weeks.’

‘Five—’ He thinks for a moment. ‘So this was why you deferred medical school.’ His eyes close as though he can shut this out. When he opens them again, he looks furious at the betrayal. ‘How could you do this? Treating me like a child who can’t be trusted . . .’

Seeing him so lost makes me well up but I have to hold the tears back. I touch his arm. ‘It wasn’t like that. Elaine made the choice for your future. You couldn’t have done anything to change the treatment. Or the prognosis.’ That last word was a mistake. Too soon to heap another dose of misery onto his shoulders.

Elaine takes over. ‘I don’t have all that long, Tim. I’m sorry. But let’s make the most of the time we do have. Starting today.’

I keep my hand on his arm. What would the advice on breaking bad news suggest now? Empathy, then a confirmatory question.

Instead, I stand up and wrap my arms around him. After a moment’s hesitation, he embraces me back and we stay like that for a few seconds. I hear him clear his throat and when he lets me go, I see a steeliness in his eyes.

He takes his mum’s hand and I see him flinch as he registers the thinness of the skin and the lightness of her bones.

‘I did it because I love you, Tim,’ Elaine says.

He nods. ‘I know. You did what you thought was best. Now it’s my turn.’

That night, in bed, he reaches for me and I think he wants to make love, which hasn’t happened since he failed his exams last year. I want to be close to him again.

But instead he turns on the bedside light and sits up.

‘You’ve been there for her when I wasn’t.’

I sit up too. If he’s angry, it’s part of the process. ‘Your mum made the decision not to tell you, Tim.’

‘No, I mean for months. Years. It was easier for me to play the precious medical student while you paid the bills and helped Mum when she needed it. Just like it was easier to let people think I helped to save Joel Greenaway’s life, when it was you on your own.’