He hustles me out to a shop in the Lanes and persuades me to buy a silk pocket square and a matching cravat. The print shows an anatomical drawing of a heart, in the deep dark red of venous blood.

The wedding is tomorrow and though we’re meant to spend tonight apart, Kerry and I are both at the hospice. The orange evening light falls onto the bed but doesn’t add any colour to Mum’s face. It’s clear from the changes she’s needed in her meds, and her expression when she thinks I’m not looking, that she’s getting sicker faster than we’d hoped.

A couple of times I even doubted she’d survive till the wedding itself. Part of me wants to sleep alongside her tonight, just in case. But if Death taps her on the shoulder, I think she’ll tell it, piss right off, I’ve come this far.

Something makes her wake up. She nods. ‘There you both are. Good. I need to talk to you, and it’s serious.’

We know her funeral plans down to the last flower. It’s hard to imagine what could be left to discuss. ‘We’re listening,’ Kerry says.

‘What you’ve done for me is above and beyond.’ Mum’s voice is soft and hoarse, but her Glaswegian accent becomes stronger when she’s tired or medicated. ‘But I must know you’re not only getting married for my sake.’

‘Mum . . .’ I start, looking to Kerry for backup.

Silence.

‘Kerry?’ Mum breaks it. ‘Look, I have always wanted to see you together, that’s no secret. But you mustn’t go through with it unless you’re quite sure Tim is the man for you. Or I promise I will haunt you forever.’

I remember what my mother said that lunchtime in Alfriston, about me being nothing without Kerry. Does she still think I don’t deserve her?

As the silence persists, dread coils through me, like smoke. ‘Mum, do you mind if we go out and talk alone, so—’

Kerry holds up her hand. ‘No, it’s all right.’ Her gaze is fixed on my mother so I can’t read her eyes at all. ‘Elaine, you know Tim and I have had our struggles. Living in the same house, you can hardly have missed the bad times.

‘We grew apart but now we’ve grown together again. Love isn’t about big dramas or declarations. It’s what we do every day for each other, the little kindnesses. We trust each other. There are no bad surprises. Only good ones, like seeing how he’s changed since you got ill.’

Mum is still frowning. ‘He is a decent boy. Mostly. But I don’t hear much passion, hen. Are you sure you’re not settling?’