‘No. No, you were never that. Well, OK, there were times when you did display monster-like characteristics, but that was never you. The old Joel could be self-centred, but only when it came to football. And you jumped in with both feet sometimes, but again it was instinct, and yours was usually right.’

As he indicates left to head east, I don’t know how to respond. Dad doesn’t go in for speeches and that’s probably the longest I’ve heard him talk uninterrupted – well, ever.

I suppose it helps that he can’t see my face either.

‘But after your event, you were Joel on steroids. Selfish, with an insanely short fuse. But the worst bit was seeing you turn all this anger on yourself. I even called a helpline . . . well, several different ones. Turned into a bit of a habit. A guilty one, mind.’

‘Did they say there was no hope for me?’

He scoffs. ‘No, they mostly said to give you time. Though managing that was the hardest thing we’ve ever done, me and your mum. You were in self-destruct mode and we could do nothing but watch. One day, when Leo starts going out in the world on his own, you’ll find out what that’s like. Though hopefully he won’t go nearly as far as you did.’

I can’t ever imagine letting him out alone. ‘I worry I lost the nice bits of myself when I had my cardiac arrest.’

‘Well, if you did, you found them again.’

He reaches out to push the bouquet aside so he can look at my face. ‘Just because we’re not the most demonstrative family doesn’t mean me and your mother aren’t proud of what you’ve become. How you handled the Leo situation in the end . . . how you’re working to get trained as a PT. The Unbeatables. It was close at times but—’

‘The lights have changed, Dad.’

He puts his foot down quickly before anyone can insult him by honking, and we’re almost outside the hospital.

‘Never too late to fight for her, J. If she’s what you want, you—’

I open the car door. ‘Yeah, thanks.’

As I walk along the last bit of pavement towards the weathered Georgian entrance, I repeat the words in my head. Never too late. Never too late.

Before I have second thoughts, I walk quickly into the hospital lobby to the reception desk, where a white-haired man frowns at me.

‘I’m looking for Brunswick Ward. What do they treat there?’

‘It’s Gynaecology. Eleventh floor of the tower block. But you’re not allowed to bring flowers onto the ward. Not since 1996.’

‘Oh.’

‘Infection risk.’