I go back outside, wondering what the hell I am supposed to do with the bouquet. This hitch has rattled me and I need a second opinion about whether I should go through with this. I cross the road, head towards the sea, and get my phone out to call Ant.

Even though I can hear the familiar sounds of cafe breakfast chaos in the background, he doesn’t sound stressed or pissed off to hear from me. He’s become the best surrogate uncle to Leo and has proposed to his girlfriend Ellie, partly because Leo makes him so broody.

‘Whassup, Banana Man?’

I tell him where I am, and why.

‘Poor Kerry. Great that she called you, though, I thought you’d lost touch.’

Ant doesn’t know how close we came to getting together the Christmas before last.

‘We fell out over something quite big and . . . she said she never wanted to hear from me again. I’ve written to her since, a couple of times, and she hasn’t responded.’

‘Ah. I won’t ask. So how come you’re at the hospital?’

‘Tim texted me so it must be quite major. I’m worried about her. But I don’t want to upset her either.’

I hear him thump the coffee into the machine, followed by the hiss of steam. It’s cold here on the seafront. I crave the warmth and the feeling of belonging I get whenever I go to the Girasol.

‘I’d say . . . yeah, two quid, mate, cheers . . . Joel, I’d say go for it. Nothing to lose, so long as you’re prepared she might tell you to leave. What if she does that, Joel? How would you feel?’

‘At least I’d know I’d tried. Thanks. I needed that.’ I’m already retracing my steps towards the hospital. A weary-looking woman is walking her sea-wet spaniel up the street and as I pass her, I say, ‘Could you give these a home?’ and hand the bouquet to her without pausing to see her reaction.

The man from reception taps his blazer when I walk back in again and I think it’s some old-man sign of respect until I look down to see pollen and leaves stuck to my fleece, along with some of Leo’s banana porridge breakfast.

The route to the tower block lifts is familiar and I select the eleventh floor. This building is my second home. On the top floor, Zoë gave birth to Leo. I wish I knew how she was doing now. I paid private detectives to look for her, and they sent me the address of a hostel in a Somerset seaside town. It was a relief she was still alive, at least, and I wrote offering to let her see Leo, to pay for any help she needed. I didn’t hear back.