She frowns. ‘Yes, because you don’t need this. You’re good on screen, I hear you’re not a diva. You’re going somewhere already. This programme would mean exposing your personal life, and your son.’

‘Which is why I need a get-out, if the news is unbearable.’

She ignores that. ‘They’re moulding you for primetime. Magazine shows. Working with me would take you in a different direction, towards more serious programming. Not as well paid, either. If I’m to take this on, it has to be because it’s close to your . . .’ She blushes when she realizes what she was about to say.

‘To my heart?’ I laugh. ‘It certainly is. But I can’t promise how I’ll respond if the results are bad for Leo.’

‘You’ve seen my work? I don’t sugar-coat things to make my contributors look better.’

‘I don’t need babying. I need someone to trust. Is that you?’

She leans down and takes a large Black n’ Red ringbound notebook out of her messenger bag and writes something on the first page.

‘Does that mean we’re on, Olivia?’

At long last, she gives me a half-smile, and I wonder what the full beam might look like. ‘Joel, I never waste a notebook. And you can call me Liv.’

Liv wangles a commission despite the uncertainties – she’s like a very posh terrier. She also cuts through all the hospital red tape, from the NHS PR people to the steely consultants. Liv reminds me of my mother, and when the two of them meet, they bond immediately.

That’s exactly the kind of woman you need, Mum had said after Olivia drove off. Someone strong who doesn’t put up with any of your crap.

As a producer?

Mum winked at me. We’ll see.

Leo is always the toughest to win over. I’ll never know whether his shyness is down to the drugs Zoë took or just his personality. But even he succumbs to Olivia’s charm offensive in the end . . .

We start filming in early May. Today, I’m interviewing my consultant about genetic testing.

‘Can we chat here, before you go in?’ Liv asks.

We’re in a little park alongside the Thames. London is lovely today but I couldn’t live here. Leo is a real water baby and I’d never tear him away from the seaside, or his grandparents, his friends, the life we both love.

I sit facing Liv on a bench and she lifts the camera onto her shoulder. ‘Rolling . . . Tell me why we’re here, Joel.’

‘The consultant we’re seeing today is one of the world experts in—’

She interrupts before I’ve even finished my sentence. ‘You’re going into piece-to-camera mode. Stop thinking like a presenter and try to tell me how it feels to be Joel, the dad . . .’

‘Do I have to?’ Suddenly I feel exposed.