‘If you want to reach viewers, you’ve got to be a human being.’

I close my eyes as I breathe in. I can smell spring flowers. I don’t have a clue what they are, but they remind me of something.

A time.

A person.

‘OK, Joel, tell me about the testing process? What could it mean to you and your son?’

‘So, Leo means the world to me. I’d do anything to protect him from harm. So I have to decide whether to find out if he’s got a gene that could kill him.’

That smell again. I look down and see the white bells of lily of the valley in the flower bed, and I remember the bouquet my dad bought for me when I found out Kerry was in hospital.

I wonder if she enjoyed the flying lessons. Whether they’ve made her any happier.

I blink: those are not feelings the viewers want to know about.

‘Talk me through how you’ll make the decision about the tests, Joel?’

‘It seems like a no-brainer. Finding a faulty gene could mean getting Leo the right medication, or even his own “magic gadget” – that’s what Leo and I call my internal defibrillator.

‘But . . .’ I hesitate, searching for exactly the right words. ‘What if I’d had the test, as a kid? If we’d known I might drop dead, I’d have been wrapped up in cotton wool by my parents. I would never have found football, never been allowed to train or experience those few precious matches that made me feel the most alive I’ve ever felt . . .’

Liv stays silent but nods, urging me to keep pushing myself.

‘I’m trying to weigh up quality of life against quantity of life. I got lucky, I see that now. I got to discover what I was born to do, but I also got my second chance.

‘Kids like Leo, don’t they deserve to grow up without fear? Genes aren’t destiny.’

‘So, are you having second thoughts?’

‘And third thoughts and fourth and fifth. I believe in people having the right to be tested. But it’s a horrible choice when you have to make it for your own son.’

She nods and reaches up to turn off the camera. ‘That’s more like it,’ she says, with a smile.

‘Glad my trauma is giving you good footage,’ I say.

She doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she puts the camera down and smiles. ‘I wouldn’t push unless I thought it’d be good for you, too.’

It takes a month to get the results. We’ve been following another family who discovered their girls were carrying a ‘bad’ gene, so I walk into the consultant’s office feeling like the condemned man.