‘Let me tell you about your son, Zoë. About the amazing little boy you made. Number one thing about him, he’s fearless. We call him Lion King, because of his name, but really, he’s the Lion Heart. He knows there are things to be scared of, he’s seen me in hospital and he’s worried about global warming and tsunamis, but what he’s most worried about is he won’t grow up fast enough to fix them.’

The nurse glances at me, then looks away.

‘Second thing, he’s a hell of a mimic, like you. Listen.’ I take out my iPhone and I find my favourite video of him, as he pretends to be Pharrell Williams, singing and dancing through ‘Happy’, his arms and legs flung this way and that, his voice producing that American twang. His face is scrunched up in concentration as he tries to remember all the words, and he misses the odd step, but it’s like the song’s been written for him personally.

‘That’s what he is, Zoë. That’s the third thing. He’s happy. I think he was born that way, despite everything. I’m moody, as you know, so he must have got that from you. Imagine if you’d had parents who’d given you what you deserved, you’d have been like him too . . .’ I stop because I don’t know if this is stuff she should be hearing. It’s no use to her right now.

‘Leo is perfect. He can heal you, like he’s healed me and as soon as you’re well enough, I can bring him to meet you and—’

The alarm sounds and though I can hear it’s coming from one of her monitors, I try to convince myself it’s another patient crashing, not her.

Not her.

Even as the staff come rushing over to her bed and one of them moves me out of the way, I tell myself she still has a chance.

But deep down, I know that’s not true.

Chapter 58: Kerry

19 March 2014

I go via ICU when I turn up for my last shift of the week and they tell me Zoë arrested a few hours after surgery and they couldn’t get her back.

I don’t feel anything. My shift is uneventful, though I do three abdominal exams and each time almost expect to feel that same out-of-place pulse that spells catastrophe.

‘What are you up to on your days off?’ the reg asks when I hand over the next morning.

‘Flying.’

He laughs. ‘Our very own Amelia Earhart.’

‘I hope not. She disappeared mid-flight.’

‘Yeah, that’s a point. Who would cover your shifts at the weekend?’