I start giggling and so does Joel, and it’s turning into one of those back-row-of-assembly laughs, the ones you try to contain but just can’t, because the hilariousness grows out of proportion and has to find a way out.

He laughs and coughs, laughs and coughs, and the chippie man brings over a mugful of water.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘My sides are splitting,’ Joel says and that pushes us over the edge again.

Eventually he runs out of energy. I unwrap the chips; the trapped steam has made them soggy and delicious. This is the smell of our hometown.

We eat. Or rather, I watch Joel eat. I’m not hungry. It’s partly the stress of being responsible for him, but mostly because I’ve already had a traitor’s afternoon tea.

His parents picked me up from school earlier, took me to the Grand. I thought it was a thank-you treat, but the scones stuck in my throat when I realized what they wanted from me in return. Joel has to have the operation, Lynette kept repeating, and it felt strange to hear that persuasive voice, so familiar from TV shows and adverts, directed at me.

I don’t think she’s used to people saying no.

Water dribbles down the pane in droplets, Joel is still stuffing his face.

‘Don’t eat so fast,’ I say. ‘I’m not so confident about my Heimlich manoeuvre.’

‘Is it not as good as your kiss of life?’

He gazes at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was flirting. But no one flirts with Kerry Smith, especially not Joel Greenaway. ‘You’re not nearly dead enough for that.’

He looks away, eats another handful of chips. ‘You’re really gonna be a doctor, then?’

‘So long as I get the grades.’

‘Once they let me out, I won’t be seen dead in a hospital again.’ He grins.

‘Have they said when you might be discharged?’ I stare ahead so he can’t read my face. I already know the answer. His parents told me everything.

‘Soon. They’ve run out of tests to do on me.’

‘Have they found what caused it?’

He sniffs. ‘No. Just bad luck. But lightning doesn’t strike twice.’

‘Except, if they haven’t found the problem, what’s to stop your heart stopping again, Joel? Next time someone might not be there to help.’

‘Fuck’s sake. You sound like my mum. They’re sending me home with pills, it’ll be fine.’

I take a deep breath, taste bile and strawberry jam in my throat. ‘Only . . . isn’t there some operation they can do? I read about it. Some gadget to fix your heart if it does misbehave again.’