Back in the lounge, I placed a couple on his tongue to chew as instructed. But he could barely move his mouth and white chalk paste dribbled onto his chin.

I slid down the wall. The smell of urine hit me as I thumped to the floor next to him. A dark blot expanded down his thighs.

‘Here, hold on to me,’ I said, taking his damp bent hand. It was colder than the snow floating in front of the window. ‘Hey, listen . . . You’re going to be fine. You’re a strong bugger. You wrestled this tiger, for Christ’s sake.’ I didn’t cry. Wouldn’t cry.

Inhaling sharply between each phrase, he said, ‘It was . . . from a shop . . . in Holland Park.’

I held on to him tighter. ‘You see. We’ve got stuff to talk about, you and me . . . You’re not going anywhere.’

‘I think . . . this . . . is the big one, Constance.’

‘I’m not having you say shit like that. You can’t say shit like that. It’s bullshit. You sound like her. I need you now, I’m afraid. So you can’t go anywhere. You need to be around, being a cantankerous arsehole. And . . . and I’m going to look after you properly from now on . . . stay here with you. Clear all this shit up and do crosswords together . . . because I got that clue, didn’t I? Do you remember? And I wasn’t even trying. I reckon I’ll end up better at them than you. And you can give me more books to read and I’ll read them. And then we can—’

‘Constance . . . don’t . . . give me a . . . headache as well.’

I lowered my voice. ‘All I’m saying is, you can’t leave me, Edward . . . or you’ll be such a bastard.’

‘Don’t . . . make . . . me laugh. It hurts.’

‘It really does,’ I whispered.

I stood, useless, superfluous, as one of the paramedics attached oblong sticky pads to his torso, all wired back to a small machine, which in turn beeped erratically.

‘Is it a heart attack?’ I asked through my hand-covered mouth, an attempt to conceal my swollen lip that he’d already clocked. But he had more pressing issues.

‘We need to get a proper diagnosis at the hospital . . . You’re doing great, Edward.’ Everyone spun the same old shit, it seemed.

Edward’s oxygen mask clouded with each struggling breath. The other paramedic – Jamie, I think he said his name was – neared him with a weird stretcher-cum-chair. Unable to speak, Edward’s flimsy hand searched for mine.

‘I’m right here with you. You’re going to be just fine. Isn’t he, Jamie?’

‘Edward, we’re going to get you into this chair and take you to the hospital,’ said the big bear-like one whose name I can’t remember. He then looked at me. ‘Are you coming in the ambulance?’