After Grace, the home-care nurse, has examined Zoe, she asks Audrey and Edward to accompany her to the sitting room below. Grace suggests they all take a seat but Audrey refuses: to sit down might indicate that she intends to stay when all she really wants is to get back to Zoe.

“What can we do to make her more comfortable?” Edward’s voice is calm, and even though his calmness is one of the things Audrey has always loved about him, today she finds it intolerable. Today she needs to hear her panic reflected back at her, needs to know she is not alone in her terror.

“You’re doing everything you can, honestly. I know how upsetting it is seeing her in distress and not being able to stop it. Just be with her, talk to her, let her know you’re there. Even right up to the end there’s a chance she’ll be able to hear you. But I should warn you now that this final stage can be quite protracted. You do need to prepare yourselves for that.”

Audrey thinks about her little girl, upstairs alone, restless even in sleep. “What do you mean, protracted?”

There is a pause during which Grace smiles so kindly that Audrey fears she might cry.

“It’s difficult to be precise. Sometimes it can be just a few hours. Sometimes this stage can last a few days. I know that’s really hard to hear but I need you to be aware of what might happen. We usually find that the better prepared parents are, the better they’re able to cope.”

Audrey reaches out for the back of the armchair to steady herself. The thought of Zoe struggling for breath for days to come clutches at her throat.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to find a hospital bed for Zoe? The nurses would take exceptional care of her and you could still stay with her the whole time. It might just take the pressure off you both.”

She senses both Edward and Grace looking at her but does not raise her head to meet their gaze. She knows what they are thinking. It has been discussed already, at length, but nothing either of them says will make Audrey change her mind. “Absolutely not. I want to keep her here, at home. I want to look after her myself.” She hears the determination—almost maniacal—in her voice but does not care what they think of her. She will not have anyone taking Zoe away.

“OK, I understand. You know you can call me anytime, day or night, and I’ll come. And you’ve got the number of the hospital if you change your mind. In the meantime, use as much liquid morphine as you need to top up Zoe’s medication and keep her comfortable, just not more than one oral syringe an hour. If you think she’s still in too much pain, do talk to the doctor about increasing her dosage. But the best thing you can do for her now is to be with her and talk to her, let her know she’s not alone. You’re doing a wonderful job, both of you. Please don’t forget that.”