Audrey blanches as she thinks about all the arguments she and Edward have had in the past six days: more rows than in the past sixteen years. Audrey still cannot believe that he does not want to bring Zoe home, that he thinks she will be better cared for by professionals. They know what they’re doing, Audrey. They know best how to look after her. She’ll be more comfortable with them, I promise you. Sitting now beside Zoe’s bed, thinking of Edward’s rationale, disbelief rises again into Audrey’s chest, filling her lungs with a quiet fury. Her fists curl into tight balls, recalling her response: I’m the best person to look after my daughter. She’s coming home. There’s nothing more to say. She still cannot believe that Edward is prepared to forgo a single second of however long they have left with Zoe.

They have not told the twins the reason Zoe will be coming home later this week. She and Edward have discussed it and it is the one thing upon which they are agreed: Lily, at fifteen, is old enough to know the truth; Zoe and Jess are not. Audrey cannot bear the thought of the twins spending Zoe’s last few weeks under the cloud of knowledge that they are to be permanently separated. If it is not within her gift to ensure that her girls can spend their whole lives together, she can, at the very least, give them time together unencumbered by the awareness of what is to come. She does not want Jess’s overriding memories of her sister to be the crippling apprehension of Zoe’s imminent death. Audrey already feels certain that Jess will never recover from the loss. The twins’ closeness is something beyond language, beyond understanding, a bond formed in a place preceding memory. Audrey cannot imagine how any of them will cope with the loss of Zoe. But it is Jess, she knows, who will feel it most profoundly.

Zoe’s eyelids flicker, and then open slowly, as if uncertain where they might find themselves. “Mummy.”

One word, two syllables: enough to break Audrey’s heart.

She leans over and kisses Zoe on the lips. They are dry, the skin unyielding, as if coated in a thin film of plastic. Audrey raises her head, painting an expression of reassurance on her face. “Hello, angel. How are you feeling?”

Zoe smiles but with an effort that causes the muscles to contract inside Audrey’s chest. “A bit tired. Where’s Jess?” It is always the first question Zoe asks on the days her twin is absent.

“She’s at Emily’s today, sweetheart. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Zoe closes her eyes and Audrey thinks that perhaps she has gone back to sleep. But then they open again and Zoe’s voice, when it emerges, is low and small as if she has drunk a potion in Wonderland and it has shrunk to a fraction of its normal size. “When can I come home, Mummy?”

Audrey squeezes her daughter’s hand, the reply lodging in her throat. She blinks against her tears, forces her lips into a smile. “Soon, my love. I promise.” The declaration tastes bitter on her tongue, not because it is untrue but because it is a half-truth so painful she is not yet ready to say it out loud.