At some point in the early hours of the morning, a doctor came to tell us that they hadn’t found any evidence of a serious underlying issue. They suspected Nana Joy had fainted and the head injury had knocked her unconscious. They would know more when – or if – she regained consciousness. The next few hours would be crucial.

‘You and Jed should go,’ Mum said, once the doctor had left us to digest the news.

I started to protest, but she cut me off, jerking her head sharply to where Dad sat hunched on the plastic seat.

‘We can’t all stay here all the time, or we’ll end up collapsing with exhaustion. Your dad needs to be here now. You go on home, get some rest, walk the dogs, and have a decent meal. We’ll sit with her once visiting hours are open in the afternoon. Then you can come back later on and take over.’

I desperately wanted to stay. But I also knew that Mum was right; we needed to pace ourselves. After repeated sleepless nights and non-stop days I was also so tired I could barely stand up any more, which was no use to anyone.

We were permitted to briefly see Nana Joy before we left, but all this allowed for was a soft kiss on her papery forehead, a tender squeeze of her hand, and a fervent whisper that we loved her, we were praying, we would be back soon.

Jed drove Mum’s car back to Charis House. For the first half of the forty-minute journey we rode in silence, the faint jangle of late-night radio playing carols in the background. All I could think about was those stupid months I’d wasted, hiding behind my job, keeping myself busy doing everything I could think of apart from the most important thing. I couldn’t even remember the real reason why I’d avoided home for so long.

The guilt and the shame were like a crushing weight on the back of my head. If Nana Joy died in that hospital bed, and I never had a chance to tell her how much she meant to me, how sorry I was for disappearing, the pressure might just snap my spine in two.

‘What was your favourite Nana Joy play?’ Jed asked as the Christmas lights of the town began to fade.

‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,’ I replied, without having to think about it. ‘It was the first one I went to see. I was entranced by the whole musical, and it wasn’t until she started singing that I realised this nasty, sneaky witch was my wonderful nana. I thought she must genuinely be magic to transform herself into another person like that.’

‘It was amazing to see her become her characters, but what about that solo show, when she told stories in between the songs? I think I loved her best when she was being herself.’