Mr Barwell’s eyes lock on to me and I’m immediately struck by their extraordinary colour. I’m reminded of those dogs that have one brown and one blue eye, and the blue eye is always very light. Mr Barwell’s eyes are the same bright blue and, as I watch, tears form in them.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says in a hoarse whisper.

‘Sorry you scared the shit out of me, or sorry you’re still alive?’ the son asks angrily. ‘I can’t believe this.’

Mr Barwell’s eyes move to his son and I follow them, instantly picking up the family resemblance. Underneath his mop of dark, curly hair, the son has exactly the same striking eyes as his father.

‘I miss your mother so much, Will,’ he whispers, and this seems to puncture the son’s anger. I can almost see him crumple as he sinks into the chair next to the bed. They’re both crying now.

‘I know,’ Will replies gently, taking his father’s hand. ‘I miss her too. But this? She wouldn’t have wanted this, and what about me? You’re all I have, Dad.’

‘You’ve got your own life,’ Mr Barwell replies. ‘Without your mother, what’s the point of me? I’m just a burden.’

‘That’s bollocks, Dad, and you know it,’ Will tells him fiercely. ‘Who’s going to celebrate my successes with me, or tell me my failures don’t matter, if you’re not here? Why hassle me about finding someone to spend the rest of my life with if you’re not there to spoil your grandchildren rotten? I need you now just as much as when I was little.’

Mr Barwell sighs deeply and closes his eyes, slipping back into unconsciousness.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask Will quietly. ‘I know this has been a huge shock.’

‘I should have seen it coming,’ Will says equally quietly, turning his extraordinary eyes to me. ‘My mother died from multiple sclerosis two months ago. For the last few years, Dad’s been her full-time carer so, when she finally died, he didn’t know what to do with himself. I’ve tried to encourage him to get back into his hobbies – he’s passionate about model aircraft – but I think he feels guilty about doing things that give him pleasure when Mum’s, you know…’

‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ I tell him.

‘Don’t be. To be honest, it was a relief at the end. She was incredibly tough, my mum, but she’d suffered enough. What am I going to do about him though?’ He gestures to the supine figure on the bed.