Will crouches next to the bed, one arm round his mum’s shoulder, his other hand stroking Nain’s hair. He gazes at his own reflection in the window, the glass blackened by the night sky. ‘Fighter all right.’

‘You must prepare yourselves for the end.’ These are the hushed words that have been uttered by sincere professionals several times in the three days since she was admitted. She’s been unconscious throughout, due to the severity of her injuries and something Will is unsure of the meaning of: complications.

But still she seems to hold on, restless, mumbling incoherently at times. Everyone knows she’s nearing the end, except Nain herself, it would seem.

Will’s mind goes back to the dark silence inside her small house, the second or two after he’d opened the door when he’d felt weightless, disconnected from his own senses. Her purple lips, grey face. Translucent limbs in a pile at the foot of the stairs. Motionless.

It was the second emergency call Will had made that morning. And the paramedics who turned out were the very same crew who’d talked Alfie down and taken him to hospital, not that they’d noticed Will earlier. He’s been to see her in hospital at least once every day since.

‘Spoke with the doctor earlier, Will,’ his mum says. ‘They’re just making her comfortable now. No treatment any more.’

Will nods, stroking his thumb on Nain’s delicate skin.

‘Her kidneys are failing. Another thing to add to the list. Be a matter of days. At most.’

‘I think I should stay here tonight,’ Will says, reaching for his phone to cancel this evening’s plans.

‘You look smart,’ his mum says. ‘Very handsome.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And you smell … delicious.’

Will reddens.

‘Who’s the lucky …’

‘Lady,’ Will says firmly.

His mum grins. ‘Lady! Of course.’

‘I’ll reschedule,’ Will says. ‘It’s nothing important.’

He forces an upbeat tone, tapping out a text. So what that April’s agreement to meet up felt like winning the lottery. So what that this might be his only chance to make things right. Nain needs him.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ his mum says, pushing his hand away from his phone. ‘What do you think your nain would say about it?’

Will shrugs.

‘Do you think she might tell you to get out there and live?’

‘I guess so.’

‘I know so, Will.’ His mum leans against him and puts a hand on his knee. ‘You’re very good to her. And she loves you very, very much.’

Will is sure he feels Nain’s hand tighten round his. He tenses. Even with such legitimate cause, he can’t let his mum see him cry.

‘Oh, here’s something you’ll enjoy,’ she says. ‘I had your father on the phone this morning. As if I don’t have enough to worry about …’