‘Better. He’s starting to get his sense of humour back, which is the last thing we need.’ She rolls her eyes and laughs. ‘He’s awake if you want to pop your head round and say hello?’

I head on up, lightly knocking at the bedroom door in case he’s drifted off to sleep.

‘Come in,’ he calls.

I find him propped up in bed, the television going, and he puts it on mute as I walk in and sit on the edge of the bed. There might be more colour in his cheeks but he still looks gaunt.

‘I was hoping that you were coming to bring me some of whatever smells so good from the kitchen. Julie’s stress cooking and she’s feeding me none of it.’

‘Surely she’s giving you food?’

‘Oh, she is all right, but it’s all meals from the nutritional sheets the hospital gave me. You know, lentils and broccoli and steamed fish. Anything without a hint of taste basically.’

‘And without a hint of grease that got you in this state in the first place,’ I scold.

He laughs then stops before he hurts himself even more.

‘How’s the office?’

‘Still there.’

He looks blankly at me, waiting for me to elaborate.

‘That’s all you’re going to give me?’

‘Yes, you’re signed off from work for a reason.’

‘I know, but I want to make sure you’re all coping.’

‘Of course we are. Everyone’s pitching in.’ Or at least they would if I let them.

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

I haven’t spoken to Dad one on one much since the surgery as he’s been quite out of it on painkillers. But now he seems very much lucid.

‘I’m sorry, by the way,’ I say, concentrating on his grey bedspread.

‘For not smuggling up the food from the kitchen?’

‘No,’ I say, laughing. Julie was right, he was beginning to get his cheekiness back. ‘For leaving you to deal with the company alone while I’ve been distracted this summer.’

‘Edie, you’re not to apologise. If anything, I’m grateful for the summer because for once, you’ve been putting yourself first. No one is at fault except for me and my lifestyle. As much as I hate the new diet, I’m going to stick to it, because this was the wake-up call I needed.’

He takes a deep breath and I’m worried that I shouldn’t have said anything when he’s supposed to be resting.

‘You know, one day you’re going to have to realise that life isn’t about living with regret, constantly blaming yourself and feeling guilty for everything that goes wrong. You didn’t cause my angina any more than you did your mum’s accident.’

My stomach drops. How can he not think the accident was my fault?