‘What do I bring?’

‘Just Bear and yourself. I want it to be an easy, laid-back night, but one Casey will remember for a long time. And maybe we will too.’

Chapter 24: Casey

Wednesday 18 July

How dumb is my so-called father?

It’s obvious even to Bear the dog how ultra-perfect Gemma is for him. When she turns up and offers to take me to BayCaff, she’s put on make-up and a swirly dress that brings out the different greens in her eyes, and she isn’t doing that for my benefit.

But DL hardly looked up from his laptop and didn’t suggest coming out with us. I haven’t been so frustrated since Mum refused to let me have my ears pierced in Worcester on my tenth birthday.

‘Hey, Gemma. Hey, Casey,’ the barista says when we walk into the lower part of the BayCaff boat to order. ‘Mocha, right, with almond syrup?’

Wow! How cool is that? He knows what I want. I am a regular . . .

Except Gemma’s smiling at me in a weird way and I realize it’s a set-up; she must have called in advance, because this is on my wish list of nice things that I wanted to happen in Bristol.

To go to a cafe where they know your name, like Central Perk in Friends.

I’ve only been here twice, so Gemma must have played the tumour card when she rang, and this barista will go home tonight to his girlfriend or boyfriend and tell them how he made the sick kid’s day.

My head throbs, right between the eyebrows. It’s been doing this all week, on and off, so it could be Bob – or the treatment to get rid of Bob – that’s making me so tired and grumpy.

On Monday I was so disappointed that Gemma and Bear didn’t come into the hospital, then I argued with Molly on WhatsApp because she never replies to my photos, and then she blocked me.

On Tuesday I argued with Mum on FaceTime because she kept sniping at DL about stuff that doesn’t matter. And I’m always angry with him, because he’s stopped talking about what’s going to happen after this month is over, so that must mean he can’t wait for me to be gone.

‘I’ll bring these to you on the roof,’ the barista says. ‘Your usual table by the funnel?’

We climb the steps and ‘my’ table is free. The sunlight lands on the big chunk of timber like a bright-orange tablecloth and it’s hard to stay angry because it is amazing here. Bear does that funny thing where he scratches at the deck and circles three times before resting his head on my feet with a giant sigh. His hair prickles against my skin, but I don’t want him to move. I wish I could stay for ever.

No going home to a dead village where even my best friend doesn’t want to know me. No worrying about Mum. No going in for the final appointment with the consultant, where he shakes his head and says, I’m so sorry, but this hasn’t worked and there’s nothing else we can do . . .