‘Bob?’ she says, as we cross the bridge.

I didn’t mean to say his name out loud. ‘Don’t laugh at me. Bob’s my tumour. I gave it a name because other people at the hospital named theirs.’

‘Right. Why Bob?’

‘It just came to me. But it’s weird. You know they do a list of the most popular baby names? I know four people with tumours called Bob. It must be a good name for something small but deadly.’

The lift to the penthouse smells different when we get into it, of perfume and baby powder. Before I can work out where it’s come from, the doors are opening and—

‘Welcome to the Harbourside Music Festival!’ DL says. He’s wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and cut-off jeans and there’s Billie Eilish playing in the background and loads of strangers behind him, and he’s grinning like he’s expecting me to be pleased.

But I’ve got no make-up on and am wearing the dungarees that make me look fat, so instead of taking the glass he’s holding out for me, I’m pushing past him, and the juice spills all over him and me, but I don’t stop until I am back in my room and I slam the door.

After a few seconds the music stops. My head throbs and my face in the mirror is beetroot-red and the juice on my hands smells sickly sweet and I’m dizzy and breathless. So I do a visualization of a paradise island, like the vloggers suggest for when you’re in the MRI scanner, and very slowly the panic subsides and now I feel like a total idiot. Why did I react that way in front of those people?

There’s a soft knock that must be Gemma.

‘Go away, I want to be on my own.’

‘I only want to talk for a minute,’ she says. ‘Dan is about to send everyone home, but I want to make sure that’s what you want. Can I come in?’

‘Everyone’ must be DL’s friends. He’d talked about having them over. And I wanted to meet them. But not like this. I’ve messed up.

‘OK.’

Gemma pushes the door open and Bear trots in behind her. ‘This is cute,’ she says, stroking the babyish woodland duvet cover.

‘None of this is my stuff. I don’t even like rabbits. They’re vicious.’

‘You could swap it for one you like. Paint the walls, put up some pictures.’

‘What’s the point? I’m only here till the end of next week.’

‘Casey, I’m sure your dad will want you to be here as often as you like.’

I don’t want to tell Gemma that DL never talks about August. Bear jumps onto the bed next to me, and I rest my hand on his body and feel his ribs moving up and down.

‘Who is out there?’ I ask her.

She shrugs. ‘Friends of your dad. They seem nice. But he says they’ll go if you’re not in the mood. They won’t mind.’