‘Go away!’

Bear is yelping, refusing to do as he’s told.

‘Casey? Is that you? It’s Gemma.’

Bear yelps.

‘Go away, I want to be on my own for once in my life!’

Yes! She sounds stroppy – which must be a good sign. I pull my phone out of my bag, ready to call Dan, but not wanting to scare Casey away.

‘At least let me see you’re all right? You haven’t fallen or hurt yourself?’

‘I’m totally fine. I wanted to get away from everyone, but I’m not even allowed to do that!’

I still can’t see her, and if it hadn’t been for Bear, I’d never have known she was here. He vaults back towards me, tail wagging so fast it makes his whole body move, mouth open in a wide, panting grin.

‘You know I can’t leave you here, Casey? Not in the middle of a storm. Your mum and dad are so worried, so I’m going to call Dan now—’

She steps out from behind a tree that’s broader than she is. Her hair is soaked, her skin mottled, her skirt covered in wet leaves and sore-looking scratches on her bare legs.

But she’s standing, and the defiance on her face tells me she’s going to be OK, physically at least.

‘Neither of us are dressed for a hike, are we?’ I say, raising my leg so she can see the nettle rash. ‘Do you want some water?’ I reach into my bag again for the bottle.

Casey grabs it and drinks almost every drop before blinking. ‘I’m so sick of it. Dad lying. Mum being bitchy. The treatment. Of feeling mega-tired the entire time and not knowing if it’s because I’m getting worse. I want to smash my beads of courage into little pieces and be normal again.’

I hear the despair and remember Andrew one freezing winter day after his relapse. Standing outside Oncology, telling me he couldn’t go through another round of treatment, that he was out of strength. I talked him back inside, but it was touch and go, and I felt guilty, because I was making him face more pain . . .

‘I understand,’ I say. ‘My husband had moments like this.’

Bear has stopped jumping up, but has returned to Casey’s side. He always knows what someone needs and, as she reaches down, he licks her fingers and she sinks back down onto the earth and he snuggles in closer.

Casey shakes her head. ‘It’s not the treatment. It’s everything.’

I nod, aware that each second must feel like an eternity to her mum and Dan. ‘Can I call your dad now, to let him know you’re OK? He’s got the jeep, so he can take you home to the penthouse.’

‘That’s not home. And he’s not my dad. He’s a liar. He cares more about his stupid trainers than he does about me.’

‘Still,’ I say, not disagreeing, ‘you do need to get back to your mum.’