‘Harrison is just a friend.’

‘Good. You’re even smarter than I gave you credit for. I will do whatever it takes. Move closer to you, whatever you and your mum want. So we can be a real, flawed, messed-up family. Like you wanted.’

Mum tuts. ‘You told him you wanted a messed-up family?’

‘Yeah. They’re much cooler than boring ones.’

My mum checks the clock. ‘We’re going to miss your appointment. Do you want your dad there, Casey? Forget what we’d prefer. This is about your future.’

It feels so simple. I reach out to both of them and, as Mum takes one hand and Dad takes the other, we walk towards the lifts. When we step inside and I see us reflected in the mirrored metal, I laugh.

‘Mum, I look like Violet.’

Violet was the heroine of my favourite picture book when I was very small. In Rainy Days and Rainbow Days, Violet hated the rain and refused to go out in it. She had blonde hair, like mine used to be, so I identified with her totally. That stuff matters when you’re a kid.

After days of wet weather, Violet’s parents buy her red wellies and a bright-blue mackintosh. The best part comes in the park, at the end, where there’s this puddle that she’s got no chance of jumping over. You expect Violet will get soaked and hate the rain even more.

But the pictures show her flying across the water. At the last moment Violet’s mum and dad lift their arms, still holding Violet’s hands, so she soars over the puddle.

Today I get to be Violet. My parents can’t protect me from what the consultant has to say, but despite that, I understand how Violet felt as she took on the puddle, knowing that even if she fell into the water, there’d be hugs and towels and a warm bath to make things better once they got home.

The door to the consulting room is open.

I look at my parents and, because the doorway is too narrow, I let go of their hands and walk in first.

Dr de Silva sits on the edge of his desk. He is smiling.

It’s over.

For now.

Bob has shrunk by more than they hoped and, with luck, he’ll carry on shrinking. There will still be scans and checks to keep an eye on him, and on any side effects from my treatment.

A voice in my head says, You’ve been here before and it still came back. I shut the thought out. Right now I’ve cleared the puddle and the sun is coming out.

I hug my mum. Then my dad. The nurse hugs me. The doctor hugs me. When we leave the room, my grandad is back and he hugs me as well, though he doesn’t look at Mum or Dad. Fern comes from nowhere and she hugs me too. I am all hugged out, and now it’s time to ring the bell.

It’s brass and shiny, hanging on the wall, and I try not to think of the previous time, after normal radiotherapy in Birmingham, when I thought it was over for good. I stand next to it, as the people from my care team gather round.