I have to park a couple of streets away, and I buy myself a bunch of sunflowers to cheer myself up. I’m ecstatic for Casey, but I can’t help remembering appointments with Andrew that didn’t end so well.

I ought to focus on the future, but there’s nothing to focus on for twenty more hours. Back home, I’m cutting the stems and my phone rings: Dan. I answer without hesitating, hoping . . . What am I even hoping for?

‘Hey,’ I say.

‘Hey, again,’ he says.

‘Did Casey get on the road OK?’

‘Yes. We all got a bit tearful, but Angelica is going to let her come back down next month.’

I hear him breathing and it’s so nice, knowing he’s there.

‘Listen, Gemma, I’ve been thinking about you. About tomorrow. Are you going to the clinic on your own?’

‘Yes, it’s only a blood test.’ I always go alone, so I can process the result without Mum or Dad or my sister watching me for my reaction.

‘So this might be a crap idea, but do you fancy coming to my place afterwards? I’ve been letting it out on Airbnb, but I have to get the keys back in the morning and it’ll give me a deadline to get it cleaned up again.’

I know his suggestion has nothing to do with deadlines or housework. He’s offering me a glimpse of who he is, and I want to take it. But when I get my result, I might want to go home and sob.

People say they want a simple life. But the simplest life is one where you cut yourself off from others. And that is not the life I want any more.

‘Can I let you know, afterwards?’

He’s silent for a moment, maybe weighing up what I mean.

‘Dan, I like you. A lot.’

‘Despite everything?’

I think about it. ‘Maybe because of everything. But I’ve no idea how the test result will affect me. I need you to be patient with me, if you can.’

As I wait for his response, I hold my breath.

‘I’ve never been much good at patience, Gemma. But perhaps it’s another thing I’ve got to practise.’

‘It’s a life skill,’ I say. ‘I promise I’ll call you afterwards. I can’t say how soon, but it will be tomorrow.’

Tomorrow.

After the call ends, I sit and I watch Bear asleep on the sofa, the rise and fall of that sturdy ribcage, the twitch of black whiskers and the air-trotting of his front paws. He has the simplest life: sleeping and dreaming and waking and peeing and eating and pooing and playing and sleeping again.

But that’s not all he does. Bear inhabits every emotion completely: worry, joy, fear, loss, love. I wish I could live in the moment, like him. But humans are cursed and blessed by knowing there’s such a thing as the future.

Do I want Dan in mine?

I pick up The Amazing Book of Us and turn to the last page, to the illustration I did of Andrew and me peering up at an inky sky, the planets above bright in silver and gold paint – my most honest response to the last words he ever wrote.