‘OK, right. I can see why that would tend to put you off the menu.’

She sighs. ‘Plus, you’re meant to be into music, so how can you bear it? The playlist is literally torture and it’s making my head throb. I want to go home.’

Head-throbbing doesn’t sound good. Is it the music or something more sinister? I don’t have any idea what to do if she collapses. ‘Are you ill, Casey?’

‘Don’t panic. I’m not about to die on you in a plastic rainforest.’

‘Casey—’

‘I’m fine. I just don’t want to stay here.’

‘But you need to eat.’

‘Mum got some shopping in. I can have beans on toast.’

As I stand up, Siobhan is heading our way, her what can I get for you? smile faltering. My stomach growls – I hadn’t realized I was hungry – but the noise blends in with the soundtrack of angry silverbacks. I apologize to Siobhan and she gives me a wink that says: That’s kids for you.

‘I messed that up, didn’t I?’ I say once we get back outside. Drinkers and couples skirt past us, and Casey refuses to look at me. ‘But you could cut me some slack maybe? I don’t know you yet, and I want you to enjoy being here. So how about you tell me the kind of places you’d like to go and I will sort it.’

‘Stop pretending,’ she says.

‘What do you mean?’

She tuts – exactly like her mother does – and steps back onto the bridge, ignoring the locks this time.

‘Casey, wait.’ I catch her up. ‘Tell me what’s the matter.’

‘Like you care.’

‘I do care.’

‘You feel sorry for the poor brain-tumour girl. So does everyone. It’s not the same as caring for me as an actual person.’

‘Casey, I like you a lot.’

‘You don’t even know me. We’re not in some ancient Hugh Grant movie where we do “fun stuff together” and you get to feel better about yourself, and when I’m gone, you can tell your mates or your secret girlfriend how you gave your secret daughter the best month of her life.’

‘That’s not what this is about.’

That’s exactly what it’s about.

‘Good. Because why would I want to spend time with some random sperm donor? In fact it’d be better if you had been a sperm donor.’

‘I get why you’re angry with me. But I want to make your treatment as comfortable as possible.’

‘Yeah? You haven’t even bothered to come to the hospital with me.’

‘I’m at work when you’re having treatment.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Do you want me to come to the hospital with you, Casey?’ The ringing in my ears gets louder as I think about what it would involve.

She scratches her head. She must be so hot in that bloody wig. ‘That’s not the point. The point is whether you want to. And you don’t. I wish now that we’d gone to London for my treatment instead.’ She’s out of breath, and I’m scared she’s making herself sicker. No. That I’m making her sicker.