‘Why did you choose Bristol over having your treatment in London, if you didn’t want to meet me?’ I put my hand on her arm to slow her down.

She turns and that’s when I can see her eyes are magnified by tears. ‘You want the truth?’

‘Yes.’ But I brace myself.

‘Because we needed someone as backup. Mum’s been my mother and my father for so long and she does the best job. She’s amazing. But she’s struggled since they said my tumour was growing again. She hates cities, and having to live in a strange place for a whole month is her worst nightmare. I was worried it’d be too much for her.’

A strange place? So Angelica hasn’t told her anything about living here. ‘And that’s the real reason you contacted me?’

She shrugs. It’s bad enough that this kid – my kid – is having to cope with a tumour. But it’s so much worse that she feels so responsible for her mother. In the sunshine Casey is so much like the Angelica I saw thirteen summers ago at Glastonbury, and I understand how much better her life would have been if she’d never met me.

And I also realize why Angelica had such a go at me earlier, because my clumsy attempt to ‘do the right thing’ might make it worse for all of us.

‘Do you think it is helping your mum, staying with me? You could still swap to the hospital accommodation. Whatever you both want, it’s cool.’

Am I thinking this for their sake or because it’d make my life easier if they left, so I wouldn’t be reminded of my failings?

‘Nothing is cool. Stop using that word. My brain tumour isn’t cool, it’s not cool that my mum’s mental health is bad, and you’re not cool if your idea of a big treat is that stupid little kids’ restaurant!’

There’s nothing I dare say in reply, but I stay close because the Harbourside pulses with people and I can’t risk losing her. We cross the other bridge and I bet it’ll make Angelica’s night when we come back so soon. I can’t even care for my daughter for a single hour without upsetting her.

The smell from Cantina Rio on the roof of the shipping containers wafts towards me: barbecued meats, deep-fried bean patties, little rolls with melted-cheese centres. My mouth starts to water.

Casey has noticed it too.

‘Have you ever tried Brazilian food?’

She scoffs. ‘Not unless you count the rainforest restaurant.’

‘Would you like to? See the place up there – it’s one of my favourite places to eat.’ I point towards the roof and her eyes widen, despite her scowl.

‘What is Brazilian food like?’

‘Delicious. A lot of meat and deep-fried snacks. Your mum wouldn’t approve and they might be fully booked. But . . . they know me. I could ask.’

It’s her belly that rumbles this time. ‘We still could tell Mum we ate vegan, couldn’t we?’