This isn’t about me.

My leg muscles twitch with the urge to scram, so I don’t make things worse. But the instinct to protect Casey is stronger. She can’t fight this alone. ‘From where I’m sitting, Angelica needs her daughter to get well, so everything can go back to normal.’

Harriet sniffs. ‘I suppose that’s a valid point.’

‘Which means Casey can’t have her proton beam therapy interrupted. It’s only another fortnight.’

She sighs grudgingly, takes out her phone. ‘All right. I guess I could get a rota together to drive Casey up and down – it’d be tiring, but doable. Except it’s the end of term and . . .’ She shakes her head. ‘Oh, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time for me.’

This isn’t about you. But for all Harriet’s self-righteousness, I have to get her onside, because I’ve realized there’s only one way of making this work.

‘I have a solution.’

She raises her eyebrows, as though there’s no way that could be true. ‘Go on.’

‘I take Casey back with me, on the train. Look after her this week. Drop her back next weekend. If Angelica’s better, they can both come back to Bristol. If not, I’ll take Casey again for the last week of therapy.’

Even as I am speaking, I’m wondering, Can I do this? Can I be what Casey needs without anyone there to guide me, or to step in if I make a hash of it?

I have to. It’s the only way it can work.

Harriet pulls a face. ‘You think you can be relied upon to take care of her by yourself? Mr Rock ’n’ Roll?’

The noisy rush of blood in my ears is a warning sign. I am this close to losing my temper with the woman.

But that’d mean I lose everything.

The first thing to do is breathe.

I tune into the memory of Gemma’s calm voice when we met for the first time. There. Her words rise above the hum and buzz of my anger. I imagine her in the room, expecting the best of me.

‘Yes.’ I look Harriet in the eye. ‘Me. I’ve spent two weeks with Casey now. I know it’s not a lot, but I understand her routines. She’s comfortable at the flat. I’ve met some of the hospital staff. I won’t win any prizes for fatherhood, but I can keep her safe.’

‘Wouldn’t it cramp your style way too much to have your daughter on your own for a week or two?’

‘I can handle it.’

Harriet breaks eye contact first. She stares at her phone, swipes, as though she still hopes she can find an app to make me – and the problem – disappear. With a final tut, she puts the phone away. ‘Angelica won’t like it.’

‘No. But you’re her best friend. You can make her see it’s the least-worst option. Please.’ I give Harriet a good old-fashioned Dan the Man smile, like my father taught me, and her sternness melts, just a fraction.