‘Did you talk to her straight away?’

‘Yeah. I was fearless in those days. I bought her coffee, offered to warm her up by . . .’ I realize that’s not something to share with our daughter. ‘You don’t need to know what I said – it was very cheesy. She laughed at me, right in my face. But she said she was looking forward to seeing The Killers. It was a hint about where she’d be later, except it’s almost impossible to find anyone at Glastonbury.’

‘But you did?’

‘I did. Almost straight away. I told her it was fate and I kissed her when they were playing “Mr Brightside”. Because she made everything seem brighter to me.’

‘That sounds . . . romantic.’ She tuts. ‘I mean, I know it didn’t end up being a happy ever after, but when you talk about it, it sounds sweet.’

Sweet. ‘I guess it was, in a way.’ And mysterious: I’ve never felt such a draw to someone before. Until Gemma.

Casey takes the clown napkin that came with her snack box, folding it into a concertina shape. I don’t think she’s finished.

‘Can I ask you something else?’

I pull a face. ‘Fire away.’

‘That weekend. You didn’t meet her for all that long, but back then was she worried about the stuff she worries about now?’

This is a chance to push a little deeper, but I have to be careful not to scare Casey off. ‘What kind of stuff?’

‘Dirt. Germs. And chemicals.’

‘Like the ones in hair dye?’ I wince, remembering how Angelica freaked out after Casey had the patch test.

‘Chemicals are in everything. Food, drink, even paint. Did you know there’s stuff in paint that can trigger allergies and even cancer—’ Casey stops abruptly, maybe aware of how much she’s sounding like her mum. No wonder the house hasn’t been maintained, if Angelica thinks paint could have caused her daughter’s tumour.

How can I reassure Casey without trivializing her fears?

‘Well, the weekend we met, you couldn’t be too fussy about dirt because we had the worst weather there’s ever been at Glastonbury. You must have seen the pictures.’

‘Mum told me a bit about that.’

‘It was grim until you accepted it was a mudbath, and then it was fun.’ I can feel my lips turning up into a smile. ‘Your mum was on board with that. She laughed the whole time.’

It’s a half-truth. Because even when she was laughing, there was something lost about Angelica: the element that drove her to go wild, to sleep with me, to take drugs for the first time. Did I recognize that because I was the same: desperate to escape from reality?

Casey nods. ‘She still does. When she’s well, she’s so much more fun than all my friends’ mums.’ The love in her face makes her light up brighter than a field full of glow sticks after dark.

‘She’ll be herself again soon, Casey. When your treatment’s over there’ll be less to worry about and . . .’ I tail off because we can’t be certain.