He’s weak now, exhausted. I pull the big duvet off my bed and drag it through onto the living-room sofa. I put the television on, gentle cartoons, the volume low, and make him lie down. I make him hot milk, scalding myself in the process, and give him Calpol. I sit beside him on the sofa and smooth his glossy hair, my hand a steady rhythm. But when fifteen minutes later I place my palm on his forehead, his skin still feels hot, and he twists and fidgets under my hand. I give him a second dose, praying this one will soothe him. I just need him to be still. I just need him not to move, or try to get up or speak, because every movement, every word is like a trigger and I just need some space to think.

When he falls asleep, as I’d hoped he would, I get up quietly. The slice of birthday cake sits like a rock in my stomach. I go through to the bathroom and quietly, almost silently, make myself sick.

Then I take my laptop into the kitchen and open up the webpage I promised myself last year never to go on again. They told me back then that it would only make things worse. You’ll just confirm all of your worst fears, you’ll convince yourself of everything you read. It’s a confirmation bias, the psychologist told me. It doesn’t help. But now I can’t help myself. I tell myself I just need to know.

The address comes up as soon as I start typing it into the search bar. The Child Brain Injury Trust. I’ve been to this site so many times before. On here there are pages and pages of information. Fact sheets on everything you could ever want to know. Videos of a dozen different children and their families.

I click on a fact sheet about damage in infancy. I click on a video about the developing brain. It’s impossible for any health-care professional to predict the outcome for a child … some of the effects may not come to the surface until years later … Through in the living room, Charlie is sleeping soundly on the couch. I love him so much and yet he terrifies me. I want to hold him, crush him to me, and yet at times like this, I can hardly bear to go near him.