It isn’t long before we reach the stop for the hospital. My legs are shaky as I step down off the bus. To my relief, from the outside the building looks completely different to that other hospital I know, the one lodged so firmly in my memory. Different stonework, a different shape and much bigger. I try to tell myself that, teaching my brain the differences between then and now. But it’s still a hospital, a place that normally I try so hard to avoid, and I suddenly wonder whether I can really do this. I can feel my mind skittering, tugging like a dog on a leash towards the past. I have to stand at the bus stop for a moment, pretending I’m studying the return bus timetable, before I feel ready to go on.

There is a path from the bus stop through the car park to the hospital entrance. When I step inside, I expect to meet the hospital smell I remember, one I would recognize anywhere, but instead the only scent I get is that of coffee from the Costa’s in the entrance area. It makes this easier.

I check that my hair in its bun lies perfectly smooth against my scalp and that the buttons on my blouse run straight down my front. I only wish I’d thought to bring a work badge as I walk up to the efficient-looking woman on reception.

‘Hello,’ I say. ‘My name is Jennifer Arden. I’m here to meet Alastair Matthews. I understand that he’s working here today.’

She looks me up and down: the smart blazer, the neat hair, the lipstick I’ve so carefully applied. Underneath my smart blouse, I’m aware of my armpits, slick with cold sweat.

‘Children’s ward,’ she says. ‘You’ll most likely find him up there.’

And it is as simple as that.

‘Thank you,’ I say. She is pointing to a sign on the wall behind me, with directions to the different wards and departments, and I can see the children’s ward clearly marked in bright pink.

The children’s ward.

‘Take the lift,’ she suggests. ‘Down there, at the end of the corridor.’

I take a deep breath and follow the direction of her pointing finger. My heels click on the polished floor as I walk. I find the lift, and ride it up to the second floor. When I step out, the hospital smell hits me. It takes me straight back and I have to force myself not to turn around and leave.

This children’s ward is light and bright and noisy. There’s another reception desk up here, and I go up to the nurse on duty and say the same thing as before. He looks at me more suspiciously than the woman downstairs.