‘I’ve spent so many years thinking about it, Danny, but it’s not until now, these past few weeks here, that I’ve worked something out.’ I thought of that chink of weak light coming from her bedroom window late at night and into the early morning.

‘All those years I felt so guilty about not missing Mum, it wasn’t because I didn’t love her, or even because she couldn’t love me properly. It was because after she died, the people I really missed were you and Dad.’

Lou leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, just in time not to see my face.

‘I’ve got so much good stuff in my life, Danny. Wolfie is—’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Wolfie’s just bloody amazing, and I know damn well that’s in spite of me not because of me. And being here with you and Dom and George . . . That poor kid, but I mean he’s just so . . . so George about what happened with his mum, isn’t he?’

He really is.

‘Having someone like George around makes you see things differently. Think about . . . I don’t know, the things that really matter. Like the day your kid took her first step, or the look on her face when she ate her first salty chip, or when multiplication finally made sense to her. Or the school trip to Scotland when she was ten and she was the only one of her class who made it all the way to the top of Ben Nevis with the older kids, and in assembly the head told everyone she was a little warrior.’ Lou opened her eyes then, and looked straight over at me.

‘So even though you’re never going to forget how hard you were to love and all the mistakes you’ve made, you’re always going to remember you’ve done something good. Something amazing, actually. You’ve gone and raised a warrior.’

JOSSIE

Dear Danny Mulberry. How are you? I hope you are well. That’s the first time I ever saw anyone doing a rude sign in a newspaper, by the way. Not that I read many papers because I’m ten, but on Mondays I do. My name is Jossie and I’m writing to ask you to help me with a problem I have.

Monday afternoons are when I go to Kingston Hospital to keep my dad company, and there’s always a big pile of papers called the Double sitting there for free. My dad says, ‘Joselyn, being interested is the most important thing you can be,’ so I read the paper while he does his Sudoku and has his chemo. This week when I opened up the Double, on one side of the page there was a picture of a man walking his dog in the park and it said, ‘Colon cancer: the silent killer. Book a screening today.’ I hated that picture straight away, so I looked at the other side of the page and it was the photo of you. I know it wasn’t really just me you were smiling at, but it actually felt like it was. I don’t know why.