‘Anyhow, sorry. All yours.’ Wolfie gestured at me to carry on and sat cross-legged on the bed next to Lou. While I got on with the job, they talked quietly about school (everything great, no problems at all, and by the way, no mention of detention); the bus trip back to Belsize Park (an absolute breeze, despite two changes and a twenty-minute wait in between); and plans for the rest of the afternoon (important meeting with George in the front room to offer an opinion on some Disney merchandise).

I worked away carefully and methodically, and it struck me how different the tone of Wolfie’s voice was when she was speaking to Lou instead of everyone else. Or did I mean just me? She seemed softer, younger – not so prickly. And I don’t know if Lou clocked it, but that was definitely someone bending over backwards to reassure their mother that everything was dandy, so they wouldn’t worry.

I was wondering just how dandy things could really be with an out-of-action parent and a marathon trek home from school to contend with, and trying to peel the adhesive backing off a silicone patch, when I realised they’d stopped talking. I looked up and they were both watching me.

‘Do you want . . . I mean, there’s a trick with that if you want to know?’ Wolfie indicated the silicone patch. ‘Should I show you?’

‘Please. I need all the help I can get, to be honest.’ And also, this was a bit of a turn-up for the books. I wondered if I’d finally impressed her with my newfound medical skills.

Wolfie slid off the bed and knelt on the floor next to me. She took the silicone patch and held it between her hands. ‘Yeah, so if you tuck your nail underneath that bit and then kind of roll it with your thumb, it comes off much more easily.’ She proved the point by peeling the backing off effortlessly and then passed it back.

‘Nice one, thanks. That’s going to save a whole lot of blood, sweat and tears, I can tell you.’ I wasn’t joking. I’d struggled with it every single day, and I wondered if Lou had done some sign language up there to beg Wolfie to put me out of my misery. I didn’t care, though. Because whatever her reasons, it felt like something had dislodged in Wolfie’s spiky little defence. That I’d passed some kind of test. Small wins, baby steps.

After that day, if she did come home early while I was doing the dressings, she’d sit on the bed with Lou and talk about the day (always fine, always dandy) and, even though she’d occasionally look over my shoulder and offer a comment or suggestion, it didn’t feel like she was checking up on me any more.

When it was just Lou and me, which was most days, the routine of unwrapping, bathing and rewrapping her leg gave us a purpose, something to talk about, which we didn’t need when we sat out on the patio in the mornings. Out there, the silence had taken on a comfortable familiarity as I jotted down notes for the letters, and she went wherever it was she went when she closed her eyes. But inside the house I was grateful for the routine that gave us something else to focus on than the ever-present spectre of history in the room.