‘Yes. And all of Juliet’s extended family are coming over from Dublin – all these cousins and childhood friends who’ll completely outnumber us. So you see, I’ll need you there. My ally.’

‘I’ll find out about flights at once. When do you want me to arrive, ideally?’ She was already thinking ahead and her brain was frantic with the planning of small tasks and domestic details. As soon as she put the phone down, she would make a list: which airlines to try, how she’d have to contact Adrian and tell him her plans in case he needed to reach her, what to pack, what present she could buy.

And at the same time she was trying not to think ahead too much, to the time after the wedding when all images ended in a flurry of dark thoughts. She was full of questions that she wasn’t going to ask. Will Juliet lose her hair? Does this mean she won’t be able to have children? Is she in much pain? How does she feel about having her breast cut off from her body? How do you feel? Will she die? Does she think – like me and you, Jem – that when she dies there’s nothing, that this life is absolutely all there is, nothing beyond except the great unending darkness, or is she a good Catholic girl who believes she will come face to face with her God and that dying is like crossing a threshold into another room? Is she scared, terrified, waking up in the middle of the night with loose bowels and a crazy beating heart?

‘Come as soon as you can. Now. Tomorrow. Whenever. Then we can see you – and you can help us prepare. It wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re pretty much my only family, except Mum and Dad and they’re – well, you know. It’s a pity Sasha and Clem and Aggie can’t be there.’

‘I’ll book something and call you back. Is there anything I can do? I mean, anything at all?’

‘Just come and be with us. Be our witness. Wish us well.’

‘I wish you well,’ she said fervently. She held the receiver between both her hands as if she was praying. She wanted to say something large and important. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him and would always, always be there for him – but that would be too much like writing an obituary. ‘I wish you all good things.’

Jem turned to Juliet, where she sat on the floor beside him, and picked up her hand, turning it over and kissing the palm.

‘She’s coming as soon as she can.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’

‘Juliet.’

‘Mmmm.’

‘Oh – nothing. I don’t know. Just, Juliet.’

‘I know. It’s all right.’