The occupational therapist is Welsh, gentle, kind. They sit in a private consulting room.

“Well, there’s been extensive damage to parts of your mother’s brain, so I’m recommending at a bare minimum Wake-Me-Up for her basic neurological function, and also Plasticity to help her regain speech and basic motor functions. I also think Steady As She Goes is going to be very important if we are to prevent your mother experiencing any falls, and I would recommend at least a two-year course of Migrawatch to help with basic reconstruction.”

“And . . . will that fix her?”

“Ms Meads, you need to understand that none of this is a ‘fix’. There are aspects of your mother that could be . . . very different. Things that won’t come back. What we’re doing is giving her the minimum of basic function so that she can still have a comfortable old age, and look after herself to a reasonable degree. She might still require assistance around the house with cooking, cleaning and washing herself, but given time she should be able to prepare sandwiches and communicate with the postman to a satisfactory degree.”

“I see.”

“I’m also going to be putting her back on K-blast and Zenblood. She should never have stopped them in the first place, if we’re honest. How is she fixed money-wise?”

“She’s . . . We’re not rich.”

“Will you be able to pay for the prescription when your mother leaves hospital Wi-Fi?”

“I . . . don’t know. No. No we won’t.”

“I see. Ms Meads, I’m going to give you the details of a couple of charities I think you should contact. I can’t guarantee anything, but your mother needs these prescriptions if she’s going to be functional again. At least you should try.”

“I will. Thank you,” she says, and is genuinely grateful.

The first charity says, “And she’s a housewife? And you’re thirty-one? And you’re her only daughter? So she doesn’t have any other dependants? No . . . other children? Younger, under the age of eighteen? She doesn’t foster? Isn’t caring for her husband? Doesn’t . . . do much in the community? I see. Well, thank you, Ms Meads, thank you, of course we’ll consider it . . . ”

And the second charity says, “I’m sorry, but looking at her files we see that she cancelled her last course of blood-thinning treatment and actually this doesn’t reflect well on her record, doesn’t reflect well on her capacity to . . . ”

And Harmony hangs up, and sits alone by the sluggish, fat River Thames, and knows with all the certainty in her heart that if she was beautiful, if she was confident and sexy and knew how to smile again, how to smile the smile that people want to see, she could go to these charities and meet them in person and explain it all, and they would help her.

If she was beautiful.

She sat by Karen’s bed as the hospital tweaked the prescriptions.