I can see my mother waving at us theatrically from afar. They trot along the path towards us, John trailing behind them at a slower pace.

‘Alex, dear, how are you?’ My mother reaches me and inspects me at arm’s length. Her wire-framed spectacles have darkened in the sun. ‘You look not bad. Have you been following that eating plan I sent you?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ I sigh.

‘Why ever not?’

‘She’s just being Alex, Mother.’ My sister perches her lipstick-pink sunglasses on her head and rolls her eyes dramatically. ‘Has to rebel against anything we say or do.’

I observe my mother and her familial shadow and decide this is not going to be how today is going to go. I invited them here, so I’m going to take the lead from the off.

‘Yup, I sure do. But can you blame me?’ I greet John with a warm hug and lead them towards the entrance to the house at a reasonable pace, my fatigue thankfully now more manageable than it was.

We enter the Art Lover’s Cafe via the gift shop. It’s a bright, open space with fairy lights strung across the ceiling, square pillars perforating the room and tastefully art-bedecked white walls. We’re shown to our seats, where I strategically place myself between Sasha and John for reinforcement.

‘So, how are you doing, Alex?’ John asks me, while my mother and Carol debate the fat content of the duck liver parfait on the menu, and whether that would be good for me in my condition. ‘I mean generally, not in relation to your health.’

‘I’m fine, John.’ I smile at him warmly. ‘Getting on with things.’

‘Good for you. Just you keep doing that.’

‘I intend to.’ A thought pops into my head and I lower my voice. ‘In fact, perhaps I should give you some advance warning. I’m about to give those two some news they’re not going to like – for which I apologise in advance.’

‘Whatever it is, I’ll cope.’ He gives me a little wink.

The waiter appears and is subjected to a painful ordering session, during which Carol interrogates him on the ingredients of almost every dish on the menu.

My idea to bring Sasha along works better than I thought. She keeps my mother and sister talking until our starters arrive, which she knows is when I’m going to share my news and the proverbial will hit the fan. If my plan works out, that will play out in a very restrained way, perhaps even allowing some sensible discussion to sneak through.

I allow us to get started on our food, then give Sasha the nod. She signals her understanding and expertly disengages herself from her conversation. I clear my throat in preparation to speak, then immediately regret doing so as this sets off my mother and sister’s annoyingly hypersensitised off-target MS radars.

‘OK, Alex?’ Carol cocks her head to one side and regards me like she would a crying puppy, a behavioural trait I’m sure she’s only acquired since my diagnosis.