‘Christ, Connie, your chest sounds like a skip full of gravel. How long have you had this? When did the cough get so bad? Did you have any fever before last night?’ He looked around the room. ‘Where are the antibiotics the doctor gave you?’

Connie, dizzy with the onslaught, did her best to reassure him. ‘It’s just a bug, Devan. I’m on trains and with people all day long, it’s not surprising I occasionally pick something up.’ She was waiting for some barbed comment about the dangers and unsuitability of this sort of work for someone of her advanced age. But, mercifully, he held off.

He took her hand. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night. You realize collapsing alone in a hotel room could have had quite serious consequences?’

‘Yes, but, please, don’t fuss.’ She spoke weakly, just wanting him to leave her alone.

‘I’m not fussing,’ he objected.

‘OK, but you can see I’m better now. In fact, I think I’ll get up and have a shower. I must pong to high heaven.’ She didn’t really want a shower – even the thought of standing upright seemed like a challenge too far. But she wanted her husband to stop looking so worried.

‘Caty says we can stay and I think we ought to, for tonight, at least.’ Devan got up. ‘I’m not sure I can face that drive again today. And you certainly shouldn’t.’

That evening, after Devan had helped her wash and tidy herself, she was settled on the large sofa in the sitting room, wrapped in her daughter’s fleecy dressing gown and hiking socks and covered with a soft wool throw. She was still shivery, despite the August temperature outside being in the mid-twenties.

Even Bash looked worried at this strange version of his grandmother – usually bright and laughing and energetic – and snuggled quietly into her side as they watched a kids’ animation show about a squirrel club, while across the room Caitlin and Devan prepared supper. She was aware of them whispering to each other and occasionally casting glances in her direction but felt too tired to challenge them.

Neither, when she was eventually handed a bowl of minestrone, could she eat more than a couple of mouthfuls. The soup, although beautifully prepared, tasted rusty and made her want to retch. She needed desperately to go back to bed, but the fussing she knew this would provoke made her hang on till she was practically incapable of getting there.