“Knock, knock. A little bird told us you were serving tart in here.” Two female doctors come in with Liz the physiotherapist. They’re all wearing the kind of tiny, ridiculous paper hats you only usually find in Christmas crackers. Liz hands Marion one, and as cool as a cucumber, she puts it on. I no longer feel like the only idiot.

“What are you up to? Sam, are you wearing—”

“Yeah, it’s Batman. You can get Superman ones too.”

“I’m sure you can,” says one of the two doctors in a deep voice, and the other women, including Marion, burst into giggles. Women can be really weird.

Now there are five of us sitting with Maddie on the bed watching Dirty Dancing, and everyone, apart from Maddie and me, is soon sniveling.

Okay, I do admit it’s a bit moving.

“Did you bake that tart yourself, Sam?” Marion asks after the closing credits.

I nod.

“That’s a tarte tatin!” Liz shouts excitedly. “But where are the candles?”

“Not yet. Karaoke first,” I explain, taking the pink toy microphone out of my rucksack.

“Oh no, just as things are really heating up I have to go,” says one of the doctors, peeping at her pager. Liz also says goodbye, casting a longing glance over her shoulder at the tart.

“Well, I’m off duty now and I love karaoke,” says the other doctor.

Nurse Marion checks her patient’s monitors and after a couple of minutes, she mutters, “Oh all right then, but only because it’s you. Maddie’s fine, although she’s sweating a little. Are you enjoying yourself, darling?”

“What’s on your playlist?” the doctor asks. Her badge reads, BEN. Sheerin. Ben? She studies the iPad. “Oh, by the way, my name’s Benny,” she says. “It’s short for Benedicta. My full name wouldn’t fit on the badge.”

“Oh. I’m Sam. Samuel Noam Valentiner. That wouldn’t fit on a badge either.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” says Dr. Benny, scrolling through the songs on my mother’s iPad. “Oh wow, ‘Dancing Queen’!” she squeals. “Do you know that one, Marion?”

“I’m fifty-one, not a hundred and one. Of course I know Abba!”

Benny fumbles with the iPad, turns up the volume, and announces, “All right, Maddie. This is especially for you.”

She takes the pink microphone from my hand, and the two women line up at the end of Maddie’s bed and give a cringeworthy yet completely awesome performance of “Dancing Queen,” with Benny singing the tune and Marion on backing vocals.

I dance to it like the woman from Dirty Dancing and try to style my hair like Patrick What’s-His-Name, the guy who played Johnny. I’m pretty sure Maddie’s almost peeing her knickers with laughter. I hop around a little more, and the girl with the ice-blue eyes lies there in her bed as we dance and sing for her.