‘Don’t do yourself down, darling,’ my mother broke in. ‘Be positive, for heaven’s sake! You’ve done something extraordinary for your little boy, you’re an inspiration to other parents – accept it, without tying yourself in knots. Celebrate, appreciate this enormous step you’ve helped Louis make. I know, before, you didn’t know how to take your time, to relish things. But that was before. He’s alive, for goodness’ sake! Alive. We’re all alive, and we’re together.’

My mother was right. As always. Her words resonated with others – the ones I’d set down on paper, the previous night.

She was spot on.

I gazed around that room of wonders, which I would never forget. That emotional roller-coaster room, which had in turn broken me, shattered me, shaken me up, thrilled me, transcended and transformed me. That room, every square inch of which would remain etched in my mind.

My eyes roved over the walls, rested on a photo of me in shorts and football boots, between Isa and Edgar. I knew they were probably not far away, that they’d be here soon. All this kindness, all these people who cared about me – it was all new. In the course of this journey, I’d rediscovered the importance of those around me, those I’d call my close family and friends, and who, too often and too quickly, I’d distanced myself from. Might they be feeling the same way as me, right now? It was strange to feel a tiny flash of happiness in that cold, impersonal room.

I started to cry again.

For joy, and from giddiness at the thought of the unknown that lay ahead. But mostly for joy. Louis was alive. He really was.

I went over to him. I stroked his cheek and whispered to him not to be afraid, saying that I was his mum, and always would be, whatever happened. That I loved him, we loved him. That it was natural he couldn’t remember anything right now, but I didn’t hold it against him. I’d never hold anything against him. That I was so happy.

That tomorrow would be a new adventure. Each day would bring new surprises and discoveries. It would be a fresh opportunity for all of us, a new start, the possibility to reinvent ourselves and build something even more solid.

That he had to carry on fighting. It would be a long road, but he could lean on me. Lean on all of us. That I’d be there to support him, day and night. Come what may.

That there would be laughter. Love. Tears. Shouts. Football. Karaoke. Crazy parties, half marathons and car chases.

Joy, more of it. Happiness, always.

That he would remember.

And that, if he didn’t remember the past . . . Well, we’d create new memories – simple.

I thought I could hear my mother.

I had heard a mother. It was me.