After the past few days, he was afraid that he wouldn’t know how to accept death. He wasn’t sure that he’d understand how he was supposed to react, what other people would expect of him. When the reality of dying came close enough to touch him personally, he was terrified that his mind would go into denial. How could he face the physical truth of what he had talked about with Freddy Robertson? The slow process of decomposition that began with the final breath, the stages of decay and the mould of fermentation, the swarming bacteria and digestive enzymes that would return the body to the earth.

Surely, when the moment came, it would be too much to cope with. He’d be frozen with fear, terrified to express a thought or emotion, in case it burst a barrier that held back the worms and the demons of the grave. Everyone would think he was heartless and cold, that he was showing no grief. He might not be able to face his family, feeling as he did.

Ben wondered if there was anybody he could explain it to. He thought about talking to Matt or Claire, but he knew they wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t fair to inflict it on them anyway. Nobody wanted to think about death. Not really think about it. He was afraid he might shock them by referring to his mother’s body as ‘it’. But his perception of dying had changed. He no longer believed that what remained after death would still be the person he’d known and loved.

For a moment, he watched the lights on the relief road. One after another, they flickered and died on the parapet of the footbridge, though the vehicles themselves weren’t visible behind the fencing. The hum of traffic reminded him of the garden of remembrance at the crematorium. He shivered, and went back to the ward and let the others take a break.

Ben Cooper held his mother’s hand for a long time, until he finally fell asleep in the chair by her bed. He must have dozed for only a short while. Yet he woke feeling as if a long time had passed and the world had changed while he slept. He’d been dreaming about being lost in great, echoing caves where water ran all around him. But the dream slipped rapidly away as he opened his eyes and remembered where he was.

He was still holding his mother’s hand, but her fingers felt limp and cold.

‘Mum?’

Her eyes were closed – as if she, too, were asleep. He wondered what she’d be dreaming about. Ben put his palm against her forehead. It was smooth – smoother than her skin had been for years. And much cooler, too.

He looked at the unnatural whiteness of her still face, and at first he thought that she must have been replaced with a marble statue of herself while he slept. A beautiful statue, finely sculpted, but lacking the vital spark of life.