‘Sit down,’ he said.

It was an order, not a request. I knew his tone of voice well.

I pulled the chair from beside his bed just a little further away from him before doing what he’d asked.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know why you always have to be so cold with me, Heidi,’ he said sadly.

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet. Fidgeting uncomfortably on the chair. I willed Lily to let out a cry so I would have an excuse to bolt. It shocked me how quickly he could make me feel as if he was in control again.

He sighed again. ‘You’re talking about me, aren’t you? All of you. Downstairs.’

He sounded worried. But he always was a good actor, good at eliciting sympathy when he deserved none. I’d no doubt he was going to start laying down the law about what standard of care he expected. Joe McKee was nothing if not particular.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We are. We’re talking about how best to support you.’

He nodded slowly. ‘And that’s all?’ he said, one bushy, overgrown grey eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

I wasn’t sure if I imagined it or not, but thinking back, now I’m sure that it was a flash of worry that I saw on his face as he spoke. We’d never spoken of what had happened all those years ago. Joe had been a master of sweeping uncomfortable things under carpets and I’d been content to let all those secrets fester out of sight.

‘What else would we be talking about?’ I asked him, keeping my face as neutral as my voice.

‘All sorts of things come up when someone is dying,’ he said. ‘Emotions. Unresolved issues.’

‘Sure, what unresolved issues would we have, Joe?’ I asked.

I knew I was goading him, but I wanted to know how far I could push him before he would crack. If, that was, he would crack at all.

‘Well, I don’t know, but I suppose what I’m saying is that there’s no need to go upsetting yourself, or anyone else for that matter, by going over old ground.’

He made it sound like he was trying to do me a favour. Like he was trying to look after me. All that did was anger me more.

‘What old ground would that be, Joe?’ I asked as I struggled to retain my composure.

Would he actually have the balls to come out and say it? I wondered. Would he have the guts to say that he wanted to make sure his sick and sordid past didn’t become the thing people remembered him for most of all?

He paused, blinked. ‘Things weren’t always easy,’ he said. He swallowed, looked down then up and that time I knew what I saw. I knew I was looking at the face of a worried and scared old man. ‘I did my best, you know. You were such a damaged child. With your mother’s death. You were so difficult to manage at times, and I know you believed things to be true that maybe didn’t happen like you remember them. Then of course the passage of time erodes memories, doesn’t it? Fills in gaps in stories. Traumas mix together, don’t they, so it’s hard to remember what is real and what isn’t. Especially when you were on so many medications.’