Kathleen made a noise that was at best non-committal. ‘I don’t know,’ she’d said. ‘I wouldn’t want to push her too far.’

I’d tried to draw her further on what she meant, but she clammed up. Refused to say any more. Frustrated, I’d switched on an audiobook through the car’s Bluetooth system and tried my best to lose myself in it as we drove the rest of the way home.

Of course, when Kathleen had finally seen my father, she’d collapsed into a paroxysm of grief. ‘My poor big brother,’ she’d wailed, pulling him into a hug and then apologising as he’d winced from the pain. I’d winced, too. The show of emotion ringing hollow in my ears.

But she’s calmer now as she stands in front of the fireplace, orating on palliative care and family responsibility.

‘Perhaps we could put our heads together and think of things that might encourage him out of that bed and back into the world for another bit. Maybe we could get him to make a bucket list. You know, things he’d really like to do while he can. We could try to make them happen.’

She seems so determined she can make a difference. That taking him on some poorly thought-out adventure might save him that I almost feel sorry for her.

She’s also assuming the rest of us have the same desire to have him around for as long as possible as she does.

‘Do you have any ideas?’ she asks to the silent room.

I see Heidi bow her head like the shy girl in class desperately hoping the teacher will have forgotten she exists and skim past her. I feel a sense of dread build as her gaze falls on me.

‘Ciara?’

‘Dad and I aren’t very close,’ I tell her, which of course is a gross understatement. ‘I’ve no idea what he might want to do.’

To my annoyance, I feel the warm glow of shame rise in my cheeks.

‘He’s still your dad. You must have some ideas.’

I know when I was little he liked books and gardening. He liked being the centre of attention. He liked people thinking he had brains to burn. Country walks. Talking about himself. Wildlife documentaries. Hurting people. Manipulating their feelings. Leaving.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Maybe a drive to the beach. A visit to the museum,’ I say with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

‘We could try to get him down to the library, to see his old friends,’ Stella suggests and I could kiss her for trying.

‘I was going to take him out for a pint, if he was well enough,’ Alex offers.

Heidi stays silent.

It’s all pretty mundane as far as a bucket list goes, but at least it feels doable, and without too much effort or time spent with him.

‘Those are all great ideas,’ Kathleen says, nodding a little too enthusiastically given the dull nature of our suggestions. ‘I think it’s worth really focusing on the fact that the thing he needs most of all right now is all of us pulling together to support him. I know you girls are young and have enough going on in your lives, but in the great grand scheme of things it really doesn’t amount to an awful lot of time. Then he’ll be gone and you’ll never have to think of him again.’ Her voice cracks as she looks at us all.