Their backs were to the door and they didn’t hear their mother come in. For a moment she just stood and watched them, seeing them, almost for the first time, as grown men. Her mind went back to tea after school at the same kitchen table. She had always insisted on toast and jam, biscuits and fruit while they debriefed about their school day. That was the moment – fresh from the coalface – when she’d heard amusing vignettes of teachers, learnt about friendship conflicts, success or failure in tests and on the sports field before they disappeared into their bedrooms and became buried in their homework. She’d loved that time – the cosy, predictable routine, the knowledge she built up about her boys’ lives. Knowledge she’d always felt sad that Michael didn’t share.

‘Hey, Mum.’ Leo sprang up and came to give her a hug.

‘Want a fried egg?’ Rex asked, lifting the pan from the hob before coming to kiss her.

She shook her head, then made herself a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.

‘Have a nice weekend?’ Rex asked, mouth full of toast. Romy thought he looked a bit rough, his tan beginning to fade. Suffering from too much alcohol and not enough sleep, she decided, although she couldn’t bring herself to disapprove. She could hardly talk.

‘Lovely,’ she said, unable to hide her pleasure. She quickly bent her head to take a sip from her cup. When she looked up, she saw Leo, his eyes quietly appraising. Rex was too busy with his breakfast to notice.

‘How’s Dad?’

‘Much the same,’ Rex said.

‘Did you speak to the doctors?’

‘No one’s around at weekends. There’s a meeting about him this morning, according to Super Nurse, with the stroke-management team. We’ll find out more when we go in. But …’ he glanced at Leo ‘… from what I understand, they seem to be saying he can be discharged soon.’

Romy’s stomach flipped. She stared at her sons. ‘I know there’s been a lot of discussion about his rehab, but surely he’s not ready to come home yet.’ Although, through her panic, she vaguely remembered someone telling her that stroke patients did better at home.

Rex sighed. ‘Honestly? You wouldn’t think so to look at him, Mum,’ he said. ‘But they say there isn’t anything wrong with him now – meaning he’s not critically ill, I suppose.’

Nobody spoke.

‘They basically told us that as soon as we’ve organized what Staff Nurse Weeks calls his “ care package ”, he can be out – even as early as the end of the week.’ Leo gave an anxious grimace.