She sighed. ‘I will come, if that’s what you want. But I don’t want to fight with him like we did that night.’

‘Maybe ring him, then. Just make clear that it’s really over, that you’re not interested … and don’t keep saying you love him, even if you do.’

His phone rang as he waited at the lights to cross Sloane Square on his way to visit his father. He smiled to himself as he saw who it was.

‘Hi, bro,’ Rex said. ‘Thought I’d see how it’s going over there.’ He sounded annoyingly upbeat.

‘If you’re on the beach, I don’t want to know how blue the sky is or how cool the water, OK?’ Leo joked, although he was really happy to hear his brother’s voice.

‘Man, it’s the middle of the night! So tell me about Dad.’

Leo sighed. ‘Everyone keeps telling me he’ll be fine in the end, and maybe he will, but it’s really hard seeing him struggle to do even the smallest thing.’

Rex was silent for a moment. ‘I feel so bad I’m not there to help.’

Leo was sure his brother did feel guilty. But not guilty enough to come back, he thought. Not that he blamed him.

‘How is he in himself?’ Rex was asking, as Leo weaved his way expertly round the crowded square, not waiting for the pedestrian lights to change to green before striding across the King’s Road junction.

‘Well, that’s the odd thing. He’s sort of mellowed. He’s not nearly as scary as he used to be.’

‘Like how?’

‘It’s weird,’ Leo said, as he entered Symons Street. ‘We actually had a real laugh together on Saturday. Can you believe that selfie I sent? Dad allowing me to take one? And he seems to be listening to me – even taking what I say seriously sometimes.’

‘So his brain’s definitely on the blink.’

‘Very funny. It sort of is and isn’t. He was able to quote some Supreme Court ruling without any trouble the other morning, but often he can’t remember the name of a simple object, like his iPad.’

‘So what does he do all day? Can he read and stuff?’

‘Ah, well, wait for it … Dad’s watching telly for the first time in his life! Mum’s got a flat screen fitted on the wall in their bedroom where that gloomy bridge painting used to be and Dad’s become a Netflix junkie.’

He heard Rex’s disbelieving snort. Michael had spent most of their childhood ranting about television programmes being ‘damaging, populist rubbish’. He’d tried to limit the amount the boys watched, but since he wasn’t there most of the time and their mother didn’t stress about it, they’d ended up with pretty much the same quota as their peers.