‘Look, Dr Acevedo doesn’t know everything.’

There were videos of patients waking after two years, twelve years, twenty years. We watched clip after clip. Patients who had defied the boundaries of medical theories by relaying they could hear everything going on, they could think, dream, hope. Dr Acevedo might not know everything, but Oliver…

‘I can’t stop watching.’ Nell blinked back tears. ‘So many people who were written off. They’ve all come back.’

I wouldn’t let Adam be written off, not without a fight. ‘I want to visit the Chapman Institute. Find out more. Will you come with me?’

‘Try and stop me.’

I reached for the apartment phone.

‘Wait.’ Nell pulled a new mobile from her bag. ‘This is for you. I picked it up at the airport. I’ve keyed in some numbers, including Josh’s.’

‘He’ll be heartbroken when I tell him.’

‘Do you want me to call him so you don’t have to keep going over it?’

‘No – I can’t keep putting everything off.’

‘We also need to find another hotel. While the kitchen was making our lunch, I talked to reception about extending your stay but they’re fully booked next week.’

‘Shit.’ Without travel insurance, my accommodation wouldn’t be covered. We had some savings left but I didn’t know how long they would last. My mind flitted to the videos we’d just watched: two years, twelve years, twenty years. How long might Adam be in hospital?

‘We’ll get you both home,’ Nell said.

‘I’m not sure how without insurance. The few thousand pounds in our bank account won’t nearly cover it. Mum doesn’t have any money; Dad didn’t have life insurance. That’s why Adam and I made sure we’re both covered.’

‘It might be worth speaking to them? Some policies have a critical illness pay-out.’

‘We don’t.’ I didn’t think this was a critical illness anyway. They’d say there’s hope of a complete recovery.

‘Never mind. I could start a JustGiving page. A “Get Adam Home” campaign?’

Home. One word. But those four letters brought such comfort.

‘If, and it’s a big if, we let Oliver get involved, he promised me a place a stay and to cover our travel afterwards.’

‘Let me call him. I want to sound him out.’ While Nell arranged for us to visit The Chapman Institute the next day, I washed down two painkillers with water.

‘Are you in a lot of discomfort?’ Nell asked when she’d hung up.

‘I feel…’ My fingers strayed to my stomach. Lost. Empty. Bereft. It was too hard to articulate. ‘I think I’ll go and have a bath. Why don’t you ring Chris and see how the kids are?’

‘I’ll unpack and do it later.’

‘Nell… Call him now.’

There wasn’t always a later.