‘Mum! It’s Adam.’ I pause to let that settle in. ‘There’s been an accident.’ Slowly, reluctantly, I tell her, not everything – not about the baby or the clinical trial – but enough.

‘But he will wake up?’

I close my eyes. She sounds so close it’s as though I can reach out my hand and touch her. I wish that I could.

‘His original doctor, Dr Acevedo, said that typically comas last between two and four weeks.’ I keep the details as vague as I can.

Two years. Twelve years. Twenty years.

‘A month! Oh, Anna. I’ll come. I’ll book a flight and—’

‘You can’t. Nan needs you.’

‘You need me.’ I’ve never heard her sound so strong. So determined. After Dad died, every single decision she had to make took forever as she endlessly deliberated. Constantly asking my opinion. Leaning on me the way she’d always leaned on him, sometimes too much. I was grieving too.

‘I’m okay. Adam’s got a great new doctor, Oliver Chapman, and Nell’s coming out in a few days – she rang a few moments ago to see how the holiday is going.’ I lie to spare her feelings. She’ll be hurt that Nell knew several days ago and had flown out straight away.

‘I can be there—’

‘I know. And thank you, but let’s give it a few days and see what happens. Adam could wake and we’ll be home before you get here! I’m coping.’

‘I’ve no doubt about that. You’ve always been a tough little thing. After Dad… you did so much. Too much. I wasn’t in a good state, but I’m okay now. Please don’t feel you have to keep things from me.’

‘I won’t. Mum, about Dad. Is there anything you wish you could have told him when he was in hospital that you didn’t get to say?’ We had all thought he’d recover. None of us said goodbye.