‘I can believe that. Did he ever tell you that when we shared a flat he had a cold and convinced himself he’d never recover? I wouldn’t indulge him so he dragged himself to the chemist and asked for some euthanasia tablets. “Don’t you mean echinacea?” the pharmacist asked. “I know what I mean,” Adam had said.’

We both laugh and it feels good.

It feels hopeful.

‘I’ve got to go, Josh, but I will keep in touch. Is there anything you want me to tell Adam?’

‘Yeah, tell him a one-legged, half-blind ape could save more goals than he does nowadays…’ I hear how painful this is for him. ‘Tell him… tell him that I love him.’ He cuts the call, leaving me with the dial tone in my ear and a lump in my throat. I don’t think Adam quite likes football as much as he used to, but he kept going so he could spend time with Josh.

Shades of shame colour me. I recall the times I’d nagged him for trailing dirt over the floor after practice, for leaving his kit – damp with sweat and crusted with mud – on the bedroom floor. I should have been grateful Adam was keeping fit. Keeping in shape. It will give him the strength to fight this. The human body is powerful, resilient. Something to be respected and admired. My brief glimpse yesterday into Adam as he was reaffirms my faith that he can recover.

I can’t allow myself to think otherwise.

Nevertheless, Dr Acevedo’s ‘3 per cent chance of recovery’ drives me to my feet. Impatient to repeat the trial again.

Not because I think Adam won’t survive.

But still there’s an urgency to my pace as I stalk back up the hill to the Institute.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Anna

Eva studies me, playing the silence game once more. We are waiting to see which of us will be the first to break.

It’s me.

‘Okay, maybe I am embellishing how good I felt afterwards so you give the go-ahead for me to do it again today, but yesterday was mostly a good experience.’

‘Mostly?’

‘There was a part where we started to argue. It was almost automatic. I was so pleased to see him. Pleased is an understatement but somehow we began to bicker. We stopped though, moved on.’

I pick at my nails, suddenly feeling close to tears. Life should have been easier in the reality Adam created, shouldn’t it? If we didn’t have perfection there, what does that say about him? What does that say about us?

‘We talked a little bit before about the communication in your relationship,’ Eva begins.

‘The lack of,’ I say.

‘Yes. It’s interesting that yesterday in Adam’s mind you’re pregnant but, understandably, you have years of bitterness that built up during your infertile spell. Without that being addressed, there’s always likely to be underlying resentment.’