‘So can you tell me the details of the travel ins—’

‘I’m sorry. I’m only able to talk to the lead passenger.’

I demanded to speak to the manager, anger keeping my tears at bay. Once she came on the line I told her, with far more control than I felt, about Adam’s condition.

‘Oh, I am sorry, Mrs Curtis. What a start to your break. Will—’

‘Can you look up our travel insurance—’

‘I’m only really meant to talk to—’

‘The lead passenger. Yes, I know. But he’s in a coma.’

‘Yes. Of course. Sorry. Just a moment.’ She tap-tap-tapped on a keyboard. ‘Right. Mr Curtis booked and paid for the holiday in full and said he’d ring to confirm about travel insurance one way or the other – we don’t recommend leaving the country without it – but…’

‘But?’ I asked with a sinking feeling.

‘He never called back. I’m sorry, Mrs Curtis. It doesn’t look like you have any cover.’

The bed tilted. I closed my eyes until my dizziness passed. ‘But… he’s in hospital. I can’t afford…’

‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’

‘You must have been in this situation before? Will they refuse to treat Adam? Kick him out of the hospital?’ I was verging on hysteria.

‘Without insurance, Mr Curtis will still be entitled to basic medical care but no extra treatments or tests and of course repatriation won’t be covered…’

Her words hit me with force.

Repatriation won’t be covered.

I couldn’t fly Adam home.

My skin was covered in goosebumps. I was still sitting on the bed. Still clutching the receiver tightly in my hand. It now whirred with the disconnect tone and I put it back on its cradle.

What am I going to do?

After the conversation with Dr Acevedo and the bleak picture he had painted, I was desperate to be in a UK hospital, but without insurance how could I get Adam back to NHS care? It must cost thousands, hundreds of thousands perhaps, to fly a coma patient home with all the medical equipment and at least one nurse.

What am I going to do?

Everything was wrong and I couldn’t fix it. I wished my dad were still around. He’d get us home somehow. Surely the government could help? Other people must have been in a similar position before. But how long might that take?

Too long.

Fleetingly I thought of Ross. He was well paid as a head teacher and didn’t have a family to support. He likely had the money, but would he help?

Could I ask him?

Exhausted, I stumbled into the shower. Wanting to feel warm. To feel clean. To scrub off the hospital smell and put on fresh clothes. My clothes.