As she was driving along Foltesham High Street, her mobile rang. Pulling over in front of the newsagent’s, Jazz answered it.

‘Jazz?’

‘Hi, Mum, how are you?’

‘I’m . . .’

Jazz heard the catch in her mother’s voice and knew something had happened. Her heart in her mouth, she asked, ‘Is it Dad?’

‘Yes.’ Celestria choked back a sob. ‘He collapsed an hour ago and they’ve rushed him to hospital. I’m there now. The doctors are with him, so I thought I’d better call you.’

‘Oh Mum. How bad is it?’

‘You know what these doctors are like, they don’t tell you anything. They said they’ll know more when they’ve run some tests, but they’re pretty sure it was a heart attack.’

‘Oh God.’ Jazz swallowed hard. ‘How bad?’

‘Pretty serious, I think. Oh Jazz, he looks awful, I . . .’

‘Mum, I’m coming now. Which hospital is he in?’

‘Papworth, but really, Jazz, the weather is terrible here. It’s snowing like billy-o. They’re telling everybody not to drive unless they absolutely have to.’

‘Well, it’s not terrible here and I’m on my way now. Hold on, Mum, and tell Dad to as well.’

‘Oh darling, I . . . thank you. He’s in critical care. Please, drive sensibly.’

‘I will. See you in an hour or so.’

Jazz let the mobile drop onto her lap and, feeling dizzy, rested her head on the wheel. This was the call she had dreaded for all of her adult life.

Come on, Jazz, she urged herself. He’s still alive, he’ll pull through. He has to.

There was a knock on the passenger window.

Jazz looked up and saw Patrick, The Times tucked under his arm, staring at her in concern. Before she could stop him, he’d opened the door and leaned inside.

‘What is it, Jazz? What’s happened?’

‘Mum’s just called. Dad’s had a heart attack and is in critical care.’

‘Jazz, I’m so sorry. Can I get in? It’s freezing out here.’

She didn’t stop him, hadn’t the strength. As he climbed into the passenger seat, the smell of him and the bitter cold air comforted her and distressed her in equal measure.

He reached out a gloved hand and squeezed her arm. ‘So now, I presume you’re off to the hospital? Are you up to driving? The weather’s going to be feckin’ dreadful.’

Jazz nodded. ‘I will be, of course. Sorry, I’ve only just taken the call.’ She urged herself to find the strength to collect herself.

‘Is it . . . very bad?’

‘Mum didn’t say much, but the fact she even called me says it is, yes. I’ll be fine now, really.’ She gave him a wan smile. ‘I’d better get going.’

‘Jazz, you look dreadful, you’re in shock and there’s just no way I’m going to let you drive through a blizzard.’ Patrick was getting out of the passenger seat. ‘Come on, move over, I’m driving. We’ll drop your car back at the station as it’s on the way anyway and pick mine up – I’d rather drive that in weather like this. We’ll be there in no time.’ He walked round the car and opened the driver’s door. Jazz stared up at him, immobile. ‘Jazz, my angel, for once in your life, just do as you are told without arguing. Because I’m a-standing here until you do.’