Patrick folded his arms as Jazz fought an inner battle she knew she’d lose. She nodded weakly.

‘Okay. Thanks,’ she said gruffly, and started to get out of the car. Her knees gave way and she held on to Patrick as he helped her round the car and gently into the seat.

‘So now, where are we headed? Cambridge, I presume.’

‘Yes.’ Jazz watched as he threw his newspaper onto the back seat and started the engine. ‘You really don’t have to do this. I would have been fine.’

‘I’m sure you would.’ He smiled as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘And I know I don’t have to. Now then, haven’t you got some calls to make?’

Jazz nodded.

‘Will you be letting Norton know I’m going to be later back to London than expected?’

She frowned at him, then nodded again reluctantly.

‘I’m sure if you explain, he’ll be taking it on face value. We were man and wife for ten years, so we were. I’m after giving you a lift to see your sick father, not whisking you away on a romantic reconciliation.’

‘I know. Sorry.’ Jazz picked up her mobile and began to dial.

The weather held off and they made good progress until they reached Ely, where the snow began to fall thickly around them. Jazz sat quietly, staring out of the window, her heart racing at the thought of what she had to face. She’d tried her mother’s mobile, but, as usual, it was switched off. In fact, Jazz doubted whether Celestria had even thought to take it to the hospital with her. She’d bought both of her parents a mobile for Christmas a couple of years ago thinking how useful they would be. Her father had taken to his like a duck to water and had even begun to text recently, but Celestria struggled to find the ‘on’ button and it had become a standing joke between them.

They came to a halt on the A14, a few miles outside Cambridge.

‘Jesus, this looks bad.’ Patrick sighed, leaning out of the window and looking at the traffic jam snaking ahead for as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t far, due to the poor visibility. ‘There must be a crash or a breakdown up ahead.’ He turned to her. ‘Time for blues and twos?’

‘You shouldn’t, Patri—’

‘Let’s go for it.’ Patrick pulled over onto the hard shoulder, wound down the window and stuck the light on the top of the car. ‘The worst that can happen is we both lose our jobs, but as you already quit, it’s irrelevant.’ He started to pick up speed. ‘Besides, a matter of life and death, so it is.’

His words sent dread surging through her again.

The hard shoulder was clogged with broken-down cars and Patrick had to pull out, join the queue, edge past a stricken car and continue until they met the next one. It was a tense process and by the time they reached the next junction, where Patrick pulled off, Jazz’s nerves were stretched to breaking.