I nod. ‘You probably heard us yelling at each other before.’

‘I won’t lie: I did hear some of it, yes. Honestly, I think it can make it harder having a bigger family at a time like this. I’m an only child, so I don’t have to deal with anyone else’s issues. It’s just me and Mum.’

I feel guilty that this woman has noticed my predicament while I haven’t noticed her at all.

‘Course, it’ll be harder for me once she’s gone. I’ll be on my own then.’ Faith shrugs.

I mumble something about friends and support networks. I don’t know enough about friendship to be able to speak confidently on the subject. Not confidently and positively, anyway. ‘Actually, it’s hypocritical of me to recommend friends,’ I feel obliged to add. ‘Can’t stand the things, myself. They’re less reliable than cheap earphones and budget airlines put together.’

‘I’m not much of a one for friends either,’ Faith says briskly, as if I’ve suggested something frivolous. ‘They’re too much work – like houseplants.’

‘I agree. Also like houseplants, they all die in the end. What’s the point?’ I qualify this with, ‘Sorry. Ever since my grandmother’s been dying, I haven’t been able to stop making death-related jokes.’

‘You’re right, though. If only someone would say to me, “I’ll be your friend, and I’ll expect no more from you than a dead houseplant.” That’d be good.’

‘I’d say that to a prospective friend,’ I tell her.

‘You would?’

‘Yep. Wouldn’t be able to put in much more effort than a dead houseplant myself, so I’d accept being treated like one as a fair deal.’

Hooray: I’ve made someone laugh. More than I’ve managed to do on the cancer ward so far.

‘Mutual dead houseplant friendship,’ I say. ‘It’s an interesting concept. Unconditional acceptance of no effort on both sides.’

‘Sounds like the way forward to me,’ says Faith.

‘Kim.’ It’s Drew, behind me. Once again I didn’t see him coming.

‘I’m going back up now,’ I tell him.

He shakes his head. He’s waiting for me to work it out without him having to tell me. From the look in his eyes, it can only be one thing that he’s not telling me.

‘Oh, no,’ Faith whispers.

This is a bit daft. One of us ought to put it into words, to check we’re not all standing here wrapped in a strange, gloomy calm for no reason. It looks as if that one will have to be me.

‘Marion’s dead,’ I say.

Time to make a white card with nothing but the word ‘Death’ on the front and pin it to Ward 10’s noticeboard.