Kate closes her eyes again and lies back, listening to his animated tones as he talks about an upcoming ‘IPO’ in language that she barely understands. The mindless ‘spray and pray’ of some tech venture capitalists. The need for algorithms and the human brain to work in partnership, his hopes for a new project in Brittany.

Her name is mentioned, but his voice drops and she can’t make out exactly what he’s saying. And then she hears him again, cold and dispassionate, like she’s never heard him before, ordering someone to ‘boil the ocean’ for new customers. She guesses he has to be tough at work, not like how he is with her, but his tone is surprising. Two minutes later, he ducks back into the room and pulls out a familiar headset from a cupboard. Rob recently launched a disruptive medical start-up that makes portable headsets for assessing traumatic brain injuries. He gets her to wear one occasionally to help monitor her recovery.

‘There’s a problem in London,’ he says. ‘An unhappy investor.’

‘Do you need to go back?’ she asks.

The thought of being on her own again is suddenly very appealing. She feels guilty, but she needs to work out what’s happening in her head, why she dropped the mug when she looked at Rob. It was a step back, to when she was first recovering down here and dizzy spells and migraines were part of her life.

‘I told them it would have to wait until Monday,’ he says.

‘Because of me?’

‘I can’t leave you like this,’ he says, adjusting the headset in the dim light. He explained once how it works. Apparently, it uses algorithms to compare a patient’s brain activity against normal data and then highlights any deviations.

‘I’m fine. Really.’ Kate ties back her hair. ‘You should go.’

‘Let’s just check,’ he says. ‘Peace of mind.’

She sits up in bed, keeping her eyes firmly closed as he slides the device over her head. It looks a bit like a swimming cap, except for the matrix of colour-coded electrodes all over it. When he’s being tender like this, tucking her hair behind an ear as he adjusts the headset, she feels so loved, cared for, cherished. No pinched skin.

She sits there in silence, like a good patient. The device is cool on her scalp.

‘All seems fine,’ he says after a couple of minutes. He’s reading from his smartphone, which is linked to the headset via the app his team of ‘brogrammers’ in London has designed. ‘When’s your next check-up with Dr Varma?’

‘Monday.’

‘That’s good,’ Rob says. ‘He might be down here already.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He sometimes likes to make a weekend of his visits. Bring the family to the seaside.’