Now it was Lloyd’s turn to be grateful. Susan was so happy with his offering that she didn’t view him as a threat to her daughter. After all, there were some nasty people in the village who would label his friendship with Grace as unconventional. He’d leave her bedroom door open, just to be on the safe side. Nothing should spoil this moment for them.

Lloyd ambled into the bedroom. It was good to see Grace’s fairy lights had been reinstated over her bed. He’d never understood how Susan thought she could be allergic to such a gentle light. He only hoped that the dog wouldn’t contribute to the many skin flare-ups the little girl suffered from, but he trusted Susan when she said it would be OK.

Grace’s time outside the cottage seemed so long ago now. She looked so small in the bed, her chalky-white skin framed by her blonde hair.

‘Lloyd,’ she said, her voice croaky as she shuffled up higher on the pillows.

‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said, reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘Can I get you anything?’

He’d grown used to the smell of cleaning fluid. He’d persuaded Susan to switch to a milder brand. Now the scent of winter berries hung in the air as opposed to the stringent stench of bleach.

Grace rubbed her eyes before answering. ‘What time is it?’

‘Near on three o’clock. Time you were getting up, little lady. I’ve got a present for you.’

‘You have?’ Smacking her mouth, Grace stretched.

Lloyd reached for her dressing gown, which was hung at the end of the bed. ‘Sure have, and you’re going to love it. Let me get your wheelchair.’ He turned, dragging it out from the corner of the room.

‘I don’t need it.’ Her features twisted as she looked at the contraption in disgust.

‘Maybe for today?’ he coaxed. ‘You’re going to need all your strength to deal with what’s waiting for you out there.’

Sighing, Grace slipped on her dressing gown before shuffling to the edge of the bed. ‘If it’s cake, Mum won’t let me eat it. Not any more. Not even the special cake JoJo makes for me.’ Joanne had been baking gluten-free, non-dairy sugar-free cakes as a treat. It was amazing how she could make something that sounded so bland taste so good.

‘It’s not cake,’ he said, noting how pale she had grown since the last time they met.

‘What is it then?’ she said, but her question was answered by a loud yap coming from the other side of the door. After a sharp intake of breath, Grace sat bolt upright in her wheelchair as if she’d been jabbed by a cattle prod. ‘A dog? You brought me a dog?’

Lloyd laughed, enveloped in her happiness as he wheeled her towards the door.