Grace’s throat had tightened as she’d realised they were talking about her mother, and not her. She was the burden. It was her mother they felt sorry for. If only they knew how wrong they were.

Grace strained to hear mumbling in the corridor now, as Lloyd spoke in gentle tones. Her mother’s voice had grown warm. She was different with him: touching his arm, sometimes speaking with a silly little laugh.

‘She’s had a flare-up,’ she heard her say as their footsteps grew louder. ‘Eczema. Don’t say anything about it. She’s very self-conscious.’

‘Whatever you think is best,’ Lloyd said, his voice outside Grace’s bedroom door.

‘We’re trying out a new painkiller, but it has its side-effects. She’s not thinking straight. So, if she says anything silly, just go along with it.’ A small, flirty titter of laughter. ‘Everything I do for her . . . She thinks I’m the devil incarnate.’

The doorknob began to twist. Every visit from Lloyd came with the same warning not to pay any heed to Grace.

Susan stood at the doorway, watching as Lloyd ambled inside Grace’s bedroom. He was wearing his police uniform, and his thick padded overcoat implied it was cold outside. In the confines of Grace’s room, it was winter every day.

‘You couldn’t make me a coffee, could you?’ Lloyd spoke. ‘I’m dead on my feet, haven’t stopped all day.’

‘Happy to.’ Susan smiled. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich while you’re here.’

He delivered a wink as he bought them some time alone. His stubble was dry and scratchy against Grace’s skin as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She held her breath to avoid being enveloped by the sour smell of his breath.

His gaze fell to her wrists. His eyes were bloodshot and watery. He looked so unwell that Grace felt scared. Lloyd was the only person from the outside world who kept turning up at her door. What if something happened to him?

‘Are you all right?’ she said, her own pain forgotten as she watched him with concern.

‘Aww, listen to you, asking how I am. You are the sweetest little thing.’ His gaze lingered over her. ‘I’m fine, just had a hard day.’ He plucked a shiny flask from his pocket. ‘Mr Jameson makes it all better.’

Grace didn’t know who Mr Jameson was, but she watched as Lloyd emptied the contents of the flask, which hung on his breath. A door closed down the corridor. Their time was limited.