Erica puts her hand on the file. ‘These are the latest versions of the introductory texts for the exhibition sections, and the updated layout. I’ve got a week before they are submitted to the gallery for sign-off, and at that point we won’t be able to make any more changes, so I thought we should go through, and—’ She looks tired, the skin under her eyes a little blue, the way a child’s would be.

‘Or,’ Vee interrupts, ‘I could sign them off right now, and we could go and have a coffee.’

‘You want to read them now? There’s quite a lot—’

‘No, Erica, I don’t want to read them. I’ve seen enough of what you’ve already done with them. You ask intelligent questions and you listen to the answers. I—’ She hesitates before the next word, because she’s not sure that she’s ever said it, to anyone, before. ‘I trust you.’

Erica nods then exhales. ‘But – don’t you care?’

‘I don’t matter,’ Vee says. She realises as soon as the words are out that it’s the wrong way to put it, because Erica looks crushed. ‘I mean . . . the point of photography isn’t that the camera tells the truth, but that people look at images and interpret them. You’ve looked at me and you’ve interpreted me. You’ve done a good job.’

Vee thinks of all she’s done, quietly, that she hopes no one will ever know about. That’s her real legacy. She touches Erica on the shoulder. (Why does she keep touching people? She’s never wanted to before.) ‘Let’s go out for a coffee. There’s a cafe on the corner.’

She moves to get her coat – it wasn’t actually a question – but Erica hesitates. ‘Before we go, I want to know about your headaches, Vee. Your medication looks as though they’re something serious.’

Vee inhales, exhales, and something starts to throb, behind her ear. She should probably be honest, even if she doesn’t want to say it. ‘Well, I have a glioblastoma. It’s a brain cancer. The prognosis isn’t good. I had it first in 2007. I was lucky then, because it was possible to remove it.’ Her fingertips go to her skull, as if magnetised, feel along the scarline behind her left ear where her hair grows in kinks. ‘It was always going to come back. It was only ever a question of time.’ She hears how her voice gets caught on the words ‘come back’ and ‘time’.

‘I’m sorry.’ Erica looks upset, so Vee looks away. She’s not sure which of them she’s sparing. ‘You can’t have surgery again?’

Vee shakes her head, not sure if it hurts. ‘Not this time. It’s inoperable.’ She shrugs. ‘I got an extra ten years.’ This time she manages to make it sound more matter-of-fact than it feels.