“Don’t,” she says again. “I don’t want you weeping and wailing around me, all guilt and regret. Too late for that. Was I pissed off you didn’t come home for your dad? Yes, of course I was, but I also get it. I know how you feel about this place. I remember how bad you were after Bella died, how badly you needed to get away. And you’re here now, aren’t you? Let’s not waste any more time.”

I take a deep breath and force a smile. “Okay. Of course. And I’m here for as long as I need to be here. I promise.”

“Good. Then you can start by helping me downstairs.”

I frown. Downstairs? She’s out of breath already, just from getting out of bed and putting on a cardigan. Looking around the room, I see right away where all the furniture from downstairs has gone: the red armchair with the sagging seat, the oak side table, a china vase filled with flowers. All Julia’s favorite things have been brought up here—Dad has surrounded her with them. There are framed photos on the table—of me and Bella, Dad, her sons, and little Ellie, forever young.

I see what Dad has tried to do, but it can’t take away what this room now is. If anything, it highlights it, and I wonder if Julia feels that too, if all her favorite things remind her that soon it’s all going to be gone. The room smells wrong, despite the flowers. It smells like hospitals. It smells like death. I can understand why she wants to leave it.

“I don’t want to see everyone gathered around my bed like I’m going to drop dead in the next five minutes,” Julia says. “The sun’s out—I want to be in the garden, in the fresh air.”

I draw in a shaky breath. What do I say? I can’t pretend she’s going to get better, I can’t tell her some miracle is going to occur. She and Dad have already gone through this, sitting in front of the consultant as she told them there was nothing else they could do. Did she scream and rage and smash things up? I would, I think, but I can’t imagine it of Julia, who’s always smiled in the face of everything. Instead, I can picture her smiling and shaking the consultant’s hand and walking out and comforting Dad and smiling through it all. Smiling as he brought up the chair and the ornaments and the photographs, smiling to make him feel better.

But there are tears in her eyes now, so I summon my inner strength when all I want to do is fall sobbing at her feet.

“Well, come on then, let’s do this. Pimm’s in the garden in February it is.”