Julia smiles faintly. “Maybe not Pimm’s. Maybe a cup of PG Tips might be better.”

I hook my arm through hers. “Ah, you say that, but when you experience the tropical forty-five-degree temperature in pajamas and slippers, I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”

It’s a slow journey downstairs. We pause every couple of steps, Julia holding on to the banister with one hand and on to me with the other. But it’s worth it for the genuine smile on her face as we step out into the winter sunshine and she stops to take a deep breath.

“God, it’s like I’ve been in prison for twenty years and this is my first time outside.”

“Well, we’re not going to stay out long,” I warn her. “It’s bloody freezing and you’re wearing pajamas. Dad’ll kill me if you die of cold on my watch.”

“Oh, crass death joke, Tess. Really crass.”

“But better than the weeping and wailing and guilt-ridden apologies?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

“Definitely,” she says, nodding. She lets go of my arm to grip my hand. She’s so thin I can see all the tendons raised in her hand. I can feel her bones, too close to the surface. It feels like if I squeeze, even gently, I’ll crush them to dust. “Look after him for me, will you? After?”

“Dad?”

She nods. “He’s being so strong, but he’s gone through this too many times. I’m worried.”

I put my other hand on top of hers. “I will, I promise.”

“He sits in there with me, surrounded by all that…stuff, and he looks so lost.”

“I’ll be here for him. I won’t let him be alone.”

“I wish…I wish the boys would come. Now, while I’m still well enough to sit in the garden.”

I look away, pulling my hands free of hers. Those bloody boys.

Julia reaches for one of my curls, tugging it and letting it go. It’s what Bella used to do, and my eyes fill with tears. I don’t know if they’re for Bella or for the shadow of Julia that’s left.

Max and Lena come through the gate as I’m settling Julia on the bench, a fleecy throw snatched from the living room wrapped around her.

“Julia,” Max says, coming straight over and giving her a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she says, smiling up at him, raising a hand to stroke his cheek.

“Enough of that,” he says, smiling back. “You’re married, remember?”

Lena comes over and plonks herself next to Julia. “Whoa, Julia, babe—I hate to break it to you, but you look worse than I do, and I have the mother of all hangovers.”

“I have to say, Lena, cancer is definitely worse than a hangover.”