‘I’m afraid there’s been no change in Finn’s condition overnight,’ he says. Robin feels Josie’s grip tighten. ‘The thiamine has restored Finn’s vitamin B levels to normal, but unfortunately it looks like the damage has already been done. The MRI shows considerable lesions on Finn’s brain, destruction to regions of the cerebellum – the area that coordinates muscular activity, hence his trouble walking – and some damage in the dorsal medial thalamus. I’m sorry, but his amnesia isn’t going to significantly improve.’

‘What about his short-term memory?’ Robin asks.

The doctor shakes his head, grimly. ‘It’s unlikely Finn will be able to form new memories. I’m sorry.’

‘And if you’d caught this earlier?’

There’s a pause that says it all. ‘It’s possible,’ Blackstone replies, ‘that with early treatment of thiamine the Wernicke’s might not have progressed to Korsakoff’s; or the severity of Finn’s symptoms might have been reduced. But nothing would have been guaranteed. The outcome might have been the same as we see today.’

‘But it could have helped,’ Robin challenges.

‘Yes,’ the doctor admits. ‘It could have.’

There’s a long silence. In the gap, Robin’s vaguely aware of the background noise of the hospital: people going about their usual business, carrying on with their lives, while in this stifling, overheated room Finn’s future has been destroyed.

‘So there’s nothing you can do?’ Josie asks, her voice little more than a whisper.

‘We’ve referred him to the clinical psychology team – they’ve been doing amazing things in rehabilitation. And we’ll make sure Finn’s transferred to a long-term therapy unit as soon as possible. He’ll be more comfortable there.’

‘And why didn’t you spot this before?’ Robin asks, unable to help the edge of anger creeping into his voice.

The doctor stares at him. ‘We should have,’ he begins. He clears his throat loudly. ‘But with Finn’s alcohol withdrawal and the benzodiazepines he was prescribed masking the symptoms, it got missed. It’s a tricky one to diagnose.’ The pager on his waist beeps, and Robin notices a look of relief cross his face. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ he says, and leaves.

Robin stands in the corridor with Josie. He feels stunned. Josie looks into the room at her son, asleep in his bed.

‘What do I do now?’ she says, then starts to cry. Robin pulls her close in a hug and holds her tight.

‘One day at a time,’ he says, as she sobs into his chest.

After a while, her crying abates, and she pulls away from him, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

Robin gives her a sympathetic look. ‘You hungry?’ he asks. ‘You look like you haven’t eaten in days.’

She nods.

‘Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.’