Alex has heard enough stories about my childhood as we’ve walked around London to know exactly why the prospect of staying with Mum doesn’t exactly fill me with joy. I spent most of my life growing up at Nanna and Granddad’s little house, because Mum was almost never around. If she wasn’t off with one boyfriend or another, she was on some hare-brained money-making scheme. She’d only been seventeen when I was born, and she’d been happy to let my grandparents bring me up.

‘Hello, lovey,’ says a different nurse, walking into the room. ‘Just going to take some observations.’ She picks up a clipboard and writes something down, taking Nanna’s pulse and blood pressure.

‘It’s all go here,’ Nanna says, faintly.

‘Do you know what’s happening?’ I ask. ‘How long will she be in?’ I feel a bit stranded, waiting for something to happen.

‘We’ve got Beth on some medication, which should lower her blood pressure. The doctor will be here tomorrow morning and do her rounds. She’ll take it from there.’

‘What about tonight?’ I look at the clock. It’s already half seven.

‘Well, visiting hours are over at seven forty-five,’ the nurse says, checking her watch, ‘but you can come back tomorrow.’

I feel a wave of anxiety wash over me. ‘What if Nanna needs me?’

‘Don’t you worry,’ Nanna Beth says, reaching her hand over and squeezing mine, gently. ‘I’m in the right place. You get back to your Mum’s place and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. And don’t you worry about the cat – she’s being looked after.’

I feel weird leaving her there. She looks small and faded and old against the bright white sheets, and my stomach contracts in fear at the smells and sounds of the hospital as I make my way down flights of stairs to the entrance. I can’t bear the thought of losing her.

My mother’s sent a text, at least, telling me that she’s going to be at the performance until eleven, and that the key is under the stone cat on the front step. She’s moved again, to a flat in a scruffy-looking part of town, and I have to check the map on my phone to make sure I’m on the right street. I climb yet more stairs – she’s on the third floor, overlooking rooftops and a distant view of the sea. I peer out of the window in the sitting room, looking at the dark autumn sky. Winter is creeping in. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. There’s a gas heater and I switch it on, clicking the button five times before it sparks into life.