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‘So we’ll do radiotherapy to shrink the bastard thing and then take it out.’

‘Evelyn.’ The hand squeezed and she yanked her fingers away like she was being burned and jumped out of the seat as angry realisation hammered its way in.

‘Don’t say it, Imran. Please don’t say it. After everything we’ve got her through, you can’t say it.’ She backed away from him, already heading for the door, but he beat her to it, and rested a hand against it, preventing her from escaping and running as far and as fast as she could.

‘Evelyn, you know whether I say the words or not, that nothing changes. If words alone could change this, I’d have said them all years ago.’

‘Please no.’ Her words were choked by panic and tears, and blinding anger at the unfairness of the world. ‘Please, don’t say it.’

‘I’m so sorry, Evelyn. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do.’

‘You don’t think?’ She pounced on the word.

‘Evelyn, I’m so sorry, there’s nothing that will work. We discussed her case …’

‘Summer. You’ve known her long enough to use her bloody name.’ She refused to have her daughter reduced to a case number. Her beautiful, loving, sweet, and wonderful, happy daughter. ‘And there’s always trials.’

‘She’s not eligible for any of the ones I would have recommended. Her age is against her.’

‘How can her age be against her? She’s eight years old!’

‘Which is old for neuroblastoma. You know that, Evelyn.’

‘But there must be something,’ she argued, begging.

‘I personally led the discussion around Summer’s diagnosis at the Expert Consultant’s Board yesterday morning. Just before I called you. I’m sorry, Evelyn, but everyone was in agreement.’ The words swirled around Evelyn, barely making sense. They sounded like something out of a nightmare. They were out of one of her nightmares – the kind that woke her up in a cold sweat at 3 a.m. Surely it was a nightmare that she would soon wake up from.

She closed her eyes tightly and waited to wake up.

‘Evelyn?’

Suddenly it felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room to fill her lungs, and she couldn’t breathe. Her limbs turned to jelly and her knees gave way. Imran manhandled her into a seat before hitting a button on the wall, and pushed a bundle of tissues into her hands. But Evelyn was barely aware of where she was any more. All she could focus on was the ice-cold terror that numbed her mind and froze her heart. She was going to lose Summer. Her baby was going to die. She fought to breathe and felt a hand on her back, pushing her lower as she started to feel like she was drowning and the room span around her.

‘Just breathe, Evelyn. Just breathe.’

How could she when she knew what was coming? What the following months could bring. Months? The thought triggered a question. One she didn’t want to ask, but didn’t know how to avoid now it had occurred to her.

‘How long?’ She forced the words between teeth that had started to chatter.

‘Evelyn, you know we can’t ever put a timeline on things like this, they’re too individual …’

She managed to find the strength to look at him. ‘You know damn well I’m a nurse. I’m in my freaking uniform. I want the medical answer please, not the patient one. How long?’

He bit his tongue, clearly not wanting to answer.

‘Please, Imran.’

He sighed. ‘It’s completely individual, but … I’d say longer than weeks, but not more than months. Maybe six to eight. Although radiotherapy wasn’t enough to eradicate the cancer before, as a palliative treatment it could buy a little more time, and improve quality of life.’

‘Eight months.’ Evelyn folded in on herself again, collapsing against her own legs. Less than the amount of time she’d carried her beautiful baby before she’d even met her. Maybe thirty-five weeks. Her brain carried on, trying to work out how many days and hours that amounted to, but her mind couldn’t grasp the figures. It didn’t matter. However long it was, it wasn’t even close to long enough. If it had been eight years or even eight decades it still wouldn’t have been long enough. Deep sobs wrenched themselves from her chest and agony poured down her face, blinding her as she cried. They weren’t even out of May. Six to eight months meant Summer might not even live to see Christmas.

The door whooshed and thumped closed and something clattered on the table, but Evelyn wouldn’t have noticed a herd of elephants if they’d paraded through the room in pink tutus.

A pair of gentle hands pulled her upright and wrapped her in a hug. ‘I’m so, so, sorry.’ Lizzie, who had been Summer’s lead nurse and co-ordinator since they’d first been referred to the hospital. She’d been there for almost every bead, every treatment, every worry and question. It made sense that she’d be with Evelyn now.

There were soft murmurs and the door whooshed and thumped again, but Lizzie waited patiently, rubbing soothing circles on Evelyn’s back while she sobbed and hiccupped helplessly. When she finally started to calm, she sat up and scrubbed her hands across her face. Lizzie pushed a cup of tea into her hands. It wasn’t steaming any more, but it was still warm, and sweet, and something she could focus on to try and stop her hands from shaking so badly.

‘I don’t know what to do, Lizzie.’