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‘Me.’ She nodded and placed a kiss on Summer’s forehead. ‘Sleep well and dream sweet, my brave girl.’

‘Night night, Nanny. Thank you for my bedroom.’

Linda smiled as she headed out of the room.

Evelyn smoothed the covers around Summer’s shoulders. ‘I’m just downstairs if you need me.’ She kissed her daughter on both cheeks, and then her nose. ‘You’ve done so well today. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’ Summer’s eyes drifted shut.

Evelyn watched her for a few moments as she drifted off to dreamland, and fiddled with the edge of the duvet to make it a little smoother. She studied Summer as she slept, taking in the fuzzy, regrowing hair, and dark smudges under her eyes. Her mum was right. Summer looked “poorly”. But she wasn’t, that was what Evelyn had to keep reminding herself. Her daughter was in remission and starting to recover. And the remission would last. It had to.

Evelyn stood and wiped imaginary fluff off her jeans, took one last look at her daughter, and turned off the light. She hesitated at the door and smiled to herself at the soft scrabble of claws and thump. As nice as Tilly’s new basket was, she was clearly happier in her usual position, guarding her best friend from nightmares.

Evelyn trudged slowly down the stairs feeling tiredness add weight to her limbs, but as much as she wanted to curl up and sleep she still had to unpack a car and trailer that was stuffed with what was left of their combined northern lives. And she still had to properly explain everything to her mum. She hadn’t been able to face telling the whole sordid tale over the phone or video chat, so had only told her the bare minimum – that she and Charlie were no longer together, and there was little to keep her and Summer in Northumberland. True, the doctors at the Great North Children’s Hospital had been brilliant with Summer, but it had been a long drive, and they were happy to jointly consult with doctors all over the world – they already did.

Summer’s friendship circles had shrunken and vanished while she’d been ill, and since the GP’s practice Evelyn worked out of had merged with another, enabling her to take voluntary redundancy to spend more time caring for her daughter, there seemed little point staying somewhere that they both associated with so much suffering and sadness. Besides, she’d walked away with a glowing recommendation, and she’d find another nursing role easily enough when she was ready to work again. And the hospital nearer her mum would be just as good as the Great North, and it would only be for check-ups anyway, because this time the remission was going to last.

Naturally, Linda immediately insisted she had more than enough space for them, and begged Evelyn to move back to Broclington, and in with her – at least for long enough to have a rest, be looked after for a bit, and figure out what she wanted to do. The sad truth was, since Evelyn’s dad had lost his own battle with cancer a few years earlier, the house had been a bit big for her mum, and she was probably looking forward to having the company and being able to dote on her only child and granddaughter again.

Summer had been thrilled, and while Evelyn had initially been reluctant to run home, the thought of someone looking after her for a little while was incredibly enticing, and she eventually gave in to Summer’s pleading. After all, who was she to really turn down any request when Summer had been so brave and put up with so much, for so long.

Evelyn took a moment to smooth down her jumper and check her honey-coloured hair in the hall mirror, before pasting on a bright smile and heading into the living room, ready to convince her mum that everything was all right. But Linda was having none of it. She was already sat on the sofa, with two wine glasses and an ice bucket on the coffee table in front of her.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow in amusement. ‘I thought you were putting the kettle on.’

‘I thought this is what might be needed. You do still drink sauvignon blanc?’ She poured the glass and pushed it into Evelyn’s hand without waiting for an answer.

'Haven’t you got work tomorrow?’ Evelyn tried to complain.

‘Nope, I’ve asked one of the girls to cover my shifts for a few days, so don’t you worry about that. Now sit down, put your feet up, and tell me everything.’

‘I don’t even know where to start.’

‘With the most important part of your story – Summer.’

Evelyn took a large gulp of the wine, enjoying its cool sweetness as it slipped down her throat with far too much ease. ‘I won’t lie. It’s been hard. Really hard at times.’

‘I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve seen her.’

‘I know. And I’m sorry for that.’ Evelyn wiped away a guilty tear.

‘Oh love, I know you couldn’t help it. You explained that the chemo damaged Summer’s immune system, and that she was too ill to travel. I understand that, and I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.’ She wrapped a comforting arm around Evelyn’s shoulders. ‘It’s not like I could easily have come to you – not once the winter colds started running through work.’

‘It’s been awful. Really, really awful at times. The chemo hurt her.’ She took a deep breath before confessing the next bit. ‘It worked, but only just.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Worry deepened the lines around Linda’s eyes – the same bright green as both Summer’s and Evelyn’s. ‘You said it worked.’

‘The chemo worked, but the last treatment had to be stopped early. Summer had a bad reaction to it. Her consultant wanted to do another round, maybe two, to make sure they got every single cell, but they couldn’t. It’s not uncommon for a patient to develop an intolerance to treatment after a few rounds. And she’s had more than a few.’

‘So what does this mean?’

‘I don’t honestly know. It’s so unfair – this was the treatment that’s worked the best, and now she can’t have it again.’

‘Never?’

‘No. Once you’ve reacted badly once, it’s more likely to happen again, and the reaction can be even more severe.’ Evelyn rested her head on her mum’s shoulder, and they sat there in silence for a few moments.

Eventually, Linda placed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. ‘But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because you said she’s in remission.’