That night, I half-sat, half-sprawled across the chairs in the waiting area, opposite the peeling Minnie Mouse, close to the nurses’ station. Time shimmered and blurred.

When I closed my eyes, strange images swam in and out. You, my love, lying so small and still in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines. Richard’s drawn face and the fear in it. The supermarket with its bright, hard music as my hand reached in my pocket for the ringing phone.

I lost track of time. The only sounds were the slap of plastic doors and the soft hum of the overhead lights. Occasionally, shoes squeaked to and fro between rooms. The nurse, sitting over a book in a cone of artificial light, cleared her throat or shuffled her feet. The ward was infused with the smells of disinfectant. It brought back a sudden memory of my father when I was a child, of his lab coat, strange with the scent of the hospital where he’d worked.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall.

The nurse shook me. I must have dozed. I was slumped against the hard arm of the chair and my back ached, my head throbbed, as I struggled to sit up quickly. My mouth was dry and tasted sour. The nurse handed me a cup of milky coffee.

‘I thought you might want this.’

I stared at her blankly. There was movement behind her. Life was returning to the ward as cleaners and nurses pushed trolleys at the start of a fresh shift, a new day. The wall clock read five to six.

‘How is she?’

‘Doing well. A doctor will come and see you in a while.’ She paused, watching me. She seemed to be deciding how much to say. ‘He’ll explain. But Gracie’s doing well. You should have a wash. Drink that first. You look done in.’

In the cramped toilets, I splashed cold water on my face and dried it with a rough paper towel. My eyes were bloodshot, my hair straggly. As I watched, my eyes filled with tears and I blinked, rubbing them away. Please God. Please. Make her well. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything.

I sat stiffly by the nurse’s station, waiting for the doctor, jumping at every fresh footstep. Seven o’clock came. The kind overnight nurse said goodbye and good luck and went home. She was replaced by another, younger but brisker. At seven twenty, I got to my feet and went to the nurses’ station.

‘I’m waiting to see the doctor.’

The nurse had her back to me. She spoke over her shoulder. ‘If you’d just take a seat.’

I leaned forward over the desk. ‘I’ve waited all night. It’s my daughter, Gracie. They said there might be news.’

‘I’ve told you.’ She turned round, impatient. ‘He’ll be with you as soon as he can.’

At eight o’clock, the doors to the ward swung open. A man’s tread. I twisted to look. He had his back to me as he negotiated the doors, his arms burdened, but the shock of dark hair, the smart coat and the shining shoes were familiar.

I jumped to my feet as he approached me.

‘Is it you? The doctor?’

He gave a rueful smile. ‘Not exactly. I’m in paediatrics, not IC.’

My shoulders sagged.

‘I just came by to see if you were still here.’ He set down a takeaway cup of tea and a paper bag. ‘Thought you might need breakfast.’ He opened the paper bag to show a croissant inside.

‘Thank you.’ I didn’t move to touch it. ‘The nurse said she was doing well. I’m waiting to see a doctor.’

He looked so compassionate that I bit my cheek to stop myself from bursting into tears.

‘A nurse wouldn’t say that unless it were true. Look, I know it’s hard but it won’t be much longer.’ He checked his watch. ‘The day shift’s just coming in.’

My legs buckled and I sat down with a bump.

He watched me, his face concerned. ‘Try to eat something.’

He disappeared down the ward. I hunched forward, looked at the croissant but didn’t move to touch it.

A moment later, he came back, his step brisk, and he leaned over me. The nurse watched us with a frown.

‘I’ve had a word.’ He kept his voice low. ‘As soon as they’re briefed, they’ll be out to see you. OK? It won’t be long.’

I nodded. I wanted so much to thank him but my mouth wouldn’t work.

He looked at his watch. I imagined his own ward, his own patients, waiting.

‘I’ve got to go but I’ll try to look in again later, OK? And please, try to eat.’

He turned abruptly and left the ward again. The croissant was warm. I broke off an end, scattering flakes of pastry.

At eight-forty, a new doctor introduced himself and led me along the corridor to another small side-room. He had an American accent. He pointed me to a low chair with wooden arms, then perched on the edge of the desk in front of me, one ankle crossed over the other. His short white coat hung open and a stethoscope dangled from his neck. He looked barely forty.

‘I’m cautiously optimistic,’ he said. ‘We’re not out of the woods yet, but a few hours ago, Gracie showed signs of renewed brain activity in the frontal lobes. Where she had the bleed.’

‘Is that good?’

He scratched his nose. ‘It’s early days. The overnight team reduced the medication. If she responds well, we may be able to start bringing her out of the coma by the end of the day.’

I stared, trying to follow. ‘And?’

‘So far all the indications are good.’ He studied his bitten nails. ‘I’ve just spoken to your, er, to Gracie’s father. He’s on his way. But if you’d like to see her?’

I was on my feet at once.

‘Don’t expect too much. She’s still unconscious. We won’t know the extent of the tissue damage for some time.’

He may have said more. I can’t remember. All I heard was that you were making progress and I could see you and that was all that mattered.

The blinds in your room are drawn. The only signs of morning are the sharp lines of light along the edges. You seem so small beside the banks of machinery, so very vulnerable. Pale and silent.

The nurse leaves us alone together and I slip off my shoes and climb up onto the hard hospital bed alongside you, deep into your metal cage, thread my arms through the spaghetti tubes from your face, your arm, the pads taped to your temples, and lift your shoulders gently from the pillow until you’re lying to one side with your head resting on the pad of my shoulder and I pull that stupid damp mask off my face so I can put my lips to your cool skin and whisper to you: ‘Gracie, my love. It’s Mummy. Mummy’s here.’

I start to sing ‘You are my Sunshine’ very softly – it’s one of our favourites – and as I sing, I see you twirling in the sitting room with your arms outstretched, your eyes widening as you spin and become dizzy, saying in your high voice as you start to wobble: ‘That’s lovely dancing, Gracie,’ to prompt me to say it myself.

Time stops as I lie there with you and stroke your cheek and the only sounds in the world are the low whirrs and clicks of the machines and your soft breathing and it’s all that exists, all that matters, you and me, little Gracie, you and me together, keeping each other safe, hidden away from the rest of the world.