‘Tell me if I’m being daft,’ I ask Dave once Finn retires to bed, taking my yawning grandson with him. ‘But I’m worried about Sonny.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s as if Mia is on autopilot. There’s nothing there.’ ‘Can you blame her, after what she’s been through? She

just needs a little more time to adjust.’

‘Maybe, but I can’t shake the niggling feeling that there’s more to it than that. I remember how intense and exhausting those first months of motherhood are. And she has the look of a woman who’s really struggling.’

‘Is there something else we could be doing?’

‘Well, I already have Sonny with me most days, as I’m worried just how much attention he’d get if I wasn’t there to pick up the slack.’

Dave gets up to take another beer from the cool box. His face looks pale, making the crimson birthmark on his forehead more striking. The outdoor lights illuminate his silhouette, and as they shine through his T-shirt, I’m alarmed by just how much weight he has lost. I need to bring it up with him. And perhaps I’ll mention his alcohol intake too. But not tonight, because just now I’m more concerned by my daughter-in-law’s behaviour.

‘I’ve been reading up on it,’ I add. ‘And I’m convinced she’s either got postnatal depression or she has a head

injury from that fall.’

‘She’s had brain scans, and apart from the swelling that gives her the headaches, they found nothing wrong with her.’

‘Yes, but doctors don’t know everything, do they? I hate to say this, but what if Sonny isn’t safe with her?’

‘Debbie, it’s great that you two are getting on so well and I see how much you’re supporting her, but you have to give Mia the time and space to find her feet. Eventually she’ll stop relying on you and she’ll find her confidence.’

I refrain from admitting that I’m dreading that moment. ‘You saw her tonight. She needs more than just space. We offered to buy her a bloody house and her response was nothing short of apathetic. She’d have been just as grateful if we’d offered her a cup of tea.’

‘Perhaps you need to concentrate on your own health rather than Mia’s,’ he says. ‘You know that stress and pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion can bring about complications.’

I roll my eyes. He’s not listening to me. I don’t need reminding that, physically, I’m already running on half the speed I should be. Three years ago I was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease. The fatigue and leg stiffness were so gradual that I dismissed it as the early onset of arthritis. But it all came to a head when I was shopping for the buffet for my fiftieth birthday party. My legs gave way for no reason and I fell to the floor in Aldi. It was Dave who insisted I saw my doctor. She sent me to a neurologist who, over the following months, tested and scanned my brain, took samples of spinal fluid and scanned my nerves and muscles. Eventually I was told it was MND.

It made for grim listening – a future filled with balance issues, increasingly stiff and weakening muscles, muscle cramps, an uncontrollable bladder, slurred speech and a rollercoaster of emotions as, gradually, my body shuts down. Then, eventually, it will kill me. My particular type,

Primary Lateral Sclerosis, is rarer and slower than other versions and I should be grateful that I might live ten years if I’m lucky. Now I have seven left. Every day, the ticking of the countdown clock used to drown out almost every other sound. Then my grandson came along and now he is all I hear.

We make our way into the kitchen with crockery in hand, and I scrape uneaten food into the compost bin and load the dishwasher.

‘I’m going to talk to her in the morning,’ I say. ‘I’ll suggest Sonny moves in with us for the time being. We can put his carrycot next to my side of the bed.’

‘And how is that going to help her in the long run?’ ‘Sonny is my priority, not Mia.’

‘They come as a package.’

‘There have been some women with undiagnosed postnatal depression who’ve killed their babies, you know. What if she’s a danger to him? You’ve seen her with Sonny, there’s a disconnect, isn’t there? She isn’t as hands-on as other mothers are.’

‘Be fair. There are metal pins in her wrist and she’s had a caesarean. She’s limited with what she can do.’

‘Stop defending her!’ I snap. ‘This isn’t about not picking him up or changing his nappy. She sleeps too much during the day, she’s distant and she’s always in tears. I’ve caught her crying when she doesn’t think anyone’s watching. And she looks anywhere else in the room but at her child. Do you remember what I was like when I first brought Finn home? I couldn’t stop staring at him.’

‘You still can’t.’

I allow his dig to pass. ‘I can’t just sit back and watch my grandson being neglected.’

‘Our grandson.’ ‘Don’t be pedantic.’

‘And if that is the case,’ he says, ‘then I’m sure Finn is aware of it and handling it himself. Give them time. This is

his family.’

‘Or he could take your approach and spend his life with his head buried in the sand.’ I shut my eyes tight, wishing I hadn’t just said that.

‘Then let’s hope he learns from my mistakes,’ Dave says, and then leaves me alone, smarting from his parting shot.