Nonno is out of hospital in time for my first choir rehearsal on Monday night. He sits down slowly on the back pew, takes his hat off, smoothes his hair and then places the hat on the seat next to him. Mum forced him to wear a coat, despite his protests, but a British summer is not quite the same as an Italian one. He gave in and was wrapped up and was probably sweating before we even left the house. I join Mum and the others for the warm-up.

When Nonno holds up one hand, it means I can hear you, you’re hitting that back wall. His seal of approval means more to me than I had thought it could. I can’t take my eyes off him as I sing, like I have to keep checking him. I’m so glad that he didn’t go home: the doctor wouldn’t let him fly back yet. I get him for a bit longer and this time I’m not going to ruin it.

I raise my voice and feel it settling down around me like a blanket. Mum sneaks her hand into mine, out of sight of the others, and gives it a tiny squeeze and for a moment I forget everything else and just let the music hold me. Nonno starts singing at the back of the church. I can see his lips moving and, even though I can’t hear him, I know he’s with me.

When we get back from choir Nonno offers to walk Scout and Mum seizes the moment. I think Mum’s decided it’s up to me to tell him but I can only just cope with her reaction for now. All these secrets – I thought we were such a straightforward family. I guess there’s no such thing.

‘I’ve been researching what you told me and talked to a few people at work and I’d like you to see someone. We can see her together if you like, or you can go on your own, whatever you want. She’s called Dr Dee and…’ Mum stops when she sees my smile.

‘My GP recommended her. That’s who I’m on a waiting list to see.’

‘Oh, right, well I guess the field isn’t that big for PMDD. I mean, I’d never heard of it before, I’m ashamed to say.’ Mum carries on, tucking my hair behind my ear. I can sense she wants to reach out and hold me. ‘There’s online groups you can join and support groups and I know I can’t fully understand what you’re going through, but I can listen. If it doesn’t freak you out too much we can synch our cycles,’ she suggests, which makes me burst out laughing.

‘How?’

‘I thought you’d already know, Ms Smarty Pants. Through our Clue accounts. Then I’ll know … you know, where you are in the month and that kind of thing.’

‘You’ve joined too?’

‘Should have done it ages ago.’ She throws it off as nothing but once again she’s surprised me.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I kiss her on her cheek and she grabs the opportunity and holds me tight.

‘I can’t believe you’ve been going through this by yourself, making appointments to see doctors and getting help. I wish I’d known. I wish you’d felt you could tell me.’ She sounds hurt. ‘I thought it was something else, I thought it was,’ she pauses before she says his name, ‘about Dad.’

I shake my head. ‘I wish people would stop thinking everything is about Dad. I mean, I know it should be but sometimes it isn’t.’

She nods her head, like she gets it. ‘You’re so brave.’ I can hear the pride in her voice.

I think about all the kids on Pan Ward. That’s what I see when I hear the word brave – bandages and blood – but maybe you don’t need to see brave to know it’s there? Maybe brave isn’t what I thought it was.