It's all about her. Always has been.
Today she told him, from the comfort of her reclining chair, to make her a coffee. Specified which sachet, how much water, just a dash of milk. He got it wrong, she complained. He had brain surgery last month and has incurable cancer.
Today she was too ill to visit her newborn grandson for the first time. He didn't go either, because he wanted to make sure she was ok. Yet she was well enough to go to a public event this evening.
She has told him, the man with an aggressive brain tumour, to answer the phone this week as she is fed up with having to do stuff for him. Then complained when he got some messages wrong.
It's going to be a tricky few months.