Albert was so astonished that he stepped backwards and collided with the counter. ‘Janine!’ he gasped. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Realising suddenly that this was no way to greet a long-lost daughter he tried to take her in his arms and give her a kiss, but Janine, though she submitted to the embrace, did not return it.

‘Never mind that for now,’ she said rather sulkily. ‘It’s pretty clear you aren’t exactly over the moon to see me. And it’s not as though you didn’t expect me, because I sent you a telegram.’

Albert was about to say contritely that the telegram must have gone astray when he remembered something his dear Louisa had once said. ‘Our Janine has a special voice she uses when she’s telling fibs,’ she had told him. ‘You must have noticed, Albert; it’s a syrupy sort of voice.’ She had laughed. ‘She doesn’t mean any harm, it’s just when she’s trying to play down something she thinks we might disapprove of.’

Now, Albert heard that syrupy note in his daughter’s voice and knew that the telegram had never been sent; was, in fact, a figment of Janine’s imagination. So he bit back the words of apology, picked up her suitcase, which was extremely heavy, and gave her a little push towards the stockroom and the stairs which led up to the flat. ‘We’ll discuss the whole matter over a cup of cocoa. Luckily I’ve got into the habit of keeping the bed in the spare room – your old room – made up, so I’ll pop a hot water bottle into it and then you can tell me just what’s happened to bring you flying over here without a word of warning,’ he said. As they entered the kitchen Janine began to reiterate that she had telegraphed, but Albert shook his head. ‘Telegrams don’t just go astray, my dear,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down and have a shortbread biscuit while I make the cocoa. Let me help you out of your coat.’

Whilst Albert boiled the kettle again Janine ate several biscuits, and presently she sipped eagerly at the hot cocoa. It was warm in the kitchen with the oven still alight, and without her coat Albert saw that his daughter had put on a fair amount of weight and that her hair had gone from light brown to a rather brassy gold. He had not seen her for nearly ten years, and his mental picture of her was of a slim, pretty creature with a mass of tumbled curls, rosy cheeks and sparkling light blue eyes. Now she was pale and pasty, seemingly reluctant to explain her arrival, and her mouth became sulky when he tried to press her for some sort of explanation.

‘Ain’t it enough that I’m home?’ she said when he queried her sudden reappearance. She sniffed and her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I’m that tired, Dad, I scarcely know how to put one foot before the other. Can’t we talk in the morning?’