The thing about Dad and me is that we don’t talk much, so sometimes our conversations don’t go anywhere. If Mum were here right now, she would say something like ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you two, speak in full sentences. Your father is trying to tell you a story,’ she would explain to me, rolling her eyes at him. But she would be grinning too, because as much as she moaned at us, she loved us.

‘It was the first present your mother ever gave me,’ Dad explains. ‘She’d decided what we were going to do on our first date.’

Of course, I think. Classic Mum. And suddenly I miss her so much it hurts.

‘She wanted us to paint ceramic pots and turned it into a competition. She won, of course. I picked a boring old bowl and painted it plain blue.’ Dad’s eyes crease as he looks back into a half-remembered past. ‘When your mum found a pot with two cats on it, she started jumping up and down excitedly. She always had a way of making even the most normal things fun and magical.’

I watch Dad, spellbound. I’d never really heard any of his stories about Mum before. But I realize now I want to know everything about her. I want to fill my mind with her stories, swim in her past, and fly through the future with her.

‘When she finished, I asked her why she picked that pot in particular and she told me that when she was a child there were these two cats that lived near her house. She said they led her to a magical hideaway, where she used to meet with her best friend.’ Dad laughs. ‘Your mum was always telling stories like that, as if her life was some great big adventure. I never knew which were real and which weren’t, but I always enjoyed being a part of them.’

The magic hideaway is real! I want to say. It is!

I realize in that moment that I believe it is. And the missing piece slots into place.

These aren’t dreams I’m having; they’re memories. And they’re of Mum’s life when she was my age.

Suddenly I want to watch them all, to know everything I can about Mum. I just need to get through that door.

As Dad carries on cooking my mind drifts back to his story, and I think about how happy they once were.

‘Dad?’ I say when he starts serving our food.

‘Yes?’

‘Why did you and Mum split up if you . . . If you loved her so much?’

Dad’s face drops, and he turns away. ‘It’s not that simple, Saff.’

And I can tell from his voice he doesn’t want to say any more. But that’s OK. Dad has his secrets with Mum, just like I do.

Chapter 16