‘Do you remember those little red books you had? The sketchpads that you’d write down your stories in?’ Keith leaned back, savouring the memory as if it were a fine wine. ‘I wonder where they are now. Did you keep them? Are they in a cupboard at home? I think you interviewed me once. God, I’d love to read what—’

‘Dad,’ said Tara suddenly, unable to bear it.

‘What?’

‘Stop it.’ She didn’t want to tell him Mum had cleared the house out of everything like that. She couldn’t bear to give him reasons to see Mum in a bad light, even though she suddenly yearned to see those books again too.

‘Sorry.’ The waitress came back to remove their plates, and bring the main courses. Quail for Tara; trout for Keith. ‘This looks tremendous,’ he said, as she checked they had everything. ‘Compliments to the chef!’

The pause was like a reset. While the plates were being cleared, Tara had shuffled through the neutral conversation topics in her head and come up with, So, what’s happening about the redevelopment of Turville Court?

But before she could ask it, Keith leaned forward and said, ‘Tara, I just want you to know that I look back on those years with you and Toby, and … I have happy memories of being a father. It wasn’t your fault that the marriage part didn’t work out. I never wanted you to think I left because of something you did.’

‘I never thought that,’ lied Tara, just to deprive him of his Bono moment. ‘I thought you’d left because Mum kicked you out.’

But of course she’d blamed herself. In the back of the last red notebook was a list of things she must have done or said to make Dad leave. Even Toby had thrown away the Tamagotchi that had annoyed Dad with its incessant bleeping. The house had been so quiet for months afterwards as she and Toby tried to eliminate any irritating behaviours that might push Mum away too.

Keith’s eyes were searching her face, and Tara knew he didn’t believe her. Should she tell him the truth? She remembered how he’d always been the one she’d admitted the bad stuff to, not Mum. Even though Mum was kind and fiercely loving and capable of reducing class teachers to quivering wrecks, Dad always made Tara’s nightmares go away. After he left, there were definitely things she hadn’t told her mum, not wanting to add to her pile of worries.

‘If you liked being a dad so much, why didn’t you try harder to see us?’ she retorted. ‘Why didn’t you make more of an effort to keep in touch? You only had one birthday to remember.’

‘I did,’ he said simply. ‘Presents every birthday and Christmas, without fail.’