Mum preferred me to think she was miserable, she realized. She wanted me to think that, because it fitted her narrative about Dad ruining her life. The loss – of time, of choices – made Tara feel empty. And what a waste! If Mum had just told her, the distance would have gone, they could have been better friends.

‘How did I never see?’ she whispered, half to herself.

‘Because she didn’t want you to, and you weren’t looking.’ Toby sat down beside her. ‘You blanked a lot of what happened when Dad left.’

‘I haven’t, I remember loads – that first birthday, in Pizza Hut. Dad’s red car. Mum crying a lot.’ Tara scrabbled around in her memory, desperately trying to grab faces, times, from a period that was blurry, a page with too many rubbed-out words. It was hard to separate what was real memory and what was only stories and second-hand recollection.

This is why I needed proof, she thought, glancing round the pale surfaces of the kitchen. Even scraps, just to prove I was there.

She felt Toby take her hand.

‘I tried to tell you a few times, but you never wanted to hear. You just went into a rant about poor Mum and what a user Dad was.’ Toby shook her hand up and down for emphasis. It was supposed to be comforting, she guessed, but it came across as patronizing. ‘You’ve got to deal with this properly, in therapy. All of it, not just the bits you want. Hiding from the truth isn’t good for you.’

‘Don’t tell me what’s good for me.’ The tears were streaming down Tara’s face. ‘And don’t talk about the truth. I was the only one who didn’t know the truth about our family. The only one! And you left me here to live my life in the middle of everyone else’s lies. How could you do that, Toby?’ She shook her head, as if things might suddenly make sense. ‘I wouldn’t have minded if you’d kept in touch to make sure I was OK but you didn’t! You’ve been impossible to get hold of for the last ten years. I’ve spent more time with my dentist!’

Toby looked shifty. ‘I thought you were OK. You were engaged, you had a house …’

‘How could you know I was OK?’ Her voice was too loud. ‘You reply to one in ten of my messages! Is that because you don’t care about me, or because you feel guilty that I’ve ended up so much less successful than you?’

Toby started to snap back, but then his face fell. ‘Tara, please …’

‘Don’t.’ She pushed him away. ‘I need to be on my own.’

‘Tara, it’s going to be OK,’ he called after her, and she thought she heard him add, ‘if you just grow up,’ under his breath.