Why did he feel the need to reveal something that he’d kept hidden from her all those years? He wasn’t sure. Maybe because he’d wanted to explain what made him the way he was back then. Why he’d been such a mixed-up kid. After all, everything about Tess seemed so content and settled.

Later that night they ended up in bed together. To him it was seismic, but Tess had behaved like it was nothing, no more important than a goodnight kiss, and Abbott had been left feeling discarded somehow. Hating the sensation, hating how it made him feel weak, unmanly and vulnerable.

A short while afterwards, Nathan had gone missing.

And not long after that, Abbott had cradled Nathan as he lay dying in Iraq.

The next thing to happen was that Tess had got back in touch, telling him that she needed to see him right away.

Then, as now, he had been in the clutches of grief. Even so, he couldn’t help but think about their night together, hoping that her reasons for seeing him were romantic. For if anybody could save him – if anybody could stop the downward trajectory he knew his life was taking, it was Tess.

Once again, they had met in Kettner’s in London. ‘I’m so glad you got in touch,’ he’d said, ‘I was worried you might not want to. You know, after . . .’

‘After what?

She’d looked confused for a moment before it dawned on her. ‘Oh, that. Yes, of course. I think that was what they call a blast from the past.’

The joke didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers were restless on a small sheaf of papers that she had placed on the table.

He swallowed. ‘Sure. But I mean, well, to me it wasn’t just a shag.’ She was looking uncomfortable so he tried thinking of something else to say, something lighter and more conversational, but all he could come out with instead was the one pathetic word ‘sorry’, leaning back in his chair, giving her space.

‘No, look, I’m sorry, Alex. It did mean something, of course it did. And maybe one day we can organise a return visit,’ but again the smile didn’t quite get there, ‘it’s just that that’s not why I’m here. Why I’m here is not about us at all. It’s about you.’

‘What about me?’

She held up a hand. Wait. ‘I know that you told me that your mum has passed away,’ she said. ‘What about your dad? Where is he right now?’

‘He’s in a home.’

Abbott thought guiltily of his father. When was the last time he’d bothered to pay the old man a visit? ‘Why? Why do you want to know?’

‘I have something I need to tell you.’

‘About my dad?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Go on.’