Katie’s life was very full, besides her intense involvement with her future husband and his family, with what they had experienced and where they came from. She and Em tried to make sure they met every month, at either one of their houses, although Handsworth started to win over, as Robbie loved Sybil’s house and the park so much. Gradually they rebuilt a friendship on mutual respect, and the memories and sense of humour they still had in common, as well as the friendship growing between their boys.

And every few weeks she met her father. She did not ask what excuse he made to be absent from home on a Saturday morning, sitting drinking coffee in Lewis’s in Birmingham. She knew he had led a life based on untruth, and it was something she had to accept. It was an untruth that seemed set to continue.

‘I can’t tell them,’ he said bluntly, the last time they met. They had been over and over whether his new family would be able to cope with learning of her existence. His two children thought that he and their mother were married. It would be a shock beyond what he thought they could take on.

‘We’ll have to give it some time,’ he said.

‘What difference will that make?’ she asked brutally. ‘It’ll be a shock for them whenever you tell them. Giving them time to come to terms with something they don’t know about doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Maybe it’s me that needs time,’ he admitted. ‘It could be very rough.’

Katie began to believe that he would never tell them. Her own feelings were mixed. She was at once angry and resentful at feeling, through no fault of her own, like a dirty secret that had to be kept locked away. There had been enough secrets festering, warping and destroying. She wanted to rip through the pretence and lies. She was also curious – his children were her half-sister and brother. What were they like: might they get along? But she was also relieved. Supposing he told them and it spoiled everything. Why upset a family that seemed united, so far as she could tell? She had a new family now – and she had a father, if only in snatches. It was more than she’d ever hoped for. And it was good.

‘I’m getting married,’ she told him.

Michael’s face lit up in genuine pleasure. ‘Are you now? Who’s the lucky fella – the Polish chap you were telling me about?’

‘Yes, his name’s Marek Wozniak.’ She felt such pride in saying his name! ‘Can I bring him to meet you?’

She saw the hesitation, just for a second, the habit of secrecy and checking, before he said, ‘Yes, of course. That’s a fine idea.’

‘And . . .’ She found herself blushing, feeling like a child. Daddy, please, please will you . . . ? ‘Will you come to our wedding?’