We reach the bottom as my grandmother takes off her top hat and waves it around to show the audience there’s nothing inside. Her hair is indeed bright red and piled on top of her head in a complicated hairdo. She invites a young boy in the audience to look inside the hat. He shies away from her, and a look of annoyance crosses her face.

I’m suddenly nervous. I’m not sure I want to meet this stranger. I just want Mum back.

‘And, ladies and gentlemen …’ she says. ‘If you will –’

That’s when she sees us.

Her smile fades and her eyes fix on mine for what feels like ages. My insides turn all watery and I take hold of Dad’s hand.

Sylvie gives a small cough and her smile springs back into place. ‘And if you will observe closely …’ She pulls a bunch of obviously fake flowers from her top hat and waves them about, but her eyes keep flicking over to where Dad and I stand at the back of the audience. It’s disconcerting how much like my mother she looks, with the same pointy chin and small, upturned nose. I have my dad’s nose, which I like to think of as a powerful Viking nose.

Sylvie ends the show by plucking a flower from behind the ear of the boy at the front, and after some polite applause, the small crowd disperses. Dad gives my hand a squeeze and we approach the stage, where Sylvie’s packing her props into a black suitcase.

‘Sylvie,’ Dad says, and his voice comes out croaky. He clears his throat. ‘Hello. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Dave, and I’m Merry’s partner …’

‘Hello, David,’ she says without looking up. ‘Yes. I remember you.’ She closes the suitcase and zips it up. She has long purple fingernails and a chunky, colourful ring on each finger.

Dad shuffles his feet. ‘Have you got a moment to chat?’

She doesn’t respond.

This is not going how I’d imagined. Why isn’t she more surprised, maybe even delighted, to see us? I’m her only grandchild, after all – who she’s never met. I rub my hands together because I feel a major sizzle coming on.

Finally, she looks up at Dad. ‘Where’s Merry?’

‘We … um … don’t know. That’s why we’re here. We need your help. Can we buy you lunch?’

‘You may,’ she says, and gestures to a nearby cafe. ‘I suppose it was Thelma who told you where to find me?’

‘Yes.’

At last, her eyes settle on me. She gives a tiny, twitchy smile. ‘And you are my granddaughter.’

It’s unsettling, the way she looks at me. As if she’s staring through my eye holes and right down inside me.