‘You spent hours in it. Danny too. He was always up a tree,’ he says, but the light has faded from his eyes. ‘He spent more time up there than on the ground. Your mum always thought it best to leave him but I wasn’t so sure.’

‘Really?’ I ask, intrigued by this difference of opinion that I never remember seeing.

‘She over-compensated for both of them,’ he murmurs, adding in an even softer voice, ‘especially Bonnie.’

‘How do you mean, Dad?’ I say and he looks up at me sharply, like he didn’t realise he was speaking aloud.

‘She was always a good mother,’ he tells me. ‘She adored all three of you. Above anything you mustn’t ever forget that.’

I smile and lower my eyes. ‘I think the police wanted to talk to you about Danny.’

Dad studies his thin fingers which are covered in papery skin and dotted with too many sunspots.

‘Do you know anything?’ I ask, reaching out for one of his hands when they start to shake again, his fingers making tiny taps on the table. ‘About what happened to Iona?’

His eyes begin to water and I squeeze his hand gently. ‘She was found. On the island,’ he says.

‘I know, but do you know any more?’ I persist. ‘Do you think Danny had anything to do with it?’

He looks up at me, his lips parted, as he groans, ‘Ohhh. Oh dear, Stella. I don’t know. I think maybe. I think maybe he did.’

‘Oh.’ I pull my hand away, my pulse racing wildly. Now that he’s said it I realise it is so far from what I expected.

Dad frowns, his brows furrowed deeply, and he circles his fingers on the table like he wants to add something but he doesn’t have the words. When he does, it’s a non sequitur. ‘I used to love my ferry. I was very happy on that boat.’

‘You were, Dad.’ My words are no more than a whisper. ‘I used to come and meet you when you came back. I’d wait at the end of the jetty for you.’

‘You were always there. Waiting for me. We were very happy there once,’ he says. ‘You more than anyone. You were born on that island.’

‘I know. Annie Webb delivered me.’ I smile at the memory of the story I always begged my parents to keep telling me. ‘You said we would never have made it to the mainland.’

My dad’s shoulders rise ever so slightly.

‘Thank goodness she was there,’ I go on. ‘Her being a midwife.’

‘Annie was always there,’ my dad says, but he is no longer wistful as he stares at the table, and for a moment I think I’ve lost him until he adds, ‘We would never have gone in the first place if it wasn’t for her.’