‘Please,’ I say as I help her tidy the plates.

‘You know it’s times like this when I could murder a glass of wine,’ she says, looking at me as she waits for a reaction.

‘Bonnie, I don’t know what you want me to say to that.’

‘Oh, come on, you’re the counsellor. If you can’t come up with something no one can.’

‘I counsel families whose relationships are in trouble. Not recovering alcoholics.’

‘Isn’t it all linked?’ she asks as she watches me carefully. When I don’t answer she says, ‘It’s not like I want to get drunk. I just get bored with coffee and tea.’ She turns and glares at the kettle. ‘How’s work going, anyway?’

‘It’s good,’ I say. ‘I’m really enjoying it.’

‘Any interesting clients?’

I laugh. ‘You know I can’t tell you.’

‘Oh, come on. Don’t I get any perks for being your sister? Just a little something, you don’t need to tell me names.’

‘No!’

‘You’re boring. I’d tell you.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ I smile.

‘So, no men you like the look of?’

‘Bonnie!’

‘Seriously, how else do you think you’re going to meet someone? And some of them are in the perfect position – unhappy in their marriages. All you need to do is give them a nudge in the right direction.’

‘Well, there aren’t any I like anyway.’

‘Maybe you’re better off single.’ She pours hot coffee into mugs and we fall into a silence before she says, ‘Do you ever think about finding Danny?’

‘Of course I do, but I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘Do you think Mum knew where he was?’

‘I can’t imagine she didn’t,’ I say, taking a mug. I’d always blamed Mum for letting him go. Even at twenty-two, Danny hadn’t been old enough to really fend for himself and I couldn’t understand how she’d allowed it.

That had been eighteen years ago and I’d wanted to scour the country looking for him. I’d imagined us finding him curled up, shivering on a dark street corner, and we’d pile him in the car and take him home where he belonged. But all Mum had said was, ‘I lost him a long time ago.’

She was right about that. Anyone could see how Danny had withdrawn even more since we’d left the island, only no one commented on the fact he hadn’t once picked up his pencils and drawing pad. ‘Maybe she kept in touch with him but never told us for some reason,’ I go on.

‘Why would she do that?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he asked her not to.’

‘Why would he—’

‘I don’t know,’ I snap. ‘That’s the problem, isn’t it? We’ll never know.’