All cats were female in Dad’s world, even when they shared a name with a tragic Danish prince. I didn’t bother to correct him. Hamlet didn’t care, especially if chicken was involved.

‘I’m proud of you working so hard,’ Dad said.

I couldn’t help smiling. He was proud of me. I was so pathetic.

‘Go on. Sit down,’ he said. ‘Let me make you tea.’

I flopped onto one of the chairs while he pottered around. I’d been influenced by Mum’s negative thinking. He wasn’t that bad any more. He’d softened.

I moved the paper aside. He’d always been an aggressive paper-reader when I was young – laying it out flat and taking up the whole table or holding it up to his face while Mum tried to talk to him. I’d never have dared shift the thing in those days.

He put down a mug of tea and sat opposite me.

‘Was the spare bed okay?’ I said. ‘Sorry about the book sculptures.’

‘It was fine. I’m fine. It’s a nice house.’

‘Did you sleep all right?’ I wanted to ask why he was suddenly visiting now. I’d barely heard from him in fifteen years, never met his girlfriend, Pauline. I knew nothing about his life. He didn’t look quite right. I wanted to know if he was unwell, or if anything was wrong. But I couldn’t make myself be that direct. ‘How are things with you?’ I said instead.

‘Good, good.’

That wasn’t giving much away.

‘Is Pauline okay?’

Pauline had been She-who-must-not-be-spoken-of for so long in Mum’s house that I could barely get her name past my lips. It felt like Hamlet coughing up the furball.

‘Oh. Yes, I think so.’

What the hell did that mean? He was still with her but didn’t know if she was okay, or he’d split up with her and didn’t even know what country she was in? Had she dumped him for a younger man, as predicted by Mum when they’d first got together? And why was I fine interviewing people who stuck screwdrivers in each other’s throats but couldn’t get out of my dad whether he was still with his girlfriend?

‘She didn’t mind you coming down here on your own?’ Why was I incapable of just coming out with it?

‘No. Yes. As a matter of fact, we separated.’

There it was. ‘Oh no! I’m so sorry, Dad. When?’ That would be why he looked anxious and ill.

‘A few weeks ago. It’s all fine though. How are things with you?’

‘Why did you split?’

‘Oh. Ah. You know. Grew apart.’ He shook his head rapidly. ‘Nothing in particular. Nothing you could put your finger on.’

I frowned. ‘You can talk to me about it, you know.’

‘No, no, it’s all fine. Tell me about yourself.’