He smiles. ‘You’re a good girl, Becca. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Thanks, Dad. I love you.’

‘Okay, let’s do this,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘Let’s go in and tell your Mom she’s a grandmother.’

It didn’t get any worse. My dad settled, and even got excited when Mom smiled. She smiled when he told her the name, but it was just a coincidence. At least, I think it was. It’s hard to know anything anymore.

The smell of mass-produced powder soup wafts through the building, announcing mealtime. Dad stands to leave. ‘Goodbye, grandma,’ he says.

Mom stares ahead like she’s looking into a field, searching for a particular blade of grass that isn’t there. I wish she knew what was happening; she would have been so happy to interfere with how Joanna was raising Liam.

My father’s demeanor changes the moment we step out through the doors.

‘Time to meet Liam,’ he says, inhaling the fresh air.

I feel like Florence Nightingale, but Dad’s insisting we go to meet Liam straight away. His sad visit is over, his joyful one is ahead. I don’t agree; facing Joanna is going to be a bit weird for me. I’m hoping the pain of birth and arrival of her new baby may have erased her memory of yesterday.

Lovely little Liam doesn’t look like anyone in particular but I am aware it’s my duty as a visitor to point out some similarities, so I fake a few, all the time avoiding looking directly at Joanna. Dad’s happiness seeps out through every breath he takes, swooning at Liam until the nurse tells us visiting time has ended.

As we’re leaving, I walk down the corridor with Dad, then pretend I’ve left my phone behind. Joanna is lifting Liam in her arms when I walk back into the ward.

‘I’m so sorry about yesterday, Joanna. I didn’t know that was going to happen.’

Joanna doesn’t seem to give a goddamn shit about yesterday. She has moved on, got herself a baby.

But I continue, telling her about the gift, the dirty pink coat, explaining that it had been given to me by Bert and how I had forgotten my own present. I’m still rambling on about how Bert had it in his family for years and wanted to pass it on to someone, that he was probably confused with grief, when she turns and smiles at me.

‘It’s okay, Becca. And don’t worry, I won’t tell Danny.’

Chapter Thirty-Five