Jenna was almost green with fear; her skin was so pale and she fidgeted in her seat, rolling down the window for air, doing it back up, having a drink, putting it in her bag, taking it out again to have one more sip. Old Fran, the one whose sister hadn’t gone missing, would have been irritated. New Fran reached out and gave her sister’s hand a tight squeeze. She kept hold of it as they walked into their parents’ house, leaving Tristian and Tama in the car. Neither Fran nor Jenna wanted them to witness one of Geraldine’s meltdowns or risk the baby getting covered in tea. But it wasn’t their small, slight mother who greeted them in the kitchen. It was their father. He got up from his stool, a cup of tea steaming on the breakfast bar beside him, and gave them a nod.

‘Girls,’ he said, then burst into tears.

It was the first time in her life that Fran had seen her father cry. Even when a family liaison officer had visited to update them on the investigation into Jenna’s disappearance and confirmed that the Gozoian police had ruled it a suicide, Henry’s eyes had remained dry. He was an ex-Colonel, a man from a generation that believed that men didn’t cry.

Fran remained in the doorway as Jenna rushed towards him and threw herself against him like a child. It was simultaneously the most joyful, and the most heartbreaking thing that Fran had ever seen and she removed her glasses and dabbed at her eyes.

‘Jenna,’ Henry said softly, his good arm wrapped around her. ‘You have always been, and will always be, my daughter.’

He knew the truth – Geraldine must have told him – but there was no mention of the DNA test, parentage or swingers parties. No recrimination, castigation or blame. Just a man holding his daughter, crying into her hair. Fran retreated into the porch. She’d come to support her sister but this reunion, this sweet, tender, loving reunion, wasn’t one she should share.

‘Where’s my Franny?’ Her father’s voice rang out. ‘Franny, you brought Jenna back to us. Don’t hide.’

Fran crept back into the kitchen. In an instant she was twelve again, abandoning the television at the sound of his call. It had been so strange, almost otherworldly, seeing her big, strong Daddy standing in the middle of the kitchen cradling a small, mewing baby. She’d inched closer and peered into his arms, scared and excited in equal measure.

‘Hello,’ she had said tentatively. ‘Welcome to the family.’

Jenna’s eyelids had flickered and opened. They were so big, Franny had thought, so round, almost too large for her face but they were the most beautiful eyes that she’d ever seen. She’d always wanted a sister, and she was finally here.