It keeps hitting him like this, completely out of the blue. He’s fine for weeks then gets mad upset about the fact that the upstairs bathroom hasn’t been redecorated in years or that there’s too many tins of ackee in the larder, which neither of them will ever eat.

‘I don’t know, Dad.’ They gaze towards the end of the garden and watch as a train passes beyond the fence. ‘It’s cold out here. Let’s go inside.’

Dad stops at the back door to kick off his Crocs and slap his muddy gloves against the wall. ‘Sorry, I didn’t go to the shops yet. I got distracted.’

Kiama removes the envelope from his pocket before propping himself up on one of the breakfast bar stools, ‘No problem. I know you got lots on your mind.’ Dad washes his hands at the sink and with him turned away it seems like the right time to say it. ‘So, I saw Yvonne again today.’

Dad’s back straightens, then he carries on, moving about the kitchen, silently peeling and chopping onions until Kiama can’t handle it anymore. ‘I know you’re not happy about this.’

‘Nothing good ever came from digging up the past.’

‘But she’s the one person who knew Mum.’

‘Plenty people knew your mum.’

‘Not like Yvonne.’

Yvonne, who was in all of his birthday photos, who often spent Boxing Day with him and Mum at their flat in Stratford, Yvonne who was always there, offering to babysit and take him on the types of day trips Mum couldn’t afford or be bothered with, Yvonne who was always there, until one day when she wasn’t.

Dad finally looks over and his eyes drop to the envelope. ‘She gave you a letter?’

‘No. They’re photos.’ Kiama takes a breath knowing this is the moment, his opportunity to lay it all out. ‘I’m going to Kenya.’

Dad’s face betrays nothing. When it comes to hiding emotions, he’s the absolute master. At least when Nana was around it was clear when Kiama had put a foot wrong as he’d hear about it loud and clear, but with Dad it’s always dealt with like this, a few vague comments and then complete shutdown.

‘I want to go for ten days, it’s long, but then I can spend a few days at the end in Mombasa. Mum took me there once. There’s a beach bar that does the best masala chips.’

Dad says nothing.

‘And I can see my grandparents again.’

‘You don’t even talk to them on the phone. Why would you go all that way to spend time with them?’