‘I’d change a lot of things,’ I say, desperately deflecting. ‘The ouzo-fuelled welcome meeting on that eighteen-to-thirty holiday with Paul, for one thing.’ Mum rolls her eyes. ‘You might give me that look, Mum, but going on the pull when you’re shitting through the eye of a needle is troublesome at best.’

‘Rhys!’

‘Sorry.’

I’m not sure we’re in a place for banter yet. We walk on in silence, which is probably for the best. Mum occasionally runs her hand through the leaves, or bends down to smell summer-coloured petals of flowers I can’t name. A toddler runs through the winding gravel paths, playing hide-and-seek with her parents. She giggles and screeches with delight each time she gets caught, tickled then hugged by both her mum and dad. Was it ever like that before Dad left? I can’t remember. It so often feels as if life before Dad left belonged to someone else.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ starts Mum.

‘Dangerous.’ I nudge her arm but it’s met with a sharp look. ‘Sorry. Go on.’

‘I think…’ She stops in her tracks, takes a deep breath, then says, ‘I think it’s time you tried to find your birth mother.’ She walks on as soon as she’s said it, taking hold of some herbs and letting the scent rub onto the palm of her hand.

‘No,’ I say. This isn’t up for discussion. I resist the urge to walk away, but do pick up the pace, passing her as she bends to read a plaque on a bench. I didn’t come here to be hijacked on this subject. I thought she was trying to make friends again.

‘Rhys, don’t discount it. And slow down.’ She pulls my arm to bring me back alongside her. ‘I’ve just been watching you, since David… And this week in particular, I don’t know what’s happened to you. I thought you were coping, but then all this stuff with that Susan woman comes up, this sudden obsession with a stranger. You’re avoiding your own issues.’ I shoot her a look. Since when did she become the psychotherapist? ‘And when I tried to talk to you about Derek—’‘What? What about that exactly?’‘Well, you have to admit you didn’t take it well.’‘Do you blame me?’ I stop beneath a birch tree. The sun filters through the leaves and shadows like lace dance across the path. ‘We made a pact, Mum. We need each other. I didn’t realise that pact was only valid while you needed it.’ The words sting her, I can tell by the look on her face. And I’m sorry, but not sorry. And that makes me even sorrier. ‘That’s not fair, Rhys,’ she says, her voice low and firm. ‘Of course we need each other, and I will always be here for you, but I have to find a way to make my life the best it can be. For your brother’s memory, if nothing else. And this is one way to do that, to try and find happiness in amongst the gloom.’ She stares at me. ‘You need that too.’I hold her eye for a moment before walking on. She follows.‘I think you need to find your own life, your own story, Rhys. Your birth mother is part of that. She is part of you, and you her, and these missing elements of your life are the things that make it difficult to forge a pathway. A future of your own.’‘What are you talking about? I’m fine. Grieving, yes, but that’s normal, isn’t it? I feel like I let him down, Mum. I feel like I pushed him towards something that finally broke him. If it wasn’t for me—’‘That’s not true and you know it, Rhys.’ She pulls my arm, swinging me around to look at her. ‘Why would you torture yourself that way?’ There are tears in her eyes as she reaches up to touch my face. I grit my teeth together, fighting back my emotions. ‘David made his own choices, Rhys. Just as you should.’ She pauses, letting her hand fall back down to her side. ‘I just think your choice should include your birth mother.’I stare up to the sky. A bird catches a thermal, rising high then swooping down low to the ground. I follow its arc, desperate to avoid the ache that swamps my body. This is the biggest hurt I’ve ever felt; grit sticks in my throat when I so much as think about any of it.