I know it shouldn’t matter all these years later, but it does. Maybe because there’s always an edge in Kerry’s voice when she talks about Maria, as though she’s somehow to blame for what went wrong. Or my brain needs the exact order of events. I am not comfortable with uncertainty.

Kerry shrugs. ‘Is that all?’

‘No. I never gave you the card, I threw it away, even though I got the sense that it was . . . important.’

She looks away. Eventually, she says, ‘Joel has a son. Did you know that?’

‘I think I saw a photo in a magazine.’ I know I did because I immediately turned the page.

‘He’s eight now,’ she says, and for a second I wonder if it could somehow be her baby, but eight years ago, we were living together and even with the distraction of my finals, I would have noticed if she’d carried a baby to term. ‘What a long time ago it all seems, doesn’t it? We were kids ourselves.’

Were we? I don’t ever remember feeling like a kid. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry.’

Her eyes meet mine. Can she see what I need from her in return?

‘For not giving me a card? Come on. I did my share of crappy things back then. For intelligent people, it took us a bloody long time to work out we were destined to be best friends instead of husband and wife. Right?’

‘I suppose it did.’ But I won’t break eye contact.

When she does speak, it’s a whisper. ‘But, you know, I’m sorry, too.’

I realize I’ve been holding my breath. When I exhale, I feel lighter than I have since I arrived back in England.

Kerry lifts her glass to her lips and finishes her cava and yawns ostentatiously. ‘I need some kip. And so do you, you have to be on your toes tomorrow.’

It’s almost disappointing, how little he’s changed.

Physically, he’s different: he’s lost a couple of inches in height already and is completely bald. My fate too, then. But emotionally . . .

He has booked lunch at his absolute favourite, an oak-lined dining room where even the dessert menu features animal parts. From the moment he shakes hands – no hugs, that’s not the Palmer way – I know this meeting won’t give me what I hoped for.

Which is not the same as thinking it’s a mistake.

My father talks about himself all the way through: his partnership, his sailing club, his new family – two daughters, who have already given him three grandchildren. I’ve never met them, or his second wife, and have no real desire to.