He remembers to add in a few references to how tough it was financially when they were small, perhaps to justify his meanness towards me and Mum, but I see no evidence of struggle. A couple of times, when he’s talking about playing with his grandson, the twinkle in his eyes does remind me of those rare occasions when he was a fun, romp-round-the-back-garden dad.

He brushes over anything awkward – the fact I asked him not to come to Mum’s funeral, my own failure to finish foundation training. He has a house near Kingston-upon-Thames now. So we both live by water, eh, it must be in our DNA.

I realize before they bring the starters that I won’t go through with the showdown I’ve been rehearsing in my head since he left us. He is impermeable; the only person it would damage is me.

‘Keep in touch,’ he says, after paying the bill with a flourish, and leaving no tip. ‘Who knows, one of these days I might even pop over to Barcelona!’

The air outside is charged with the storm due any minute. I watch him hail a cab and decide to walk back to Kerry’s flat, even though it’s over four miles.

When it starts to rain, I begin to laugh. Instead of nipping into a shop, I let it drench me, ruining the suit I only ever wear to funerals or meetings with long-lost and disappointing relatives.

Tomorrow I fly home, to Maria, to the work that makes a difference, and to start creating the family I know we can build together, despite my father, not because of him.

Chapter 56: Kerry

17 March 2014

I am home. Back in my own city, my old street, my old bed.

When I started the Anaesthetics rotation last summer, I tried so hard to lose my difficult reputation. But once you’ve got a bad name, it’s almost impossible to live it down. I listened to relaxation tapes and read books on assertive behaviour. Even bit the bullet and tried yoga, though the stress of trying not to fart cancelled out any meditative benefits.

Ninety-five per cent of the time I was the perfect specialty trainee. But my reputation meant even a frown or an under-my-breath mutter would cause eyebrows to rise above the theatre masks. Conversations would stop when I stepped into the locker room, and resume as a whisper as I left. It hurt.

When I went to my consultant, he pretty much told me I’d made my bed so I’d have to lie in it. To my utter horror, my eyes began to fill with tears. We were both so desperate to stop them spilling out that he offered to pull some strings, and a week later, he announced there was the option to transfer for my second ST1 rotation.

My fresh start would mean ending up back where it all began.