He doesn’t know I’ve lost my precious baby. I never told him when I found out I was pregnant. I don’t know why – an amalgamation of reasons, probably. I suppose the news was far too good after everything that had happened. Maybe I didn’t want to jinx it. Maybe I was convinced that only bad things happen to me now. Maybe I wanted to tell him face to face. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t need to know now. He doesn’t need my tragic news on top of all the heartache he’s already been through.

‘I’ve broken up with William,’ I say, keeping my voice upbeat and even, as I fiddle with the handle of the mug.

‘Oh, love.’ He turns warm brown eyes on me.

I raise my hand, knowing if we go down the hugs road at this moment, I’ll sob like a baby. ‘But I’m fine.’

He throws me a sad smile. ‘I never liked him.’

I smile. ‘You never met him.’

‘You deserve better.’

‘Well yes, yes I do.’ Another smile, though tears are close. I’ve almost accepted I’m better off without William, but it still hurts like crazy. I need a change of subject. ‘So what the hell have you done to your hair? And what’s with the moustache?’

He laughs. ‘I’m playing Hercule Poirot.’

‘A card game?’

‘You know who Poirot is, you devil. Don’t you come here teasing your poor old dad.’

I laugh. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ It’s good to see Dad back performing with the local am-drams. ‘Well I must say I’m relieved. I thought it was your new look. So a French detective, aye?’ I’m teasing.

He straightens his back, and with a pretty impressive accent says, ‘I’ll ’ave you know Poirot is from Belgium.’ He picks up his mug and takes a sip. ‘So are you on holiday from work?’

‘Unpaid leave.’

‘And you’re managing OK?’

I want to tell him I’m not managing at all. That I’m going to have to move out of London because I can’t afford the rent, but instead I say, ‘Fine, I’ve got a bit of money saved.’

‘It will be good for you. You never gave yourself time to grieve after your mum.’

‘Oh I don’t know, I’ve done a ridiculous amount of crying.’ My voice cracks.

‘Oh, love.’

‘Will it ever get any easier, Dad?’

He lifts his shoulders. ‘They say it does, eventually.’

I blow steam from the tea and take a sip. ‘I thought if I came to see you, stayed for a bit …’ I suddenly feel overwhelmed. I haven’t been back here since Mum died, and there are memories of her, of my childhood, everywhere.

‘The thing is …’ He glances at his case by the back door, that I hadn’t noticed.