Once I’d left Joan reading while Nesbit curled up at the foot of the sofa bed, I poured myself a glass of wine and pulled out my phone, clicking to open the internet. The Buttonhole website was advertising a new quilting course. There were pictures on the Facebook page showing a recent Knit and Natter Night, and Mum was in at least half of them, face glowing and wearing a patterned tea-dress that I knew she’d have sewn herself. To my shock, her name had been tagged. Mum had never taken any interest in social media, but clicking on the link, it took me to her profile. She had set it to private, so all I could see was a profile picture and basic information – but it was enough to send my head spinning. Mum, sitting in a pub garden in the sunshine, lifting up a huge gin and tonic and smiling as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

I knew that profile pictures lied.

I knew that even if she was as happy as this snapshot implied, that was okay.

It was better than okay – I wanted her to be happy. In a way, it proved that instead of being completely selfish, my decision had been the right one for her as well as me, because she’d certainly never looked this happy before.

It made me think that maybe we would be able to start again.

But at the same time, Joan’s words about her grandparents reverberated inside my head.

Why wasn’t my mum missing me, grieving her only child?

Had her behaviour the past few years been my fault? Had I been the one holding her back?

‘Stop gaslighting yourself!’ Steph barked, when I called her in a snotty, snuffling mess a few minutes later. ‘One word: tooth-gate.’

She spent another half hour laying out the case for why this whole train of thought was preposterous.

‘Of course it’s a shock to see her getting on with things when for so many years she acted like her whole life depended upon you. Even if she hadn’t created this suffocating, all-consuming relationship, it would be weird to be confronted with that picture when you’ve not had any contact in so long.’

‘I think it hurt so much because I still miss her, despite everything, and I feel like a fool when she’s not missing me.’

‘Ollie, of course she’s missing you. This is one photo. This is her coping as best she can. Karina probably took a hundred shots before finding one remotely usable. The question for you is, what do you want to do about it, if anything?’

‘Set up a fake profile and become her Facebook friend?’

Steph made a sound like a quiz show buzzer. ‘Incorrect. Try again.’

‘I don’t think I’m ready to meet this new Mum.’

‘Okay, that’s understandable.’