‘I’m Joan and Leanne’s neighbour,’ I started, fumbling slightly for the right words. ‘I’m taking care of Joan at the moment because Leanne is in hospital. She’s not in any immediate danger or anything like that, but she is fairly ill, and her long-term prognosis is uncertain, so Joan wanted to find you, so you could know, and, well… we can talk about that later.’

Once Carole had brought through tea and a glass of orange juice for Joan (‘I’m sorry, we haven’t had squash in the house since, well, since your mum left’), I explained what had happened, and how things stood, waiting patiently every minute or so to allow Peter and Carole to compose themselves.

‘So she doesn’t know you’ve found us?’ Peter asked.

‘She doesn’t know we’ve been looking.’

He nodded. ‘Waiting until you knew whether it was worth the trouble.’

‘Something like that.’

‘So what’s next, then?’

‘I think the next step is really up to you.’

Carole looked thoughtful. ‘How about some lunch? I’ve a fish pie in the fridge.’

For the couple of hours or so before we left, Sam and I sat back and watched as Joan clicked into conversation with her grandparents as though they were merely catching up on a few months apart, not a lifetime. It was surreal to watch how Carole tilted her head up in an exact mirror of her daughter – and granddaughter – and as she asked questions about Joan’s life, and answered many more about Leanne’s life before she’d left, the similarity in tone and cadence was mesmerising.

To my relief, Peter and Carole stayed well away from sensitive topics, such as why Leanne had left home or what had happened in the years prior to her moving to Bigley. They fought back tears many times and I could see the temptation to keep touching Joan, to stare at her. Instead, they chattered about holidays and hobbies and Leanne’s favourite school subjects. Peter was the book lover, and he would probably have spent the rest of the afternoon discussing Tolkien and C.S. Lewis if I hadn’t gently insisted (for the third time) that we really had to go.

‘Can I have your phone numbers?’ Joan asked. ‘I know you might not want to see Mum and she might not want to see you, but even if she tells me I’m not allowed to see you again, that doesn’t mean we can’t talk on the phone. I have so much more I want to tell you. And ask. Like, did Mum have a best friend, or lots of friends? Or no friends, like before she met Ollie?’