‘Do you remember anyone coming to visit Joy? Either before or after she had the baby?’

She thought about this. ‘I really can’t recall. She spent most of the time alone, barely leaving the grounds. That sounds terribly lonely, but I think she quite appreciated the peace. And she was so enthralled by her baby she didn’t seem to need any other company.’

‘No visitors at all?’

‘No. Well, apart from that journalist. The one who wrote the big article. He came a couple of times. I remember because I was writing a story for our village newspaper and I asked if he had any advice.’

‘Tony O’Dowd?’

‘That might have been it. I can’t be certain, though. I struggle to remember the names of my own grandchildren these days.’

Tony O’Dowd. A good for nothing journalist, as Nana Joy would call him. I’d always assumed her extreme opinions on newspaper reporters were due to a lifetime in the spotlight. I thought about the tone of the article Mr O’Dowd had written – intimate, verging on tender - and I started to reconsider.

I grabbed a mug of tea and called Zelia.

‘What about Tony O’Dowd?’ I asked, almost breathless from the hunt. ‘The journalist who spent a month with her.’

‘What about him?’

‘Could he be my grandfather?’

There was a moment’s silence while Zelia considered this, fingers fidgeting with her pearl necklace. ‘He was in her life about the right time, I suppose. And he was clearly enamoured with her. But so many were, that’s hardly conclusive.’

‘Did she keep in touch with him?’

‘No, quite the opposite. Once the article had been published she refused all contact. I only remember because he tried to approach her at an awards dinner, and she was quite rude in her rebuttal. I just assumed she’d taken offence at something in the article. She could be sensitive like that.’

‘Okay, so, looking back, do you think it could be him?’ I could hear my heart pounding in my throat while Zelia wrestled with her answer.

‘It’s as likely as any other suggestion, I suppose.’

‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

She twisted the necklace around one hand. ‘Promise me you won’t cause her any more hurt than you have to, no matter what you find.’

‘She’s my nana,’ I said, eyes welling up. ‘I won’t hurt her.’

A few minutes before Henry arrived to take me to the hospital, I struck gold. Tony O’Dowd had written to ‘Dearest Joy’, thanking her for the time they’d spent together, expressing his sincerest appreciation for her kindness as well as his ongoing ‘fondness’ and affection.

It could have been a warm thank you from a nice man who warmed to his interviewee but I wasn’t buying that.