I sip my tea and let the conversation wash over me as they reminisce, each trying to outdo the other with some story either of Geraldine’s forceful personality, or one of Jonathan’s often half-cocked ideas to make life easier for her. I may never have met her but, from the way they describe her, I think I would have liked Geraldine. She sounds like she was a lot of fun to be around, if a little terrifying at times. I start scanning the room, looking for a picture of her but, although there are plenty of Will, or Will and Jonathan together, there are none of her.

‘I put them in the drawer after she died,’ Jonathan admits sadly when I ask him carefully about it. ‘I couldn’t bear to look at her. It just reminded me of everything I’d lost. Will, I think it’s time we put that right, if you don’t mind doing the honours.’

I watch as Will crosses the room and slides open the top drawer of a small chest. As he brings out each framed photo, I realise that there is an order to them. Each one fits neatly into a gap among the other photos that I hadn’t even noticed before. I get up and go to stand beside him while he works, taking the opportunity to study some of the pictures. Even without the descriptions I’ve listened to, I can somehow tell just by looking at her that Geraldine wasn’t someone to be messed with. Short and dark haired, she oozes personality even in grainy 2D. However, although there are a good number of pictures of the three of them, or her with her arm round Will in some holiday destination, they’re all quite old. The newest one I can see looks to be from Will’s twenty-first birthday celebrations.

‘She wouldn’t let us take any pictures of her when she started to need sticks and, ultimately, her wheelchair,’ Will explains, seemingly reading my mind. ‘She said she didn’t want to be remembered that way.’

‘Somehow, from what I’ve learned about her, that doesn’t surprise me,’ I reply.

‘It’s a shame you never met her,’ Jonathan says from his chair. ‘I think the two of you would have got on. What do you think, Will?’

‘Yes, she’d have liked you,’ he agrees. ‘She would either have adopted you as a surrogate daughter, or tried to marry us off. Don’t take it personally,’ he adds, realising what he’s just said and backtracking furiously. ‘She was the worst kind of matchmaker. Every girl I spoke more than three words to at school was instantly in her targets. She even had a go at you, Dad, didn’t she?’

‘Shh,’ Jonathan says, pointing at the ceiling. ‘I don’t want Gina overhearing.’

‘Gina?’ I ask, as Will and I sit back down.