‘Never!’ she said. She beamed at Dan, then at Katelin. ‘Well, I didn’t know that. I had no idea the author was from Sheffield. I just saw the book in Smith’s, and the lady said it was flying off the shelves, and I thought, Katelin might like this, because I know you like to read, love.’

‘Yeah, it’s great, Marion, thanks.’ Katelin picked a route through the gifts and the debris to give Dan’s mum a kiss on the cheek.

‘That there,’ Bill said, tipping his head towards the photograph on the back cover. ‘That there is Alison.’

It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d all said ‘Cheers’ at lunch because Bill, through deafness and old age and his tendency towards depression, was the quietest of souls, a recluse in the family throng. So his voice had an impact, drew the attention of everyone in the room, especially Claire, who said, ‘What? Give it here,’ and took the book from Katelin. She flipped it over, and saw Ali Connor’s publicity photograph – the one Dan had seen when he first found her online and that he saw still, whenever she sent him a song. Blue cotton shirt, cropped dark wavy hair, blue-nearly-green eyes, a sensual mouth, and an intelligent, slightly inquiring, slightly amused expression.

‘Oh my God, it is Alison,’ Claire said. ‘She looks the same.’ She passed the book to her brother. ‘Look, Daniel. Alison Connor! Can you credit it?’

He took it, and for the sake of appearance pretended to check out the biography on the inside front page. He didn’t read it though. Instead, he tried to formulate a sentence or two to address the look that he knew was waiting for him on Katelin’s face. She knew nothing about Alison Connor, nothing at all. By the time he’d met Katelin, he’d spent four years conscientiously forgetting her. There’d been lots of other girls, and Katelin had grilled him about each and every one. But not Alison, no. Not mentioning Alison had become a habit, born of necessity, for all of them, but especially for Dan.

Bill, sounding more animated than he had for years, said, ‘She was grand, Alison was. A smashing lass.’

‘Well, I never!’ Marion said, rather uncertain now whether she’d done a good thing, or a bad thing. She looked at Dan, then Bill, then Claire. ‘Can you believe it? What a coincidence! So she’s Ali now, not Alison? And fancy her ending up in Australia!’

‘Yeah,’ Dan said to Katelin, who was staring at him. ‘Ex-girlfriend.’

No big deal.

‘So,’ Katelin said, head cocked, arms folded, ‘did you know she’d written a novel, this Ali Connor person?’

‘Alison,’ Bill said. ‘She was Alison then.’

‘No,’ Dan said, lying easily, without conscience, because to say yes would benefit no one. ‘I’d no idea she’d written a novel.’

Will took the book from Dan’s hand.