She finally extracts her hands from the hot water and rubs them against the thighs of her jeans – the only material that she knows is clean. Then she unlocks the bathroom door, takes a deep breath and walks the few steps to her old bedroom. Her heart races as she pushes the door open, but the room looks different, thank God. The walls are painted white and are bare now, no sign of the Blu-Tack stains from Eddie’s old posters. And its centrepiece is a high-standing hospital bed covered in crisp white sheets. She steps inside.

‘Dad?’ It’s a question because the man curled in the bed doesn’t look like the father she remembers. He’s smaller, thinner, like an ageing tree root under a white shroud.

But he looks more familiar when he turns around to face her. ‘My girl,’ he whispers, his eyes shining with tears. ‘I’m sorry that you’re seeing me like this.’

Pain burns through Beth’s chest. Why has she left it so long? She surges towards him, but then brakes. What happens if she touches him? Would she revert to the old Beth? She can’t allow that, because she has a whole life in London, a successful one, and a family who rely on her.

And it’s not like this estrangement is her fault.

She hovers, inches away from his bony frame.

‘The fags finally caught up with me,’ he whispers, his voice croaky and expression sheepish.

Beth smiles wanly at her dad’s admission, but the urge to touch him has receded. She can smell him now, not clean like the sheets, but a musty old man odour. She feels numb suddenly, doesn’t know what to say. ‘Are you having treatment?’ she tries.

Her dad shakes his head. A wave of sadness washes over his face and then disappears. ‘I’d prefer to enjoy whatever time I have left.’

‘You shouldn’t just give up,’ Beth says, but it sounds more like criticism than care.

‘I’ve had a good life. My only wish was to see you again, and here you are, all the way from Singapore.’ His eyes glisten. ‘Can I ask you something?’ he continues. ‘And you promise to give me an honest answer?’ His voice is thin and wispy, but Beth can’t pretend she hasn’t heard it in the small, quiet room. She nods, smiles warmly, steels herself.

‘I know it’s not really my place to ask, but I need to know whether it’s our fault. My fault.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asks guardedly.

‘Why you don’t have children? Did we do such a bad job that it put you off?’

‘No, of course it’s not …’