He’d always liked a beer after work, even when Mum was alive, but after the accident he turned to wine, a large glass of red, which soon turned into a bottle, and then two bottles. Back then I was still living at home and at first he hid it so well. He always bought the same brand and hid the empties so that I didn’t realise he was drinking so much. But then he started to get lazier about going to the bottle bank and empties started to accumulate at a rapid rate. The bottles began to be opened as soon as he got home and I no longer waited for him in the mornings because he never got up in time.

The final straw came when he was late for work one morning and I went into his office to find a file and I discovered a bottle of whisky hidden at the back of a filing cabinet. At first I tried to tell myself that it was a holdover from another era, when drinking at work was just part of the thing you did, only when I examined the label I discovered it had been bottled less than six months ago. It was one thing to be drinking after work, but not during.

I’d poured it down the sink and phoned him but when he didn’t pick up I’d gone home. I’d raced up the stairs to find him lying on his front and my heart had stopped, fearing the worst. I’d rushed forward, only then noticing the smell. I’d looked down at my feet and seen the big, wet stain on the carpet and I’d known instantly that it was urine.

A shadow falls over the car, which startles me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see a woman standing there.

‘Um, hello, are you by chance Edie?’ she asks.

I hadn’t really given a lot of thought to what Julie would look or be like. She appears to be around Dad’s age, with shoulder-length dark hair that’s been loosely curled, and she’s wearing a floral maxi dress that shows off her curves.

‘Yes, um, hello, you must be Julie.’ I climb out of the car and we stand there, staring at each other.

‘How do you do.’ I hold my hand out, wondering when I’ve ever been so formal.

‘I’m good, thank you,’ she says, shaking my hand as if she’s afraid of breaking it. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you; your dad talks about you all the time. He’s ever so proud of you.’

‘Ah, um, thank you. He talks of you too.’

She beams back and dimples appear on her cheeks. She looks over my shoulder at the door.

‘Should we go in? I bet Gary’s in a right muddle with the cooking.’

‘He absolutely is.’