Reaching into her bag, she produced a sheaf of lined paper and held it up. ‘I started writing down the story of everything that happened back then, to give to Evangeline.’

‘Everything that happened?’

David was staring at her, his gaze intent.

‘I haven’t got to the end of the story yet,’ she said carefully. ‘So no, not everything.’

‘Have you had any breakfast?’ he asked.

Startled by the abrupt change of subject, Bonnie stammered an incoherent reply.

‘I’ll make us some eggs,’ he decided, hopping down off the stool and crossing the room. ‘How do you like them – fried, poached, scrambled?’

‘David.’

‘I could do us an omelette, if you fancy? I have some posh cheese left over from Christmas. Do you like Stilton?’

‘David, please.’ Bonnie was standing up now, frustrated by the fact that he had begun flapping about the place. She had been consumed by such a tidal wave of anxiety on the journey here that she felt suddenly deflated. All this time she had been holed up in Tracey’s guest bedroom, wasting precious time that she could have spent with her daughter – with both her daughters. She was frustrated with herself, and that in turn made her annoyed with David. It had been almost three decades since she last saw him, since everything had happened, and here he was discussing which cheese to add to her breakfast.

‘I need to go home,’ she told him. ‘Back to New Zealand. As soon as possible.’

‘I understand.’ David lowered the frying pan he was holding in a gesture of defeat. Then, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, he folded his arms and gave her an enquiring look.

‘You haven’t told me everything,’ he stated. ‘You’re hiding something.’

‘Like what?’ Bonnie began packing her stack of paper back into her bag.

‘Like the reason you came here to England,’ he said. ‘You said you only found out about Anna yesterday.’

‘That’s true.’ Bonnie was aware of her heart beginning to beat a little harder. The anxiety had returned, and was smashing its way through her like a bolting pony.

‘So, why now?’ asked David, repeating Bonnie’s earlier question back to her. ‘What made you want to see Genie again after so long?’

Bonnie rested her hands against the worktop, closing her eyes as she steeled herself. She thought about the compassionate green eyes of the doctor, and the family portrait the woman had propped up in a frame on her desk. She had talked about time being the most precious thing, about how life finds a way to show you what you need to do, why it is so important not to let your fear get the better of you.