David must have agonised over how to give Anna’s most recent memory book to me, but in the end, he did the simplest – and sneakiest – thing and slipped it into the bag I had packed for my flight to New Zealand. Anna had so many folded pieces of paper stuffed in amongst the pages that it didn’t stay shut without an elastic band around it, and it was this that I fingered absent-mindedly as I waited to board. There was no way that I could bring myself to open it – not yet. If I turned to the last entry, would I see what Anna had written about that awful final day? A memory that was destined never to be amended by the passing of time, or by the simple beauty of hindsight. How would I ever bring myself to look at it – or at any of her words for that matter?

As well as the book, David had hidden an envelope containing five hundred New Zealand dollars, a credit card and a slip of notepaper bearing my birth mother’s name and address. There was also a note from him, which read:

Darling Genie,

The enclosed is for emergencies, but if you run out of money, just call and I can top up your account. I know you’re worried about leaving me alone over Christmas, but don’t be. This year was always going to be a strange one, and I’ve had plenty of invitations to spend the day with friends. If at any time you want me to be there with you, let me know and I will get on the next plane. I’m so proud of you for having the courage to do this by yourself, my darling girl, and I know Anna would be too. I have sent her words and love along with you (see zip pocket), which I hope will help. If you feel afraid, just ask yourself what Evangeline would do – she is there with you, too, urging you onwards, as she always has been.

All my love,

Dad xx

If someone had taken me to one side a year ago, and told me that in twelve months’ time, I would not only have lost one mother, but I would end up travelling to the other side of the world to find another one, I would have scoffed with disbelief. Yet, here I am, in that exact situation.

There is a crackle of static as a member of the Qantas staff steps up to the desk in front of the gate and leans over the microphone. It is time to begin boarding. As the business class passengers file importantly through the entrance to the jet bridge, I reach into my bag and extract my own memory book. I know without looking that my last entry was 23 December 2017. I know that it reads: ‘Suki threw shoe, waited for Billy, so still no presents bought! Will go tmrw.’