I pass over the last few pages, watching as he reads. When David used to read me bedtime stories as a child, he would change words and replace them with others that he thought worked better, and I wonder if that is what he’s doing now. Another of those authorly tics over which he has no control.

‘How did Bonnie go from getting pregnant by Seth to giving their child – giving me – to you and Anna? She doesn’t say how it happened,’ I say, leaning forwards as David lowers the papers into his lap. ‘I know you two were friends, but I still don’t understand the logistics. And what about Seth? Where does he fit into the story? Did he ever know that Bonnie was pregnant?’

The colour has been slowly leaving David’s face ever since I started talking, and now he looks almost translucent.

‘There is another chapter to this story,’ he says, lifting the sheaf of papers. ‘Something that Bonnie did not have time to write down.’

‘Right …’ I reply, my skin starting to prickle with unease. I have seen my adoptive father look many things – angry, upset, disappointed, happy – but I have never seen this expression before. If I had to guess, I would say that he is scared.

‘This is something I should have told you a very long time ago, but there is a reason I didn’t. There are many reasons, in fact. But now I think it’s time you knew. Really, you should always have known.’

‘David,’ I say, hearing the tremble in my voice, ‘just tell me, please.’

‘It’s about your father,’ he says, his eyes glistening behind his spectacles.

‘You mean Seth?’ I reply, but any confidence I feel is obliterated by the next look he gives me.

‘No, Genie.’ It is barely a whisper. ‘I mean me.’

44

We ride out together on the second afternoon of the new year.

Me and Anna would often do the same thing, both of us itching to get back in the saddle after a lazy New Year’s Day spent lounging on the sofa, me recovering from a hangover and her simply happy to flop down beside me, a bowl of crisps or popcorn balanced on the blanket across our knees. The second day of January was when we would tack up, head out, and trade resolutions, making each other laugh with our absurd proclamations that yes, this would be the year that we gave up chocolate, or learned another language, or – in my case – stayed in a relationship for more than three weeks.