‘I can’t believe he’s alive.’ Jasmina’s voice was soft and she took my hand. ‘Look. Have you noticed? There are no family photos after the day Dad left. We stopped being a family that day, and never realised. Dad left and the longer we went without hearing from him, we closed the circle, piece by piece, over his absence.’

‘None of us have got over it though.’ It was true. Mum’s life had stopped the day he left, and we had spent all the years since wondering what happened. I felt Jaz’s eyes searching my face. ‘Something that’s always confused me is why we decided he was dead.’ My mind was awash with thoughts along the same lines as Jaz. ‘If he’d died, he would’ve been identified, and we would’ve been notified. There would’ve been a funeral. That never happened so the most likely explanation is that he left us – by choice, or because something happened.’

Dougie was standing beside me now, and he gently put his arm round me. My mind was racing, and it was a comfort to feel contained. Held.

‘I don’t remember any of us talking about it,’ Jasmina said. ‘What might have happened, yes, but you’re right – it is as though we collectively decided to believe he was dead.’

‘Was it because that was easier than believing he’d chosen to leave us and was out there,’ I waved my arm, ‘happily living his life somewhere else?’

Dougie pulled me closer.

‘I don’t know.’ Jasmina’s voice was thick with emotion. ‘It makes sense, I suppose. If he’s been alive all that time, what do we do now? We can’t suddenly become a family again.’

I had no idea either. I pointed at the image of Dad in the Feldmans’ back garden with Józef, Ody and Cyril. Me on Dad’s lap. ‘I remember that day. Mum was ill, and she was annoyed that Dad wasn’t home, so I said I’d go and fetch him. I remember the blackberries. Must’ve been late summer, was it?’ I pulled myself out of Dougie’s arms, kneeled down on the carpet and picked the image up. I peered closer, inspecting every millimetre. ‘It’s so weird. I can vividly recall this photograph being taken. Me on Dad’s lap. The men playing cards. The garden at the back of Rosa’s shop. But I have no idea what they were laughing about, or who took the picture.’ I swallowed. ‘I knew Dad, Józef, Ody and Cyril were friends but . . . ’ I studied the image Rosa had given me again. The four men sat in shirt-sleeves, perched on crates in the garden at the back of Rosa’s shop, playing cards and drinking beer from bottles.