‘That’s right.’

In another, Józef stood proudly holding a tennis racquet. Time and sunlight hadn’t dulled the huge grin on his face.

I chuckled. ‘He was sporty, then?’

Rosa nodded.

In another, Józef was in Brick Lane with three other men. They were outside the barber’s, all wearing suits, and laughing and smoking while they chatted amiably. ‘I wonder what they were laughing at. I looked closer and – ‘Oh my gosh.’ I peered again. ‘That’s . . . ’ I turned to Rosa in disbelief. Looked at the image again. ‘That’s Dad.’

‘Show me,’ Rosa said, her eyes shimmering with excitement.

The room stood still. I drank in the familiar image; let my eyes feast on every pixel of his face, his hair, his kind eyes. My thoughts were spinning with the shock of seeing his photograph. I handed the image to Rosa.

‘The one smoking the roll-up? That’s right.’ She paused. ‘How silly of me. Things have been so hectic, I must’ve forgotten. Now what was his name? Kass? Kaz?’

‘Kazi, people called him. Kazol Rahman.’

‘That’s it. Kazi Rahman.’ She chuckled, as though memories were trickling into her mind, warming her. ‘He and Józef met over there at the barber’s. He always enjoyed your father’s company. Said he told good stories.’ She chuckled.

A smile stretched over my face. ‘He did. Sadly, he . . . he left us. In 1990.’ The familiar pain knifed at my insides before the automatic response emerged. ‘He popped out to get candles during a power cut and didn’t come back. We’ve never seen him since.’ I heard the words leave my mouth and it was as though someone else had said them, as if in the intervening years of trying to cut myself off from the pain of Dad’s disappearance, it was someone else’s father who had left and never come back.

‘Oh, Maya, love. I am sorry.’ Rosa was trembling, one hand clasped to her mouth. ‘Now you mention it, I remember something about that. I think we all thought he’d died.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘And you never found out what happened?’

I shook my head, keenly aware of how many times I’d been asked the same question in the last twenty-nine years.

‘Or whether he’s even alive?’