Is this why he let Casey down, and her mother too? The timing fits. ‘Did you have your shit together when you met Angelica?’ I watch his face, to see if I might be pushing too far, too fast.

He narrows his eyes. ‘No way. Like I said before, Angelica and I got together at a festival. The soggiest Glastonbury there’s ever been in fact. But the most memorable too.’ He stops walking. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone about this. So how come I want to tell you?’

‘That face of mine again.’ The intensity of this moment makes me blush.

‘Yes. That face. So Angelica got pregnant and it took her a while to track me down, but she turned up on the doorstep a couple of weeks before Christmas, out here’ – he gestures a swollen belly – ‘and wanted to play Happy Families.’

‘I thought it was the child maintenance people that found you, after Casey had been born?’ I remember too late that it was Jed who told me this, and hope Dan doesn’t realize.

‘That’s what I told my friends. And what Angelica told Casey. Because the alternative makes me sound like such a bastard. Which is true, but it’d hurt Casey if she found out.’

‘So you knew you were going to be a father, but you never gave it a chance?’

He looks ashamed. ‘I am a coward unfortunately.’

Except I don’t believe him. There’s no logic, but deep inside, I know he’s better than the man he thinks he is. ‘Are you sure it was that simple? Because I don’t see a coward.’

The air turns heavier. His answer matters to both of us.

Dan walks slowly, not acknowledging me. ‘Once the shock wore off, a part of me believed that Angelica being pregnant – me becoming a dad – could be the best thing ever. I wanted to make everything all right.’

‘So what went wrong?’

‘After she was born, I freaked out. I knew nothing about how a family works, how to be a parent. I had nothing to offer a baby except maintenance, which I paid of course. I thought it would be better for her if I wasn’t involved, so I couldn’t let her down, the way my dad let me down.’

‘So what changed?’

‘Three weeks ago I got a Facebook message. From Casey. She told me she’d got a brain tumour . . .’ His voice tails off and I can see on his face the shock he felt, even now. ‘The message was so calm. She said she knew I hadn’t wanted to be in her life, but she needed treatment in Bristol, and did I know of a place to stay?’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘Yeah. Nothing for years, then everything. Plus, there was something else about the message. I could tell she needed more than an address. I messaged her back to offer her my place. There was a bit of . . . negotiation with her mum, but it’s worked out so far.’