Roland opened the photos on his mum’s iPad. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Here’s Alice at university.’

‘She’s changed,’ she said. ‘A lot. Look, Don.’

She handed the iPad to his dad. He rested it on his knees; even the light weight of the tablet was becoming difficult for him to hold.

‘She does look different,’ he said. He wagged his head from side to side. ‘I wouldn’t say this to Tom or Alice – so keep this to yourselves – but I’m not sure the change is for the better. There’s a spark in her eyes when she was younger which I haven’t seen much of lately.’

‘That’s youth,’ his mum said. ‘We all had a spark in our eyes back in the day.’

‘You still do,’ his dad said. ‘Not changed at all. That’s not what I’m talking about. I love Alice, but she’s very reserved. That girl’ – he pointed at the screen – ‘looks more open.’

‘I think if there was a photo of me when I was eighteen I’d look like a different person than I do now,’ Roland said. ‘People do change, Dad.’

‘They do. But the inner person stays the same,’ his dad said. ‘And I’m just saying that it’s almost like there are two versions of Alice. You haven’t changed, by the way. Not when I see you. I still see the fat little baby I held the day you were born. Did you make a mess of some things? Yes. Did you learn some lessons? I bloody hope so. But you’re still you, Roland, at the core.’

‘Sometimes I wonder about that,’ Roland said. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I corroded myself so badly that there’s not much left.’

‘You didn’t. And I’m glad you’re building bridges with your brother.’

‘I am too,’ his mum said. She put her hand on his forearm, her fingers tracing the scars. ‘I’m so happy he asked you to help with this album. It shows he trusts you.’

‘A bit,’ Roland said. ‘He trusts me a bit. Which is a start.’

His dad closed his eyes. He was getting tired even more quickly these days. One day – soon – he would close his eyes for the last time. Roland pushed the thought away; it brought with it the urge – the craving – for self-oblivion, and the reminder that it was all very well staying clean on the good days, but it was how you reacted on the bad days that mattered.

And the day his dad died would be a very bad day indeed.

He leaned over and kissed his dad’s head.

‘Love you, Dad,’ he said.

While he waited for the kettle to boil he checked his emails. He’d applied for a series of jobs doing basic office work, but with his record – he had several convictions for petty theft – work was hard to come by.