‘That’s a lot!’ I laugh. ‘And I don’t really remember my babyhood.’

‘How about,’ he scratches his beard, ‘your favourite subjects? What do you want to be when you grow up?’

‘I’m pretty much grown up.’ I feel a millisecond of annoyance as I’m again reminded that he missed the part where I was growing up, but I let it go.

We start with the bread basket, and I tell him about my dreams to travel, to be a journalist and maybe work for National Geographic or the BBC or something, and how Mum had wanted us to go to Borneo to see the endangered orangutans, whose name actually comes from the words for ‘people of the forest’, and I hope to do it for her one day too. My throat gets a bit choked up talking about Mum.

‘Tell me about her,’ he says as the first course arrives. ‘I remember she always aced her exams, real smart. I can see you’re just like her in that department.’

I smile and continue talking. He again proves his listening skills, like with my Chirp story. I enjoy describing Mum’s personality and the ins and outs of our relationship. Soon my father and I are both laughing as I’m recounting funny stories of Mum and me together. I see real tears in his eyes as I tell him about the cancer and all the failed treatments.

Lexie brings yet another course of delicious dishes, and I take a short clip of the spread to send to Oliver; he’ll appreciate it.

I swallow the last of my cider. ‘Now it’s your turn,’ I say. ‘Tell me about you. What do you want to be when you grow up?’

‘Where to start.’ He scratches his chin again. ‘My father wanted me to get a law degree and join his firm. But when I didn’t agree to kill myself climbing the corporate ladder, working fifteen hours a day in an expensive suit and tie, stress levels off the scale, and my only contact with nature networking on the golf course, he was very disappointed.’

‘You studied biology at uni in Sydney, right? I ask. ‘And you left the degree halfway when Mum got pregnant? That’s what I heard, anyway.’ I cut into the baked eggplant, despite feeling full. Now’s the time to hear the full story.

‘Yep.’ He gazes towards the window. ‘That was the start of a bad patch for me.’

I put my fork down. You? I want to say. Knocking up my mum and then leaving was bad for you? I take a big breath and pick my fork back up. ‘And that’s when you started salmon fishing.’ I’ve never liked the thought of having a father as a fisherman, fish flopping and gasping for breath in big nets. I’m hoping he’s finished with that job.