‘Yes. He went really low,’ she says. ‘After he dropped out of Sydney University, and left the fishing job, he enrolled in law school in Chicago and worked with Mike. He hated it. But the real depression began after he received your mother’s letter after you were born, insisting she would raise the baby—you—alone. That he was not wanted or needed. And when he tried to call and write, wanting to return to Sydney and be a part of your life, she had changed numbers and addresses, cut off all contact. To this day, I don’t understand why a woman would do that—I mean, he is the father and a child deserves …’ She stops.

My stomach’s in my throat. She’s angry at my mum. And I have nothing to say in Mum’s defence—I don’t know why she cut him out of our lives like that.

‘Anyway, Sky dear. Sorry, I’m not blaming anyone. I did try to ask Adam, talk to him about finding you over the years, asking what he’d done, making suggestions, but he just shut down, Adam-style. If I’d pressed him anymore, I would have lost not only my granddaughter but my son too.’

In my whole life, I’ve never thought about how my father felt, only focusing on his betrayal of me and my mother, and then Melody’s betrayal of my mother and ultimately me. So much betrayal. I thought my father must not be interested, hadn’t wanted me. Suddenly, I’m seeing things from his eyes. And even though I don’t want to blame Mum, I won’t blame her, just thinking that she also had a part to play, that she wasn’t totally an innocent victim, is helping me understand him more, lessen my anger.

Miriam reaches across the massage chair to give my hand a pat. I can see she’s feeling pulled between loyalty to her son and not wanting to offend me by criticising my mum. Although that snow has fallen already.

She inspects the colour being applied to her toenails and takes a purposeful breath. ‘He made his mistakes. He should have stayed in Australia until you were born, of course, or just flown back there anyway, and tried harder to be a part of your life. He gave up too easily. But he was immature at twenty. Really, men do take much longer than women to get their acts together, don’t you think?’

I nod, staring at the beautician carefully applying the colour to my pinkie toe, too full of emotions to talk.