‘Actually, can you take a left instead?’ I say to the driver, as I give him the address of the house I used to live in. ‘I want to show you something,’ I tell Bonnie. She seems excited by that. I feel nervous. As we pull up, I ask the taxi driver to wait for us. He reminds me there will be a waiting charge, and I agree to whatever it is. This is important.

‘Look Bonnie, that’s it. That’s the house I lived in when I was a little girl.’

Bonnie runs up to the gate. ‘In there?’ she asks for confirmation, and I nod. ‘Who did you live there with?’

‘My mummy and daddy of course.’

She stares at the front door. She’s obviously quite confused by the concept of parts of your life happening in different places and houses. I’ve never really talked to her about any of this. I mean, she’s three and a half, it’s only in the last six months that she’s truly started to grasp the English language.

‘Where is your daddy?’ The question I guess I should have anticipated.

‘He got sick, and he died. Died means he isn’t around anymore.’

‘Oh. You lived with your mummy and daddy in this house?’

‘Yes, that window up there was my bedroom.’ That makes her smile. ‘I just wanted you to see it.’

‘Yellow is my favourite colour,’ she says, noticing the front door. This shatters my heart into a thousand pieces. My dad painted the door yellow himself, it was my favourite colour too. By the looks of things, no one has touched it up since. To think his very hands did it makes my eyes fill up again. I miss him so much. I can just imagine me bursting out of that door, bunches in my hair, my school uniform on. Him chasing me with the car keys, ready to drive me to school. We’d sing songs all the way there, and all the way home. We were so happy. All of us, even Mum back then. Or at least she could pretend to be. I suppose you never can know what is around the corner. An illness, either mental or physical. One can strike at any time, tearing a family apart. Tearing a life apart.

‘Come on, let’s go. You ready?’

‘Yes,’ she says, happily coming back to the car with me. I look back to the house. I imagine my dad at the door. ‘Bye Dad,’ I say quietly. ‘I love you.’

I text my mother as the taxi is pulling up.

We will be there in 2 minutes.

I give her a few moments, then it’s marked as ‘read’. She’s still alive. The worst-case scenario will not happen, at least not today. It is safe to take Bonnie to the front door.

I knock gently but there is no answer. I knock again.