‘You don’t need to explain, love.’ Maisie hugged her daughter. ‘I love you. I don’t say it enough so I’m gonna say it more. I promise.’

‘I love you, too, Ma, even though you’re a pain in the … swiss.’

Maisie laughed. ‘Thanks.’

‘Notice how I didn’t say “arse”?’ Valerie said.

‘I did, and I was very impressed.’

‘I’m gonna do better, Ma,’ Valerie said. ‘I’m gonna try.’

Maisie kissed her cheek. ‘You’re my baby.’ She left the room.

Valerie lay down on her bed and closed her eyes. She tried to imagine what it would be like to stand in front of her father but all she felt was anxiety. She tried to picture him but, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t conjure up a clear face. She had seen photos years ago, before her mother had burned them all, and she had a fuzzy recollection of the man in the flesh, but she’d been a toddler when he’d vanished. She wondered if she’d recognize him. Does he look even a little like me? He certainly wouldn’t recognize her. She could have walked past him on a deserted street and he wouldn’t have known her. She wondered how she’d feel when she met him. Maybe she’d be revolted, like her grammy. Or angry, like Jeremy. Or even terrified, like her mother. Or, worse, maybe she’d be happy. Her stomach somersaulted.

The thing that set Valerie apart from the other Beans was that she had loved him. She’d once thought he was the best thing in the whole wide world. She remembered the warm feeling she’d had when he’d laughed at her and ruffled her hair. She remembered him lifting her high and swinging her around while she screamed, ‘More, Daddy, more!’ She remembered travelling around the streets of Tallaght on his shoulders. She’d liked the view from up there and the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around her legs holding them tight to his chest. All the bad stuff was just a fog and second-hand scary stories told by Jeremy.