She put her elbow on the table and her hand over her mouth. ‘As he reached for the bracelet, it seemed to scud along just out of his reach. He kicked his fins hard and made a grab for it, but his forward momentum disturbed the fishing net and it mushroomed up like an atomic explosion. His eyes were fixed on the bottom, looking for my bracelet, so he didn’t realise and . . . swam . . . right under it.’ She gasped. ‘Sorry.’ She held her hand up in a halting gesture – to stop DJ speaking – then she took some deep breaths. ‘When he turned to swim up, he got tangled in it. I could see . . .’ She had to stop again. ‘Sorry, do you think you could get us another coffee?’

He nodded and without speaking, took their mugs for a refill. By the time he came back she had composed herself.

‘He was tangled in the net and couldn’t come to the surface for air because, they discovered later, there was also an anchor and chain in the bottom of the boat. I tried to dive down to him but I didn’t know how and kept bobbing up. I just . . . touched . . . his fingertips.’ She sobbed, stiffened her jaw, and struggled again to steady. ‘Excuse me.’ After a gulp of coffee, she bit her knuckle until it hurt so much she feared she would draw blood. ‘I spat out my snorkel and screamed and screamed for help.

‘Your father’s friend, Simon, and two water-sports guys were on the quayside. They jumped on a couple of jet skis but by the time they got to us, cut David free and got him back to land . . . Oh, God.’ Shelly hiccuped with grief. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Difficult to . . . you know.’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘I was only sixteen, and two months later, I discovered I was pregnant with you.’ She reached forward and touched his hand, smiling into his face. ‘It was only the night before the accident that we, you know, for the first time. David was my only boyfriend, you understand?’ She managed to flatten a rising sob, relieved now that the ordeal of telling him was over. ‘You’re his double.’

They sat in silence for a while, then DJ said, ‘What about my father’s parents?’

‘David told me his mother had lost a battle against breast cancer ten years earlier, and his father had worked on the oil rigs. He was living in Scotland somewhere but I never met him and had no way to contact him. David and his father weren’t the best of friends. Both parents liked a drink by all accounts, and he’d had a rough childhood. Anyway, he’d left home and they’d lost touch. The British Consulate in Greece took care of everything; getting David back to Britain and making all the arrangements . . . you know. Wonderful people!’