His forehead puckered. ‘I’ve given this a lot of thought too,’ he said. ‘I think it’s because we’ve both shut it up inside ourselves. We can’t let it go. In truth, we don’t want to let my Maggie go, and why would we? We both want to keep her with us because we loved her so much. But I have to confess, I was shocked before when you said it was more than twenty years. It’s time to move on, Shelly love. More than time, especially for you. Life’s passing you by.’

Shelly couldn’t hold back her tears. ‘I loved her so much, Dad.’ She knuckled her tears away. ‘And I never told her. And it was my fault.’ She closed her eyes and tried to quell her sobs.

‘Don’t fight it. Let the grief out, Shelly. And you didn’t have to tell her you loved her. She knew, just like you knew she loved you.’

She had never thought of that before. Looking up, she saw tears had settled into the crags around Dad’s eyes too.

‘When the bell rang that day, I thought she’d forgotten her keys,’ Shelly said. ‘I was going to pull her leg, you know, tease her. I knew we’d laugh about it for ages.’ She shook her head. ‘I pulled the door open and saw the policemen . . . well, I don’t know, I thought she’d organised some kind of joke. Like a novelty telegram or something, and when it wasn’t, when they asked for you . . . I felt guilty for grinning at them, and for thinking such a thing.

‘Why did it happen, Dad? Why us? Why Mum? Teenage boys don’t drive into women standing alone at bus stops on Christmas Eve; they crash into lampposts, they crash into other cars, they don’t crash into other people’s mothers.’

Dad swiped a finger under his eyes. ‘I ask myself that same question every day, love; and the answer is, I don’t know. He was drunk, the boy. His first job, first car, first Christmas as an adult. At first, I wanted to go out in my car and find him. Revenge, you know? Then I wanted to find his parents and bust my knuckles on their faces. The consequences of not being a disciplined parent, of not teaching your children right from wrong, are too high. His parents are partly to blame, and the barman, and his mates. And me . . .’

‘How could you be to blame. That’s nonsense, Dad. It was my present she was going for.’

He took a gulp of his cocoa and stared ahead for a moment. ‘Funny, don’t you think, that in a moment of acute crisis you remember all the small details? Things that don’t matter at all stay in your head forever.’

‘I know what you mean.’