Shelly hadn’t seen him since, apart from in her dreams. Often, she had thought about him, wondered how he was doing, where he was, who he was with, if he was happy. With the development of the internet, she had toyed with the idea of looking for him on a social network, just to see how he was doing, but it would only lead to more pain. Her young heart took an eternity to accept that she had to live without him. He belonged to another and later, she heard, they had emigrated to Australia.

However, according to the postmark on his letter, DJ had returned home.

But should she let DJ back into her life? She had been replaced nineteen years ago. Yet she could still feel his cheek against hers, tears dripping down her face. ‘I swear, I’ll never forget you,’ she had whispered, then turned and walked away.

Swallowing hard, she opened it and began to read.

Dear Shelly,

I hope you don’t mind me writing to you, and I hope it isn’t too much of a shock to hear from me after all this time. The fact is, I’ve been in Australia. I have just returned to Cambridge.

I would really like to meet up, if that is possible, just to talk. I have some questions, of course. I’m sure you understand. I was thinking of a café, perhaps in Dover if that would be more convenient for you. Or, perhaps you would prefer somewhere more private?

Here is my phone number, please call me if you agree, and let me know a time and place that would accommodate you,

Best wishes,

DJ

She placed a hand over her heart. If she didn’t deal with it today, the letter had the power to destroy her concentration, and with a tricky operation scheduled for the next morning, she needed a clear head. She took a calming breath and punched numbers into the phone.

She mis-dialled twice. What should she say . . . her first words after nineteen years? What would he hope for her to say? Her mind was paralysed. She stared at his writing. Blue ballpoint in loopy, open script that suggested a big-hearted person, generous, honest . . . but who really knew after all this time? The ringtone thrummed. She might be sick. She ended the call and sniffed back tears, disgusted with herself. Now, she wanted to speak to him so badly it hurt. But after what had happened all those years ago, perhaps she should not.

She wiped her eyes, flicked her dark hair back, and breezed into White Cottage.

‘Everything all right, Dad? How are you getting on with Alexa?’ She picked up a leaflet and started reading.

‘He’s givin’ me a real hard time.’

‘It’s a she.’

‘Silly bloody name then, ain’t it?’

Shelly frowned, looked up, and said, ‘You’re pulling my leg?’