Sunshine and smiles in the Med were like balm to her troubled soul. A week of photography and scuba diving would anchor her for another twelve months. They had been David’s two greatest pleasures, too. He and his best friend Simon used to dive wherever they could. It was an odd thing, but when she returned home, Shelly felt cleansed and guilt-free for a while. As if she had lived a small part of David’s dream. If she left the brochure on the table, Dad might realise how desperately she needed a break. He would never say he didn’t want her to go, but she sensed he was uncomfortable about being left alone for a week. Old age was catching up, and about time, he was eighty.

She closed her eyes and imagined sliding into the sparkling turquoise Aegean, the delicious tingle of saltwater cooling her bronzed skin. Then her shoulders dropped.

Gordon stared accusingly over his glasses. ‘I know what you’re thinking – that you can’t leave me alone for a week – but I’ll be fine, Shelly, honestly.’ He pushed his breakfast plate away. ‘I ’aven’t quite lost the plot yet, you know? You go while you can. God knows, you work hard enough all year. I can always get Bill Grundy to stop over for a few days if it will make you feel better.’

Shelly’s jaw dropped. ‘You will not!’

‘Why’s that then? You afraid we’ll have too much fun?’ His white eyebrows were bobbing. ‘Spoilsport!’

She stifled a laugh, then her heart melted. What was this, her dad making a joke? ‘I’m afraid you’ll use my pressure cooker to try and build a still in the kitchen again. You’re like a pair of naughty kids when you get together.’

Despite the banter, her concern remained. Last month, he had set fire to the chip pan and could have been badly burned if she hadn’t stopped him tipping blazing oil into the sink. Only a week ago, she had returned from an evening call-out and found he had gone to bed and left the back door wide open.

She tried again. ‘Think about it, Dad. It would do you a lot of good. When was the last time you went away?’

‘Bruges, on the coach with the club, just before . . .’ He stared at the half-eaten boiled egg with a sudden look of disgust, as if staring into a crystal ball, seeing the worst of his past right there in the golden yolk. Startled for a second, they glanced at each other, then both turned their eyes to the toast. ‘You know, your mum . . .’