‘I can’t even go down to the doctors on my own!’

‘Dad, it’s fine. I’m happy to take you where you need to go. I’m enjoying these trips! And losing the guide dogs, it’s just one of those things. It wasn’t your fault.’

He sighs, a deep deep sigh that makes me feel quite wretched. ‘I know it wasn’t, but it feels like it. It feels like it was my fault.’

We fall silent. I digest the story Dad has told me, the pain he has kept secret. It’s hard for fathers and daughters to share the secrets of their hearts; but we have made a start, Dad and I. Now it’s my turn, I know that. But I also know I am not brave enough to share my secrets with him. Not yet. But I want to. How I want to.

We’re entering the long subway to the tube entrance now. I welcome the absence of sun. The echo of footsteps. It’s cooler down here. There are flagstones underfoot, and glazed tan and cream tiles flanking the walls and the domed ceiling. A snaking line of chirruping school children in fluorescent bibs bounces ahead of us, as patiently smiling teachers punctuate the snake at intervals and occasionally pop a darting child back in.

‘Children?’ asks Dad.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Maybe coming back from a school outing.’