‘Oh. She came back again,’ says Dad, frowning. ‘I wish I’d known that. Poor Angela. Your mother …’ He doesn’t finish his sentence. He looks so downcast. We keep in step, his hand weightier again on the back of my arm. My eyes are on the bridge as it extends into the distance. ‘And yes, those were dark days. I never considered how dark they were for Angela. That she was struggling. I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t need to say anything, Dad. You can’t change how things were, or what happened. But I do feel … better now she’s told me. I thought all this time she left because of what she wanted – a husband, a certain lifestyle, an adventure – not because of how she felt.’

Dad nods. ‘All these years,’ he says. ‘All these years. So many things have remained unspoken!’ He sounds angry suddenly. Should I not have told him? He exhales – an enormous sigh that carries into the still air and over the water. ‘I’ve never been able to reach Angela,’ he adds quietly, ‘despite all those phone calls, although the last couple have seemed a little lighter, somehow. Do you feel you have?’

‘No, Dad.’

‘Do you think it’s too late for us to reach her now?’

He squeezes my arm; there is a real entreaty in that touch. I feel pain in it.

‘No, I don’t think it’s too late. She made a start on reaching out to us. Maybe we could go out there one day, to visit her? Her and Warren and the kids? What do you say?’

‘Well,’ says Dad, ‘it would be a big step. I mean, I’ve only been to a few places in London, with you. A trip to Canada! But maybe we could.’

‘We can think about it.’ I’m glad I’ve told him, despite the pain of the utterance. We could go to Canada. We could go to Angela. When I dream of holidays, I dream of something tropical, but I would like to see my sister. ‘Shall we think about it?’

He nods. ‘Let’s do that.’

The bridge is busy. A baby in a red pushchair is coming towards us – snug under a bar of swinging cuddly toys; bare feet kicking upwards – and she has a perfect face, the softest pinkish skin and a turned-up nose and big, wondering eyes. She fixes those huge eyes on me and she grins, and I smile back.

‘Single file, for a minute, Dad,’ I say and Dad drops behind me.

‘Angela didn’t hear back from Mum,’ I say to him, over my shoulder. ‘She’s going to keep trying. She’s going to ring up the consulate, or something. I get the impression she’s not going to give up.’