‘Yes. I had to. I couldn’t do the badging thing any more; I had to shake off all the memories that came with it. I resigned, Dad, long before I was actually made redundant from that place. I resigned from my life and I’ve been resigned my whole life, to who I am.’

‘Roo.’ He is hugging me again. ‘Roo. I’m sorry you went through all that alone, both those things, though each time I was right there. I was right there … I’m so sorry I didn’t know.’

I press my hands to my eyes and wipe away my tears. ‘I didn’t want to upset you, to make things worse.’ But I knew not telling him, all these years, had made me worse.

Dad clasps me tight to him again and whispers again, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t know.’

‘I knew after the first time that no one would ever love me,’ I sob. ‘I knew then exactly how people would always see me. As ugly. As not good enough.’

‘Then you knew wrong,’ says Dad. ‘You are beautiful. You didn’t deserve those things to happen to you.’

‘I’m ugly, Dad! I’m ugly inside and out! I should always have known it.’

‘Stop, cucciolo! I know I haven’t seen your face since you were ten years old, but you were beautiful then and I know you are beautiful now. You have always been so very very lovely. Inside and out.’

‘You’re only saying that because you’re my dad,’ I sniff, through my sobs.

‘I’m saying it for lots of reasons. That’s only one of them. Nothing is too big to overcome, pet. You’re strong, I know you are. You just don’t realize it yet.’

We both fall silent. I look out over the water. I’ve told him. I’ve told my dad. And it hurt to tell him but now I do feel as though the chains around my heart have been loosened a little; that he has held them in his hands and shaken them free.

‘Are you OK?’ he asks me, placing his hands on my shoulders. ‘Do you think you can be OK?’

‘I can be better,’ I say. ‘Better now I’ve told you. Shall we walk again?’

He nods and I retrieve his cane from the railing, and we set off, our footsteps in unison. A barge hoots; a bird calls in flight above us and is answered by another. The birds are talking once more.

‘I hate the thought of you being hurt,’ says Dad. ‘I hate the thought of either of you girls being hurt. If I can stop that happening, then I will.’

‘I know, Dad, I know.’ He looks like he is wrestling with himself, somehow. He is biting his lip, face contorted. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. No. I think I’ve got something to tell you now.’

‘Have you?’