‘There are twenty-four arches, Prue. I counted them all on the way in and you’re going to count them all on your way back out, so you’ll know exactly where you are, and you won’t panic. You also won’t fall headfirst on to the steps when you get to them. There are twenty-four thresholds, approximately fifteen steps between each one – remember, keep to the middle as the threshold there is lower. After you’ve got to arch number twenty-four, you’ll be at the steps. There are eight stairs then a platform, about four foot deep, then there are sixteen more steps. Sixteen. At the top, the ladder will be in front of you. Nine rungs.’

‘How do you remember all of this stuff, Dad?’ I ask, steeling myself to take a deep breath and walk.

‘I just do,’ he says.

‘What if I fall again?’

‘You won’t fall. I’ve got you. Mind how you go.’

I step forward, trusting the direction because of the wall behind me and trusting Dad. Haven’t I trusted him all my life? Hasn’t he always had me, even through our bleakest times? And this is how he walks through life, every day. In the dark.

I carefully walk fifteen steps, sloshing through the knee-deep water, feeling the smooth brickwork under my feet, then I slow right down and edge gingerly forward until my toes hit the wall of the first threshold. I hesitantly step on to it – one foot, then the next, a wobbly weathervane, arms held out for balance – then step down the other side. I almost stumble but I’m OK. There’s such a long way to go. I repeat the same steps; through the dark pool of the second arch; over the bricked second threshold.

‘All right, Roo?’ calls Dad.

‘Yes, Pops!’ Pops. Another nickname from the past. I haven’t called Dad that since I was a little girl. ‘I’m sorry!’ I shout.

‘What are you sorry for?’

‘For being angry with you about Mum and Sweden. I’m not angry any more.’

‘Did you see her?’

‘Yes! It was strange – very strange – but it was OK. I’ll tell you about it later.’

‘I’m sorry, love! I’m sorry for keeping such a secret.’

‘It’s OK, Dad! I understand. And the things that I told you … I’m sorry—’

‘No! Don’t you ever be sorry about anything!’ yells Dad. ‘Don’t you ever be sorry! We can move forward now, both of us, but most of all I want you to move forward.’ I am at the third arch now. I’m in the middle of the pool and cold water is up to my knees and I’m trying not to think about how far I have to go, in the dark.

‘I’ve wasted so much time, Dad!’ I yell back to him.