I’ll get out of here. I’ll get to the light. The darker places I’ve been in – places of despair, disgust, loneliness, self-loathing – will fade away and I won’t shy away from the things I fear, things that terrify my heart. I promise myself I will step towards those things; that I will not only head for the light but head there fearlessly. Isn’t it about time I did?

Arch twenty-three. Arch twenty-three! As I feel for the threshold, I realize I am crying. Not shameful tears of regret or hot tears of anger and fear, but tears of hope, and I realize I’ve had it all along – hope in my heart that I had kept chained and away from myself all this time. My hope is me. I can love and be loved. I can be brave. I can be strong. I can maybe even be passionate; to paint and to show my paintings to people who might like to see them. Isn’t it about time I had a plan, too? Isn’t it all about time?

Arch twenty-four. One more pool of water, one more threshold. I begin to walk very slowly. I go into a stoop so I’m ready to feel the bottom tread of the steps that will take me back up to my life. And as I move forward, my tears of hope still softly falling, I understand that not only have I been my father’s eyes, but he has been mine. He has shown me how to live, now: the path to follow, the road to travel down. It would be wonderful to saunter along that road, one day soon, giving a little whistle as I go. And even more wonderful if Kemp could be beside me.

There it is. The bottom step. It is flat and cold under my hand. I grin with relief.

‘You’re here, girl!’ I say out loud, to the echo of my own heart. ‘You’re here.’