‘I think you look beautiful,’ he says and I believe him. I believe him when he says he loves me – he has said it to me so many times now – and last Thursday, at about four o’clock, down at a little jetty in Albert Bridge, Nova Scotia, when the sun was shining and Kemp had just caught a fish and put it back, and the water was lapping at the edge of the jetty and everything was just beautiful and it felt right, I told him I loved him, too, and that I had loved him for a very long time.

Kemp receives his own lei now, over his own fisherman’s hat – we really do look a right pair of saps – and he takes my right hand, and Dad places his hand on Angela’s left arm, just above the elbow, and the four of us walk into the terminal building. Passport Control and Baggage Reclaim are smooth sailing, and soon we are heading through a pair of sliding doors and into the arrivals hall, where I immediately scan the sea of waiting faces at the barrier.

There’s a man standing just behind it who has white hair and a big bushy moustache and beard. He’s wearing a pale grey linen suit with white trainers and a panama hat and has something propped under his arm. Unlike lots of other people, he is not holding up a sign. But he is waiting for us.

‘Dad,’ I say, as we walk. ‘There’s somebody here to greet us. At the barrier.’

Dad nods. ‘How many steps until we get there?’

‘Eleven, maybe twelve.’

Kemp lets go of my hand and drops behind me, as does Angela. Dad and I walk forward. Nine steps, ten steps, eleven. We have turned a corner, Dad and I. We have music and laughter again, in The Palladian. We have hope. And we walk forward together.

‘We’re at the barrier,’ I tell him. As we stop, I reach across myself and quickly squeeze Dad’s hand, which is at the back of my arm, just above the elbow, then I reach to lightly touch the sleeve of the waiting man’s linen suit.

‘I’m Prue Alberta,’ I say. ‘It’s really nice to meet you.’

‘You made it, then?’ He smiles.

‘Yes, we made it. Would you like to meet my father?’ I say.

‘Very much so.’

‘Dad?’

Dad leans forward and holds his hand out into the air. He is smiling, too. ‘Hello,’ he says.

‘Hello,’ says the man holding out his hand, finding Dad’s and giving it a hearty shake. ‘I’m John Harrison Burrows.’

‘And I’m Vince Alberta,’ Dad grins, ‘very pleased to meet you.’