‘Eliza, when I was at my mother’s house yesterday, I told her I was coming here. I asked her if I could show you some photos of Dad. She wasn’t happy, but she agreed. At least, she went out for a walk and left me with the albums so I could borrow what I wanted. I can make copies to send you if you want. Or you can take photos of them now.’ He reached down to a bag at his feet and took out a large envelope. ‘How about I leave you with them for a while? I’ll go and count planes or something. Just text me when you’re done.’

He was making it as easy as possible for her. She was touched and grateful.

For the next thirty minutes, she pored over each photograph. They weren’t in any order. Emmet must have taken them from the albums at random. There was a photo of Hugh in his seventies behind the bar, then one of him as a child. A wedding photo. At various sporting matches. She began to see some likenesses. Not just her height. Was it in the shape of their faces? Their eyes?

She spent the longest time looking at a photo of Hugh with Emmet. From the date on the back, she guessed it had been taken shortly after they returned from Australia. Emmet with his hair cut short, one patch shaven, but smiling. Beside him, arm around his son, was Hugh, aged in his early forties.

He was good-looking. Tall. Dark-haired. He had a great smile. She’d seen photos of her mother at twenty-one. So pretty, so vivacious. She didn’t want to imagine any more, but her mind still took her there. She could picture two people, alone in a house late at night. All the factors at play. So much tension, then relief. Alcohol. Drugs. All the elements making something happen. Making her happen.

‘I will always be grateful to him.’ Her mother’s words were seared in Eliza’s memory. ‘If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have you. And you are the best thing that ever happened to me.’

She texted Emmet. He was back within minutes. He was on the phone. His mother?

‘My head barman. Problems with a delivery.’

He finished his call and sat down. She gave him back the photos, thanking him. She asked more questions. The names of his brothers. Where one of the photos had been taken. More about where his father had come from.

He answered everything, sharing family stories. She would never know what Hugh might have been like as her father, but she was slowly getting an idea of him as a man.

‘Have you told your brothers about me?’ she asked.