‘You felt so guilty,’ says Ruth, ‘when you told me where you’d been, but it was natural then for you to want to know and it’s natural now.’ Her voice breaks and she pauses.

‘It’s only curiosity.’

Ruth shakes her head. ‘That’s not true. It’s far more and so it should be. You are my daughter and I love you more than anything in my life.’ She stops and smiles. ‘That moment when I held you in my arms and looked into your face – a missing piece clicked into place. Yet I knew from the start that you weren’t completely mine. I knew there would always be a part of you that belonged to someone else.’

Tears brimming, Marina closes her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You mustn’t be. And now I have something to show you.’ She fetches the box of articles from the wardrobe, lays it on the bed and takes out an envelope. ‘I’ve told you about the nurse at the hospital. The Spanish lady, Sofía.’ Marina nods. ‘I’ve told you that she lived on St Michael’s Road, which is parallel to Harrington Gardens, and that we exchanged letters until she moved to Ireland. The point is she wrote to me again not long ago to say she had gone back to her old address in London. I was debating when to give this to you and now seems like a good time.’

She hands Marina the letter. David appears in the doorway. His hair is thinning, lines have deepened. Time passes quickly. Marina goes to him and he tucks her into his embrace, but her mind clouds as she rests her head on his chest, as he strokes her hair like he always does. Familiar feelings collide: gratitude and frustration. Guilt, again. How lucky Marina was to have been found. If only she could banish the uncertainty that follows her around.

It is late afternoon by the time Marina returns home. Ruth gave her the box as well as the letter and she carries it up the stairs to her flat.

The phone is ringing as she opens the door. She hurries across the room and snatches up the receiver.

‘Is that Zoe Alexander? This is Wayne from Castle Estate Agents. My colleague tells me you’re interested in the flat in Harrington Gardens.’

She pushes the receiver hard against her ear. ‘I’d like to look around if that’s possible.’

‘Yes, of course,’ says Wayne. He tells her about the rent. ‘It’s low for the area. Very low.’ He gives her a figure. ‘And now you’re probably wondering why.’

She is silent, letting him fill in the blanks.

‘The building is a little tired.’ He pauses. ‘The upkeep hasn’t been . . . efficient.’

‘How long has the flat been available?’

‘Two years.’

‘Two years?’ She frowns. ‘Why?’