‘But, I still don’t get how you can reject your own child.’ Tears shimmered in her eyes. She so wanted – needed – him to love Tiger. Then they could be a family.

‘Not reject. You’ve got it wrong. I’m incapable, that’s all. I detest myself, the person I’ve become. I hate that I feel so little for the kid. But we had a crap upbringing; you more than anyone know that. What do you expect from me? Felix battered any true feelings out of me.’

‘But you loved Pippa.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, and look how that turned out.’ He stared at Tiger, who dropped down on her bottom in front of the TV, eyes glued to a kids’ programme, two puppets living on a canal boat.

‘Rosie! Rosie!’

‘Yes, Rosie and Jim,’ Hugh said, his voice dull and low. ‘Puppets.’

‘Puppets!’ Tiger said, looking over her shoulder at Hugh, her cheeks pink, eyes bright.

Hugh turned to Verity. ‘I can’t invent feelings, V, and I can see the kid is cute. I get that. But I’m never going to be a good father; I don’t know how to be.’

Verity’s heart sank. Hugh had barely wanted to see Tiger over the past year. In fact this was the first time they’d been to the cottage in ages. It was clear he was still mourning that ridiculous woman. How had this happened? They were meant to be together – happy – the three of them.

‘You’re a brilliant aunt, Verity. I thank God the kid’s got you.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said, getting up. ‘See yourself out.’

‘How can you turn your back on us, like this?’ Verity cried, as he padded across the room.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Verity scooped the scattered Duplo into the yellow bucket, and stood it in the corner of the room. ‘Let’s go home, little one,’ she said, lifting Tiger into her arms. ‘It’s OK, you have me, and I will love you always. And one day, you will have a daddy too, and we will be a family. I promise.’

PART THREE

‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’

Lewis Carroll

Chapter 30

1994

Tiger

‘Tiger?’ Aunt Verity shouts from the kitchen.

I like being called Tiger. Daddy named me after a wild animal because I am strong and brave. He says I am a survivor, but I don’t really know what that means.

One time, I drew a picture with my blue and yellow and black and orange crayons. It was of my daddy and my mummy and a tiger. ‘That’s me,’ I said to Aunt Verity, pointing at the tiger, when she leant over my shoulder to look at my picture.

And she said, ‘And is that me?’