‘On me. I haven’t been feeling very well lately. You’ve probably noticed that I’m very tired at the moment and a bit yellow-looking? And I’ve had this awful backache?’

Apart from witnessing him clutching his back and groaning occasionally, I’d been oblivious, but I nodded.

‘I had a few tests at the Infirmary a couple of weeks ago. I can’t … I’m sorry, but…’

His voice suddenly sounded as if someone had their hand clamped around his throat while he was trying to be sick. My heart clenched with fear.

‘No,’ I whispered.

Dad changed down a gear to take a corner and the Escort shuddered.

‘Darling girl. I’m so sorry. When we rang up yesterday, they told us to come in. So we did. And the consultant told us. I’m afraid it’s … it’s cancer. Pancreatic cancer.’

I burst into tears again. I wanted to jump into his arms but he was driving, so I hugged myself instead, wrapping my arms tightly around my body till my hands were clutching my own shoulder blades.

‘But … but, they can operate, right? Can you have a … a transplant? A pancreas transplant?’

Dad smiled faintly. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘It wouldn’t work. It’s already spread to my liver and kidneys and spine.’

‘No, no. No!’ I railed, rocking. This couldn’t be happening. ‘What else can they do?’

Over the engine noise, I heard the gulp as he swallowed hard.

‘Nothing, unfortunately. The trouble with this type of … of, cancer’ – he extruded the word with difficulty – ‘is that you don’t get any noticeable symptoms of it for a very long time. They think I’ve had it for months, maybe even years. And once it spreads, it’s impossible to treat. It’s really too late to do anything.’

‘Oh, Daddy.’ I plucked uselessly at the sleeve of his tweed jacket, almost howling, regretting every snappy word and stroppy flounce I’d ever said and performed. Every possible thing I’d ever done to cause him sorrow.

‘The dinner. My birthday dinner…’ I’d blown out what was probably the last birthday dinner Pete and I would ever have with him. ‘I wouldn’t have gone off to Greenham if I’d known. I swear I wouldn’t.’

‘Of course, darling girl. Of course.’

I cried the rest of the way home, pulling up my knees and sobbing into them until the fur was matted and humid with my tears.

Once Dad had finally killed the engine and coasted into our driveway, we both climbed stiffly out of the car, and I saw for the first time how thin and weary he looked, how hunched and pained. I ran into his arms, the tears still coming thick and fast, and we stood hugging each other outside the house in the pre-dawn chill, me still in wellies and the stupid bear costume.