Sometimes she would raise her eyebrows, an inviting of confidence, and I’d smile, and nod, and tell her yes. It did feel like Harry was mine. Once. Just once she asked me why I thought Adam had left me the address of her care home.

I had shrugged. ‘I can’t say for sure but I’m very grateful he did.’ Never sharing that I could say, but didn’t. There was no logical reason for Harry being left here while Adam lay dying across the other side of the world. How a baby, my baby, who scientifically speaking had never existed, now lays contentedly in my arms as though he belongs there.

And he does.

Over time, I have stopped trying to figure it all out.

‘There are more mysteries to the universe than we can ever unravel,’ Oliver had said. ‘Things that are beyond the realms of scene, of probabilities.’ Hearing this allowed me to stop endlessly googling neuroscience and consciousness and trying to find a rational explanation.

There isn’t one.

From time to time, I spring awake in the middle of the night. Sheets tangled and drenched with sweat, heart pounding as I wonder what would have happened to Harry if I hadn’t remembered the notebook. The address. But generally I don’t allow my mind to go there.

‘I’ll stick this one in my boot and drop it at the Parkinson’s charity shop in the morning.’ Josh hauls the box I’ve labelled ‘Donations’ into his arms. ‘I think that’s the last one.’ He pounds downstairs.

‘Thank God for that.’ Nell wipes her forehead with her sleeve. ‘I’m knackered. You ready, Anna? We’ll be late.’

I shake my head. I’m not ready and yet… ‘Can you give me a few minutes?’

‘Of course. Come with your Aunty Nell.’ Nell stretches out her arms and Harry crawls across to her. His dungarees are filthy at the knees. I was mortified at the amount of dust that had been uncovered when the furniture was carried out. Nell scoops him up and plants a kiss on his check. He giggles. He loves her so much. Again, I question whether I’m doing the right thing, tearing him away from his bedroom with the yellow ducks marching around the walls, his home.

‘Let’s get you strapped into the car, little man,’ she says. ‘I’ll give you another lesson on girls.’

Her footsteps recede. The front door closes and I am alone with my memories.

‘Do you remember the day we moved in, Adam?’ I murmur into the empty space. We had felt so grown up that we could afford a house with a spare room.

‘For guests,’ I had said.