I’m lying by the lake, head in the shade of a tree, legs soaking up the heat of the July sun. The grass is packed: sunbathers, picnickers, groups of teenagers with ghettoblasters blaring identikit Euro-synth. Opposite me is a large family that seems to have brought the contents of their home to the lakeshore: long trestle tables, foldable wooden chairs, a huge portable barbecue, cool boxes from which emerge endless cans of beer and meat and salads in Tupperware. There are screaming toddlers in frilly sunhats and UV suits, and oversized men whose fleshy behinds are wedged in deckchairs that strain under their heft. There are smooth-skinned teenage girls trying to look older than they are in string bikinis and lashings of waterproof mascara, shrieking as rake-thin boys in baggy shorts threaten them with water balloons in a deluded attempt at flirtation.

It’s hardly a peaceful place to spend a Sunday afternoon, but the fascination of people-watching has kept me here for a good couple of hours so far. Nevertheless, it’s strange to be surrounded by so many and yet feel utterly alone.

There’s only one person I want to speak to right now. I roll over on my back, stare up at the canopy of leaves and dial his number. He picks up on the third ring and my heart tears upon hearing his voice.

‘Dad? It’s me.’

He lets out a little sigh, as though in relief. ‘Jessie. It’s good to hear from you.’

‘I’m sorry it’s been so long.’ I pause, fighting to keep my voice bright. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Oh, you know, this and that. Lunch with Brian in the pub yesterday. Popped into town to the bookshop. I’m going round to Alice and Richard’s for dinner tomorrow.’ There’s a pause. I know he wants to ask about Switzerland, but he also doesn’t want to know. I can picture the conflict gouging lines on his forehead. ‘Is everything all right, Jessie?’ he says finally. ‘Are you doing okay…’ he pauses, as though he can’t quite say it, ‘out there?’

‘Yes, everything’s fine. I just called to say hi.’

‘Well, I’m glad you did. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too.’ I remember him pleading with me. Please don’t try to find them. Leave it be. What’s done is done. Just forget it. ‘Dad?’

‘Yes?’

‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sweetheart,’ he says, a wobble in his voice. ‘And I love you too, very much.’