‘Here.’ She emerges onto the veranda and puts a bottle of wine and two glasses down on the table. She’s changed out of her work clothes into a pair of yoga pants and a vest top. Her dark hair is swept up into a loose bun that looks effortlessly stylish in a way my own dirty blond mop never quite manages. Her skin looks flawless in the dusky light. She sits down opposite me and I force a smile, trying to silence the constant questioning in my head. Does she look like either of them? Can I see a hint of Dad’s nose? The shape of Mum’s eyebrows?

I shake the voice away. It’s incomprehensible. It’s ridiculous. This perfect woman cannot be her; she cannot be my parents’ child instead of me.

She hands me a glass. ‘Santé.’

‘Cheers.’ I tap hers and look her in the eyes, as is the Swiss way.

Not Dad’s. A shade darker than Mum’s.

‘This must seem strange to you, to have me here in the evening instead of Michel,’ she says.

I shake my head, smile. ‘Well, maybe a little.’ The kids went to bed half an hour ago and it does seem odd to be sitting here with her while Michel’s in a bar helping to drown the sorrows of some workmate going through a break-up. I don’t know how to be around Julia, so little time do I spend with her. And now, sitting next to her, I feel her presence cast a shadow over mine, as though her beauty and poise and confidence are erasing me to a faint blur.

‘I’m glad we finally have this time to chat. I can’t believe how crazy it’s been at work, and then with Léa’s birthday and everything, I feel I haven’t had the chance to catch up with you, to see how it’s going.’

I take a sip, swallow. ‘It’s going well, I think.’

‘The children just love you! Léa doesn’t stop talking about you.’ She puts her glass to her lips and I wonder if it’s to mask the forced smile she can’t quite make real.

‘I’m glad. They’re great kids.’ If Julia is their daughter, that would make Léa and Luca Dad’s grandchildren. He’d have what I know he always wanted. The thought curls into a hard knot of pain in my chest. They’d be his blood – but not mine, never mine.

Julia takes a sip of wine and puts the glass back on the table. ‘You’re halfway through already! How have you found Switzerland so far?’

‘It’s wonderful,’ I say. ‘Another life.’