‘Merci.’ He smiles, sits down at the table and signals to the waitress to bring him a beer. His face is glowing, and not just with sweat from the lights and his exertion at the piano. His pupils are huge and I can see he’s buzzing from a natural high. This is Jorge, I think. His other job’s just for money; this is what makes him him.

‘How have you been? Are you doing okay with… everything?’ He looks anxious, as though he has to tread carefully lest I disintegrate in front of his eyes. But I’ve had two years to absorb the fact my entire life has been a lie; he’s only recently learnt it.

I nod, give a dismissive wave of my hand.

‘Fine,’ I say. I don’t tell him that my mind is constantly whirring, creating scenarios, that I’ve had trouble thinking of anything but Daniel Buchs and Julia and Anna and Thun, that I can’t shut my brain off at night so I spend each day dizzy with tiredness, that it feels like I’m going mad.

Fact is sacred, Maggie had said.

But I haven’t got any facts, and I don’t know how to find them. All I can do is work with what I’ve got – and, right now, I’ve got Jorge. I don’t feel brave enough to tell him what I might have discovered, though. I may have blurted out my life story to him, but there’s no way I’m going to tell him I was snooping in Julia’s private documents again. I’m so ashamed of my behaviour that I haven’t even told Maggie, and I suppose I could tell him what I told her – that Julia mentioned her maiden name and left a letter from A. Meier lying around in the kitchen – but it’s one thing to put that in an email, another to be able to say it out loud and not have my face betray my lie.

‘Have the Chevalleys ever seen you play?’ I ask Jorge. Even if I don’t tell him my suspicions, I can pump him for information.

He looks surprised at the question. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, no. Why?’

‘No reason. I just thought your parents might have talked to them about your playing. They must be proud of you.’

He takes a swig of his beer. ‘Yeah, Mom’s my biggest cheerleader, as all moms are, right?’ I see his eyes widen as he realises what he’s said. ‘Joder. I’m so sorry, Jess, I didn’t think.’

‘It’s okay.’ Other people still having their mothers is a fact of life I’ve learnt to get used to. ‘So you don’t see the Chevalleys that much?’

He sinks back in his chair. ‘I guess not. Sometimes.’

‘Your mum’s worked for them a long time?’

‘About ten years.’