She takes a step forward, then stops. Takes her sunglasses off. I stand up and walk towards her, my legs shaking so much I don’t know if I can actually cover the thirty metres to where she’s standing. I stop in front of her and then I don’t know what to say.

‘Jessica?’

I nod. Her hand goes to her mouth and I see her eyes crease. ‘Hello,’ she says in English. ‘Hello, Jessica.’

I don’t know what to do. Whether to hug her, or kiss her three times in the Swiss way. In the end I stick out my hand in what seems like an absurdly formal manner given our relationship. But then again, she’s a complete stranger to me. ‘Hello,’ I say, and she takes my proffered hand in both of hers and squeezes it. I pull it away after a moment.

‘Sehr schön,’ she says, as though to herself. Her eyes look watery. They’re my eyes, I realise. My colour. Or mine are her colour. Her face shape is mine, too. An oval, with a sweetheart hairline. Her hair is darker than mine, but it’s surely dyed.

This is my mother.

I’d always just dismissed the fact I didn’t look especially like either of my parents. Shrugged it off. It was what it was. But now, here, is evidence that in fact I do.

‘Did you have a good journey?’ I say it only to say something, and once it’s out there it seems ridiculous. I’m meeting my long-lost mother for the very first time and I’m spouting small talk. She smiles, doesn’t take her eyes off me and I think perhaps she hasn’t understood. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak German,’ I add. ‘Uh, I mean, Julia said you can speak English?’

My words seem to snap her out of her thoughts. ‘Yes, yes, I have learnt it for you,’ she says, her accent a singsong.

I cock my head, confused. ‘We only just met.’

‘I mean, I’ve been learning it for forty years because I knew you were growing up in England and I hoped… I wished… I would meet you one day.’

My stomach twists. She knew. She knew where I was the whole time. I feel hot, too hot, as though I might faint. She takes my arm and leads me to the lake wall and nods for me to sit. I can’t keep my eyes off her face.

‘I used to come here all the time,’ she says. ‘I’d bring the pram and walk along the lake and sit at the end on a picnic blanket.’ She turns to me, takes my hand again. ‘I don’t know where to start.’