When I’ve scoured all the newsletters available, I have a list of twenty names in front of me. I take out my phone and open a browser. I’ve known for quite some time that it’s pretty easy to look up an address and telephone number in Switzerland’s online phone book. It’s even in English. Of course, I tried Brigitte Mela long ago, and then Evelyne Buchs, drawing a blank both times. But when I put in the names from the newsletters, much to my shock, I actually get results. Three Sonja Jeannerets, ten Marie Rochats… I start writing them all down but then glance at the time and see that I have just fifteen minutes to get back to the sports centre. I try to quell my frustration as I put the notepad back in my bag and stand up from the desk.

Now I have a hint of a way forward, I want to keep going. It’s possible it will all lead to nothing. But it’s also possible that one of them might just know something about Evelyne Buchs, or Brigitte Mela, or anything at all that might help me decipher the mystery of my life.

Luca’s tired after tennis, so I put him down for a nap as soon as we get home. I set up Léa in the living room with some paper and coloured pencils and a book of animals to copy, getting her to draw her favourite ones and learn their names in English.

‘Jess, what is this called?’

She’s a pretty good artist, definitely advanced for her age. She’s drawing eyes and tails and snouts with a studiousness that makes me smile. ‘Guinea pig,’ I say. ‘Have you ever had one of those as a pet?’

Léa shakes her head. ‘Maman says we can’t have pets.’

I think of Bruno, the tiny kitten Dad got for me when I was about Léa’s age. A vague memory of an argument.

She doesn’t have any siblings so at least let her have a cat.

Mum snapping back: As long as I don’t have to feed it, I’ve got enough on my plate.

I was devastated when, years later, we found him dead under the buddleia in the garden. Mum consoled me, but I thought she was secretly pleased, since he had inevitably been left for her to feed most of the time.

‘Well, she must have her reasons,’ I say. Killjoy, I think.

Léa frowns and looks down at her drawing, and my heart swells with affection for her serious little face. I hope Julia likes the drawings. I hope she can get away from work early enough to see them tonight before Léa goes to bed; I can see how much it would mean to her.