With my heart pumping in overdrive, I ask if she would be happy to meet with me, and suddenly I’m writing down her address and accepting an invitation to go round next Wednesday afternoon when the kids are at their next tennis lesson. It’s a start, a step forward in my search, and I immediately message Maggie for reassurance.

Am I doing the right thing?

Her reply comes back almost instantly: Yes, darling. Just go for it. And remember, I’m always here for you, whatever you find out.

A second message arrives a moment later: I’m taking your father to dinner next week and I’m going to sort him out, so don’t worry.

I smile, picturing the two of them together. Maggie’s always been there for Dad, as much as she was for Mum, usually acting as mediator when their relationship blew a fuse, ushering them towards reconciliation like a mother hen shepherding her chicks. And she’s always been there for me too, even more so since Mum died.

My surrogate daughter, she calls me.

I’ve never understood why Maggie didn’t marry and have kids of her own, but she swears she prefers it that way. I’m far too set in my ways to live with anyone. I guess everyone’s life is a bit of a mystery, not just mine.

I know it’s going to feel a long wait until my visit to see Nina Favre next week, so I try to push thoughts of my search aside and focus on the job. I build some structure into my time with the children, making sure we have some sort of outing each day as well as a couple of hours of more formal learning at home. Léa and Luca are bright kids, and it pleases me to see them responding to my teaching, to hear them use words and phrases I’ve taught them. In those moments it reminds me that I was a good teacher. I am a good teacher, but like everything else good in my life, that feeling has eroded away in recent months. Each day I’m here, it bobs up to the surface when I’m alone with the kids, but sinks back down when I see Julia in her suit and lipstick, her laptop bag slung over her shoulder as she downs a coffee and heads for the door every morning. I never wanted a career like hers, and I’ve always felt that teaching children is one of the most valuable professions there is, so it’s strange to feel so small when she wishes us a good day and rushes away to catch her train.

I wonder if she looks at me and feels big.