‘Those parties,’ he says with a sigh. ‘My father liked to remind himself of his own importance by throwing the doors open to his child readers. Every year, the Geoffrey Rivers fan club would hold a competition where children had to answer an easy question from the book. The correct answers would be put into a hat and then the names of twenty lucky kids would be drawn and they’d be invited for an evening of “wonder beyond their wildest dreams”. It was bullshit, really. All of it. Just a ruse to make him look like a magnanimous philanthropist, to keep his face in the papers and the books selling.’

‘I … I hadn’t thought it was real. I thought I was remembering the book,’ I say, stepping away from the window.

But I’m starting to remember now. My mum had died and I was in a really bad state. Had I entered a competition?

He looks at me, his face expressionless.

‘On the morning of the party I got hold of the guest list,’ he says. ‘I wanted to see what kind of people would be stupid enough to fall for this crap. But then I saw your name and beside it there was a note: Vanessa has recently lost her mother and may be feeling sensitive. If she is at all uneasy during the party, call her dad on the following number. And when I saw that I knew I had to meet you. I had lost my mother too, but I didn’t have anyone to look after me with Dad gallivanting around with any other kid but me. I wanted to see if you would understand.’

As I listen to him, my eyes fill with tears as I imagine that little girl going along to the party, trying to be brave when inside she was falling apart.

‘I found you by the candy-floss stall,’ he says, smiling. ‘I heard one of the helpers call you Vanessa, so I knew it was you. You were dressed in a little blue smock dress and lace-up hobnail boots. You looked so thin and fragile, like you might break apart at the slightest touch. I tapped you on the shoulder and you flinched like you’d been hit.’

I nod my head, remembering how nervous I had been in those days.

‘I asked you which character you had come as,’ he says, his eyes softening, ‘and you said “Iris”. I remember your voice trembling when you spoke.’

It’s incredible how much of those months following Mum’s death have been lost. So raw was my grief, I had blocked out entire days and weeks.