I knew my parents’ marriage hadn’t always been as perfect as the one they projected to the outside world but Dad’s apparent indifference was hard to take.

‘She probably parted with that dress the day she charged her first designer handbag, Tess.’

I nodded, but didn’t say anything further.

Looking at the packed rails of clothes brought a lump to my throat and made me realize I hadn’t spent anywhere near the amount of time with Mum as I had in the office with Dad. I hoped she hadn’t thought I had in some way ‘sided with him’ because I worked for him. I had always assumed that there would be plenty of time for us to catch up, but her fragile heart had other plans.

‘Well, I have to say,’ sighed Joan, as she appeared with a tray bearing cups of tea and a plate of biscuits just in time to stop me getting too maudlin, ‘it doesn’t look as if you’ve made much headway.’

‘We haven’t,’ I said, looking around. ‘I thought we’d be finished in here today, but we’ve barely scratched the surface.’

‘This is going to take far longer than just one day,’ said Dad, piling jewellery boxes and a small trunk next to the door. ‘Surely you realized that?’

I shrugged. It was beginning to feel like he’d done nothing but find fault with everything I’d said since the moment I’d arrived.

‘You look all in,’ he went on. ‘Why don’t you take this lot and go through it at yours?’

The lure of a long hot bath and a bedtime before midnight was very appealing and I was grateful that he had noticed I was flagging, even if he did make it sound like yet another flaw.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ he insisted. ‘You’ll need to be rested and raring to go Monday morning, won’t you?’

*

I tossed and turned that night and ended up dozing in bed for the larger part of Sunday morning. When I did eventually get up, I flicked through the TV channels to drown out the persistent buzzing in my head, finally settling on a show about couples looking to escape the rat race and settle in the country.

After coffee, I turned my attention to the small trunk Dad had packed into my car along with Mum’s jewellery collection. I was surprised to discover it was full of what looked like mementos – notebooks, letters, paintings I had presented her with as a child – not the sentimental sort of things I had associated with her at all in recent years and I felt the hot prickle of tears begin to gather behind my eyes. A photograph album caught my attention and I pulled it out and settled back on the sofa.

‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ I sniffed, as I scanned through the snaps.