‘Thank you,’ I whispered as Marina headed out of the room. Before she reached the front door, she paused and turned back to face me.

‘Maia, really, you are the daughter I wish I’d had. And just like your father did, I love you as such.’

After she left, I sat on the sofa and sobbed my heart out. It was as if a torrent of long-buried emotions were begging to be released and, to my shame, I lost control of myself in a tidal wave of self-pity.

I knew I was crying for me. Not for Pa and his unexpected death and the pain he must have suffered during it, but for my own pain at his loss and the awful realisation that I had proven myself unworthy by not trusting him enough to tell him the truth.

What kind of a person was I? What had I done?

And why was I feeling all these things now, things that in so many ways were not connected with Pa’s death?

I’m behaving like Electra, I told myself, hoping that would bring me up short. But it didn’t. And the tears just wouldn’t stop. I lost track of time, and when I finally looked up, I saw Tiggy standing in front of me, her face a picture of concern.

‘Oh Maia, I just came here to say that Electra and I are leaving shortly and we wanted to say goodbye. But I can’t leave you like this . . .’

‘No,’ I snuffled. ‘Sorry, I . . .’

‘What do you have to apologise for?’ she said as she came to sit next to me and took my hands in hers. ‘You’re a human being too. I think you sometimes forget that.’

I saw her glancing at the letter from Pa still sitting on the coffee table and I grabbed it protectively.

‘Was it very upsetting?’ she asked.

‘Yes . . . and no . . .’

I knew I couldn’t explain myself to her. And of all the sisters who could have been here at this moment, Tiggy was the one I’d mothered most, who had relied on me and for whom I had always been there. The role reversal was not lost on me.

‘You missed lunch, by the way,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Please, can you stop apologising? We all understand, we all love you. And we know what Pa’s death means to you.’

‘But look at me! I’m the “coper”, the person who sorts everyone else out! And it’s me who’s falling apart. Have you opened your letter?’ I asked her.

‘No, not yet. I think – or at least I feel – that I want to take it back with me to Scotland. And stand on the moors in my special, private place and read it there.’

‘Well, this is my home, where I belong, so I opened mine here. But I feel so guilty, Tiggy,’ I confessed.