All these years, that memory had waited for me. Marieke had been telling the truth. The terrible yawning emptiness that had haunted me through late adolescence and into adulthood now seemed as distant and removed from reality as a sky full of alien stars. It was too late to tell my parents I now understood. Or was it? Clutching the guardrail, I hoisted myself over the fence, my shoes sinking into the mud. The atmosphere changed as soon as I started walking. I had some strange desire to keep walking until I reached the very heart of the reserve. I was sure that’s where the sound was coming from. But I’d gone only ten metres or so when the singing stopped. All I could hear was the wind beating the air and the cry of birds swooping overhead, flapping their way towards the sea.

After waiting another minute, I turned and retraced my footsteps and swung myself back over the guardrail. A stone plinth had been erected halfway along the fence under a big warning sign advising hikers not to enter the swamp without a guide. Sunlight glanced off the bronze plaque, dazzling me. I saw my parents’ names and the date of their deaths. Gerrit must have arranged it after the funeral. Underneath their names, he’d engraved:

They sailed off, into the night, on a river of crystal light, into a sea of dew.

The words sent another jolt of emotion rippling through me.

Their voices and faces cut clearly through that black river of memory, the tide of the present pushing against the past. Words and gestures came rushing back – a touch on the back of my hand, a gentle caress I hadn’t noticed, too wrapped up in my friends and my diving to acknowledge any parental softness, however brief.

My parents loved me, to the best of their ability. And then I began, at last, to cry.

I drove all the way back to Den Hoorn without stopping. It was dark by the time I arrived and I hoped I hadn’t missed the last ferry back. I’d felt my phone vibrate continuously with emails and texts, but kept my eyes on the road, refusing to allow myself the luxury of distraction until I was safely on board. As the ferry pulled out of the harbour, I locked my car and headed upstairs to the passenger seats, hoping to gather my thoughts and buy a cup of hot tea. I hadn’t eaten since morning and the lack of food, combined with the day’s excitement, had left me drained and exhausted.

When I pulled out my mobile, the hunger dissolved, overtaken by a cramping nausea.

There were fifteen messages, the first from Bram.