‘I can’t believe you’re really here.’

‘Alys, I am your mother. Haven’t I always been there when you needed me?’ Her hand goes to her mouth, the cigarette at her lips before she remembers and lowers it.

‘No one calls me Alys. It’s Allie.’ I feel that old familiar spark of irritation that she ignites in me, the one that reduces me to a teenager, before I make an effort to mentally blow it out, the sheer fact that she’s here dampening it. ‘How did you …? You got my voicemail?’ I hadn’t expected her to answer the phone when I called the other day – deep down I knew she wouldn’t – so the fact that she is here, in my kitchen, feels unreal.

‘Yes, I got your voicemail.’ She smiles, and finally I move to sit in the chair opposite her. ‘Of course, I would come if you need me. You’re my daughter, Allie, even if we don’t speak often.’

‘The baby is sleeping at the moment, the health visitor just came and discharged us. Do you want to come and see Mina? She’s in the living room …’ The words tumble out of me. I have so much to say to her and I don’t know how much time she’ll give me to say it.

‘You, Allie,’ she interrupts. ‘What about you? The baby will be fine, and I will see Mina in a moment. You would have said already if there was a problem with the children. It’s you that I am most worried about.’ I have missed her soft French accent, the gentle slur on some of her words, the dropped h’s and short vowels.

‘I’m OK,’ I say, a lump filling my throat. I swallow, but it stays lodged there. ‘Oh God, Mum, it’s been so long. I’ve got such a lot to tell you. I can’t believe you’re here.’

‘I am here. Of course I am. I think you are not. OK, that is.’ My mother makes no move to comfort me but pulls a clean tissue from her sleeve and places it on the table. ‘Also, I do not think this is to do with the baby. Is it that husband of yours? Are you leaving him? You can come to Paris, stay with me. We can be there by this evening.’

‘No, no it’s not Rav. I’m not leaving him, and I’m not coming to Paris.’ I blow my nose hard into the tissue. ‘I don’t even know where to begin. Things have been … strange, I suppose.’

‘What kind of things?’