Now I am undistracted by my friends, I begin to worry how unprepared I am for this weekend. Suki insisted I go straight away, so we could get the staycation article up on the site next week. The sponsor liked the idea of promoting a ‘September sun getaway’. I don’t have a firm angle yet, though, and I haven’t even managed to map out what I need to make the story I’m writing work, to make it ‘feel contemporary’.

With everything being so rushed, I also haven’t had time to dwell on how I feel about going on this trip. Will stepping into the footprint of my parents’ story bring me closer to them, illuminating some new footnote about people who are now closed books, or am I just going to find it upsetting? My dad died when I was three. I only have a few things left that link him to me; the coin, of course, then there are a few photos, his old leather watch that I never take off, a library of his favourite books, and his treasured LP collection. When I was sixteen, I spent all my pocket money on a record player so I could hear his music as he had listened to it. I’m probably the only twenty-nine-year-old in the world whose favourite bands are Genesis and Dire Straits.

My mother still feels tangible to me – we had a lifetime of memories and my grief for her is still so ragged, it gives her solid edges. I can conjure her voice in a quiet room. I can picture the way she would open her arms to hug me when I walked through the front door. When I pass the rooibos tea at the supermarket, I imagine her slim frame standing by the kettle, jiggling a teabag up and down by the string. Dad is different. All I have are second-hand memories and the objects he left me. If I do not remember these things about him, or keep hold of the objects he treasured, I worry his edges will fade until there is nothing left of him at all.

It’s less than an hour-long flight to the small island off the north coast of France. I’m travelling with hand luggage, but at the gate a man tells me, ‘Madam we’re going to have to ask that you put your bag in the hold.’ I feel myself bristle. When had I become ‘Madam’ rather than ‘Miss’?

‘I can assure you, it is regulation size,’ I protest. ‘I bought this case specifically because it adheres to the dimensions on your website…’

‘I know ma’am, but we have a very full flight today, so we’re asking people to check wheeled cases into the hold. There’s no charge; you’ll get it back as soon as you land.’