Ursula drew the car to a halt right next to the sign that said Herbert Road.

Zia felt as breathless as if someone were hugging her too hard. ‘Whew.’ She wiped sweat from her brow. ‘Suddenly terrified.’

Ursula gave her arm a comforting squeeze as she glanced around. ‘Yeah, they’re posh places. In Brighton you could build a small block of flats on one of these plots.’ The homes in Herbert Road were big new-builds of pinkish brick, solar panels glinting on steep roofs above bay windows. Each house had a double or triple garage.

‘It’s not a million quid’s worth of house I’m scared of,’ Zia commented.

Ursula reached across to envelop her in warm arms and a cloud of FCUK Friction. ‘Are you more scared of finding Harry or not finding him?’

‘Not sure.’ Zia wiped sweaty palms on her jeans then rubbed her chest, trying to erase the squeezed sensation of panic. ‘Maybe I should have written after all.’

‘But now we’re here we might as well find 4a,’ Ursula responded pragmatically. ‘Then if you don’t want to ring Harry’s doorbell we’ll go home.’

They climbed from the car. Zia felt as if her butterflies had invaded her entire torso as she and Ursula trod smooth pavements, the newness of the development indicated by the lack of tree roots heaving up slabs. The nearest house was number 39. The numbers reduced as they progressed past smooth lawns and tidy walls, checking out the even numbers across the way.

‘Did you think he’d be rich?’ Ursula asked, eyeing the Mercedes and Aston Martins lined up in paved and patterned driveways.

‘Don’t know. I only met him a few times when I was a kid and he seemed ordinary,’ Zia mumbled. They were opposite number 12 now and her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. 10. 8. 6. 4. The last house was number 2. They paused on the corner. No house boasting the characters 4a. ‘Oh,’ she said flatly.

‘Let’s walk back,’ Ursula urged, physically turning Zia round by one arm as if it were her handle.

Numbly, Zia let herself be tugged along, gazing at the imposing homes and landscaped gardens.

‘There!’ they whispered in unison. From this direction they could see a white wooden sign with ‘4a’ in black lettering and an arrow pointing between numbers 4 and 6.

They halted to gaze up a paved path with lawn on one side and a fence on the other. Zia tried to summon moisture to her mouth. She could leave. She didn’t have to confront anything or anyone. She’d lived this long without knowing the secrets of her past … Her feet took an involuntary step back.