‘Those were the years Vicky and me had together,’ Harry said simply, rubbing one knee as if it pained him. He’d propped his sticks against the forest green chair. He could only be in his early seventies so mobility issues had obviously come to him quite early.

Zia blinked, wrong-footed. ‘Do you mean … as a couple?’ Although Ursula had pointed out that Harry had addressed Vicky as ‘babe’ in one of his old letters her childhood memories suggested no more than a friendship.

‘No,’ he answered, though maybe on a wistful note. ‘I’d known her always because she was friends with my younger sister Karen. We all lived in Exmouth in Devon.’

Zia licked unaccountably dry lips, feeling her way in the conversation. ‘I know Vicky got pregnant at seventeen.’

‘Weren’t mine,’ he answered with a waggle of his eyebrows. ‘Though Tori was like my daughter, she wasn’t, not biologically.’

Zia halted, her words strangled as she realised he might be thinking she’d come here to ask if he were her grandfather.

Before she could decide whether she needed to clear that up he leaned forward, voice dropping. ‘If you only knew how much I’ve thought about you, yearning to see you again and give you the story from my side,’ he declared. ‘I had no idea what your grandparents would tell you.’

‘Not much,’ Zia managed, choked by the longing in his voice and echo of long-ago grief in his eyes. ‘Please tell me everything, anything you know.’

Those eyes became pensive. ‘Well, now. Your grandparents Alf and Joyce were disappointed when Vicky got pregnant with Tori at seventeen. Most parents would have been in the Seventies.’ A grin flashed. ‘I was seven years older than Vicky and divorced so they wouldn’t have chosen me for the father, neither. What happened was, Vicky soon had enough of bringing Tori up under the beady eyes of her parents. It was hard for single parents to get enough points for council accommodation then but by pretending we were together we qualified for a house. I needed someone to look after my kids. My ex rarely wanted to see them, let alone look after them.’ He shook his head as if this was still a mystery to him. ‘It worked a treat. I earned, Vicky looked after the kids – my kids Mandy and Leon as well as Tori. They were all blonde so we looked like a family and we were – except for, you know … bedrooms. Vicky was a wonderful, wonderful friend.’ He broke off to take off his glasses and polish them on his fleece. Zia suspected it was to give himself time to control the tears that had glinted for an instant in his eyes.

When he’d once again restored his glasses to his face, he managed a shaky laugh. ‘Joyce and Alf told Vicky she was acting like a hippy.’

Zia laughed too. ‘I can hear them saying that.’