Clio had assumed it was an address book as it was too ancient to be a diary, but when she opened it, it was a notebook. Seeing her father’s extravagant lettering and knowing that he would never write another word was almost too painful for her to bear. How did people get through the death of their loved ones unscathed? It felt like an impossible task to her, and one that she was totally unprepared for.

She flicked through the notebook’s creamy pages. Her father did seem to have used it as a diary of sorts. Her thumb stopped at a page headed 1992. There was a list of the orchestra’s concert dates and where they were to take place. Under that, her father had copied out the Grand Prix schedule for the year. Clio vaguely remembered that her father had once been fond of the Grand Prix, but he hadn’t shown any interest in it for well over a decade before he died. She had almost forgotten how he would disappear off at the weekends to watch some race or other. She had suggested more than once that he might take her and Hector with him, but there was always some reason why that wouldn’t have worked. Clio had had the impression that it was more that her father didn’t want them with him, that it was something he preferred to do on his own.

There were similar sections for other years, each with orchestra schedules, Grand Prix fixtures and dates of their family holidays. Pages and pages of dates and entries written in her father’s flowing hand.

Clio continued to flick through the book. Another page was headed ‘Important Dates’. The first one read ‘15 January 1981 – Married to Grace’. Clio smiled to herself. What a strange way to refer to his wedding. She would have written Wedding Day or Wedding Anniversary, although surely such an important day would have been etched into his memory without him having to record it. Maybe he had it listed for the sake of completeness, because below it there was her mother’s birthday and Hector’s, which surely he would never have forgotten either. Apparently, Melissa’s birthday was 13 May. Clio had no idea who Melissa was. Then another name she didn’t recognise – Leah, born 1 April 1984, came next. Poor child, Clio thought. An April fool. No doubt there had been endless teasing at school. Next came her own birthday – 25 September – but that date had a second entry next to it. It just said Melissa again, but this time her father had drawn a tiny heart. Clio stared at the little heart, trying to work out its significance, but nothing came to mind. It seemed off, though. Why did Melissa get a heart when that day was Clio’s birthday? Where was Clio’s little heart?