‘Which you did.’

‘Yeah. I didn’t mean to do that. I actually thought I’d killed you.’ She laughed, nervously.

We sat there for a minute.

‘Everyone thinks I tried to jump.’

Her face swivelled towards me. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

She thought about this. ‘Because of what happened to my dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you miss him?’

‘Every single day.’

She was silent. Eventually she said, ‘So when is your next day off?’

‘Sunday. Why?’ I said, dragging my thoughts back.

‘Can we go to your home town?’

‘You want to go to Stortfold?’

‘I want to see where he lived.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

I didn’t tell Dad we were coming. I wasn’t entirely sure how to have that conversation. We pulled up outside our house and I sat for a minute, conscious, as she peered out of the window, of the small, rather weary appearance of my parents’ house in comparison with her own. She had suggested we bring flowers when I told her my mother would insist we stay for lunch, and got cross when I suggested petrol-station carnations, even though they were for someone she’d never met.

I had driven to the supermarket on the other side of Stortfold, where she had chosen a huge hand-tied bouquet of freesias, peonies and ranunculus. Which I had paid for.

‘Stay here a minute,’ I said, as she started to climb out. ‘I’m going to explain before you come in.’

‘But –’

‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘They’re going to need a minute.’

I walked up the little garden path and knocked on the door. I could hear the television in the living room, and pictured Granddad there, watching the racing, his mouth working silently along with the horses’ legs. The sights and sounds of home. I thought of the months I had kept away, no longer sure I was even welcome, of how I had refused to allow myself to think of how it felt to walk up this path, the fabric-conditioned scent of my mother’s embrace, my father’s distant bellow of laughter.

Dad opened the door, and his eyebrows shot up. ‘Lou! We weren’t expecting you! … Were we expecting you?’ He stepped forward and enveloped me in a hug.

I realized I liked having my family back. ‘Hi, Dad.’

He waited on the step, arm outstretched. The smell of roast chicken wafted down the corridor. ‘You coming in, then, or are we going to have a picnic out on the front step?’

‘I need to tell you something first.’

‘You lost your job.’

‘No, I did not lose my –’

‘You got another tattoo.’

‘You knew about the tattoo?’

‘I’m your father. I’ve known about every bloody thing you and your sister have done since you were three years old.’ He leaned forward. ‘Your mother would never let me have one.’

‘No, Dad, I don’t have another tattoo.’ I took a breath. ‘I … I have Will’s daughter.’

Dad stood very still. Mum appeared behind him, with her apron on. ‘Lou!’ She caught the look on Dad’s face. ‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘She says she has Will’s daughter.’

‘She has Will’s what?’ Mum squawked.

Dad had gone quite white. He reached behind him for the radiator and clutched it.

‘What?’ I said, anxious. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘You – you’re not telling me you harvested his … you know … his little fellas?’

I pulled a face. ‘She’s in the car. She’s sixteen years old.’

‘Oh, thank God. Oh, Josie, thank God. These days, you’re so … I never know what –’ He composed himself. ‘Will’s daughter, you say? You never said he –’

‘I didn’t know. Nobody knew.’

Mum peered around him to my car, where Lily was trying to act as if she didn’t know she was being talked about.

‘Well, you’d better bring her in,’ said Mum, her hand to her neck. ‘It’s a decent-sized chicken. It will do all of us if I add a few more potatoes.’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘Will’s daughter. Well, goodness, Lou. You’re certainly full of surprises.’ She waved at Lily, who waved back tentatively. ‘Come on in, love!’

Dad lifted a hand in greeting, then murmured quietly, ‘Does Mr Traynor know?’

‘Not yet.’

Dad rubbed his chest. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Like what?’

‘Anything else you need to tell me. You know, apart from jumping off buildings and bringing home long-lost children. You’re not joining the circus, or adopting a kid from Kazakhstan or something?’

‘I promise I am doing none of the above. Yet.’

‘Well, thank the Lord for that. What’s the time? I think I’m ready for a drink.’

‘So where’d you go to school, Lily?’

‘It’s a small boarding-school in Shropshire. No one’s ever heard of it. It’s mostly posh retards and distant members of the Moldavian royal family.’