It had been hearteningly easy to find a new job. Anna had signed up with a recruitment agency and was over the moon to find herself in demand. It was a massive boost to her fragile self-esteem. A glowing reference from Mrs Glacier had paved the way for success, and after several interviews, she was offered three different positions. The one she opted for was at a financial firm located in a beautiful listed building called Villiers House on Cheapside in the City, not far from St Paul’s Cathedral. She liked the fact that the building was occupied by lots of different companies – there was a real buzz about the place – and she liked the people she worked for. Not that she really understood what they did all day, something to do with buying and selling money. One thing she understood perfectly was her role as receptionist, responsible for answering the phone, greeting guests and running errands for the brokers. After nearly three years in the role, she was a dab hand at it.

No longer having Melissa by her side all day had been a wrench, but they still saw each other every few weeks. In fact Melissa had called just the other night, reminding her that she and her husband Gerard were having a dinner party this coming weekend. Anna knew that she’d be introduced to several of Gerard’s available, art-loving buddies, with whom she would have zero in common, but it was a night out and she’d get to see her mate, who, newly married, was now a lot less available than she used to be. Anna understood of course and was delighted to see her friend so happy. She smiled now at the memory of Melissa’s father crying as he walked up the aisle last year with his little girl on his arm. Melissa told her afterwards that they were tears of relief – for a while he’d feared she might hop back across the pond and become his problem once again, something neither his retirement fund nor his nerves could take!

Anna shook her head and returned to the book she was reading, keen to devour all she could of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, which everyone was raving about, before she reached her Tube stop. The lengthy commute, from Parsons Green to Mansion House, was another of the good things about her City job. It had allowed her to re-establish her reading habit and to digest what she’d just read on the short walk to Villiers House. She had forgotten just how lovely it was to dive into a book. One of her abiding memories of her mum was watching her sitting on the sofa with her legs folded under her and a book held inches from her nose, completely lost to a story. She took comfort from the knowledge that her mum had had these happy, happy moments too. Anna walked across the beautiful tiled lobby floor of Villiers House and hopped into the ornate lift, ignoring the slight shake to the cage as she pressed the brass button for the sixth floor. Soon after she started working there she’d developed a routine for dealing with the confined space. Standing close to the doors, facing them, she pictured the wide window in the kitchen of her imagination, the one her mum would have loved to have stood in front of, feeling the gentle flower-scented breeze on her face. With her eyes tightly closed, she played the alphabet game while looking out in her imagination.

A... air.

B... blue sky.

C... chirping birds.

D... daisies.

E... endless fields of grass.

F... fields of endless grass.

G... grass in endless fields.

The lift stopped and as the doors opened with the ping of an old-fashioned bell she laughed to herself at her cheating. She made a mental note that she had got to G, which was where she would pick it up again on her next lift journey.

‘Morning!’ She nodded to some of the suited men who were crisscrossing the reception area at this early hour.

‘Mawninanna.’

These guys were always in a rush, eliding her name and greeting into a single word, and usually doing everything at a semi jog, whether it was going to the bathroom or grabbing a coffee, wary of abandoning their desk for any longer than absolutely necessary, knowing that a minute could make all the difference to the success or failure of a day’s trading. It wasn’t unusual for them to work through the night or start horrendously early in order to catch the markets in different time zones. More than once she had arrived at work to find one of them asleep with his head cradled in his arms on top of a cluttered desk, the wastepaper bin brimming with sandwich wrappers, noodle boxes and crumpled coffee cups.

Anna walked to the kitchenette by the cloakroom, hung up her coat and poured herself a coffee from the percolator. She inhaled its deep, earthy scent and smoothed her black skirt over her thick tights before taking up her seat behind the wide, modern desk that ran parallel to the back wall. A vast oil painting hung behind the desk, commissioned by the board to fill the space. In her view, it was total crap and this realisation had made her understand that just because someone had money it didn’t mean they had taste. Her nose wrinkled every time she gazed at the splashes, drips and flicks of multi-coloured paint. Not that it mattered much: when in situ, she faced the entrance door and had her back to it. She was ready with her smile as soon as she saw the shadow of an arrival through the stained-glass doors.

Even at this early hour, a small bundle of mail had accumulated. She flicked through the letters, both incoming and those to be sent, sorting them into wire trays: UK-bound ones destined for the Royal Mail, those going further afield to be sent by courier, and post freshly arrived to be distributed internally. Her fingers arrived at a stiff, brown, formal-looking envelope. She turned it over and saw, highly unusually, that it was addressed to her!

How odd. Her forehead creased in anticipation.

The only people who wrote to her were Jordan and his partner Levi, and their letters arrived like magic in the pigeonhole at her flat. She loved the way they always wrote on half the card each or divided the sheet of paper into two with a neat line and then filled their respective section with wonderful gossip and tittle-tattle about their lives in New York, New York. She loved nothing more than to read about their walks through Central Park, trips to the theatre, the weather, good coffee, bad wine, gourmet hot dogs and a million other little snippets that helped her feel connected to her cousin so far away. She thought it was cute and she savoured each neat line, written in ink pen and dotted with hearts and smiley faces. Unlike her Aunt Lizzie, who apparently found nothing cute about the couple at all and had refused point blank to meet the man her son loved, saying she would wait until he was over this ridiculous phase. Anna clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She’ll have a bloody long wait. Silly woman.

She looked at the postmark: London. That didn’t give much away. It was far from the usual milk receipt or buffet menu that arrived folded over, dropped off and left for her consideration. Having taken a sip of hot coffee, she carefully unstuck the envelope, pulled the folded typed white sheets from their sheath and laid them flat on the table.

Anna instantly recognised the language and style of a legal letter; she had handled enough of them in her time.

DEAR MISS COLE,

She was beyond curious, intrigued by the formality, and quickly read on...

My name is Ernest Faversham and I represent the estate of Mr Harper. It is my sad duty to inform you that Mr Harper passed away on May 16th, 1995 after a short illness.

As instructed by my client, I am contacting you in the wake of his death to pass on a letter (attached herewith) in accordance with the last will and testament of Mr Harper.

Please do not hesitate to contact me.

Yours faithfully,

MR E C FAVERSHAM

‘What on earth? I’ve never heard of him! Mr Harper?’ Anna spoke aloud as she slipped the covering letter off the top of the sheets of paper to which it had been paper-clipped, squeezing the bulky corner flap between her thumb and forefinger for good measure.

Dear Anna,

Anna... this was my mother’s name and that’s been a nice thing for me over the years, knowing that her name lives on in you, my daughter.

It was as if the air had been sucked from the room. With trembling fingers, Anna set the paper flat on the table and bent her head forward, almost resting it on her knees, hoping that this might help stop the room from spinning.

‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ she whispered, trying to control the shudder to her limbs and the shake to her hands. She slowed her breathing, aware that the hyperventilating was making her feel lightheaded.

‘Oh my God!’ she repeated.

‘Anna?’ a voice called.

She looked up to see one of the traders. Marius.

‘Do you know where I can find the...?’ He paused at the sight of her. ‘Are you okay? You look terrible.’

She sat up straight and swallowed. ‘Marius, I... I need to go to the loo. Get someone to cover for me.’

Without waiting for an answer or responding to his stunned expression, she grabbed the sheets of paper from the desk and ran towards the bathroom. Locking the door of the end cubicle, she sat on the closed toilet seat and pushed at her ears; it felt as if she was underwater. Leaning back against the cistern, she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly. It did the trick.

Finally, when she felt ready, she unfolded the paperwork.

Dear Anna,

Anna... this was my mother’s name and that’s been a nice thing for me over the years knowing that her name lives on in you, my daughter. I don’t know how much you know, sweetheart, so this will come as either a shock or a comfort and I’m truly sorry that I don’t know which. It’s probably a good idea to read this letter with your mum. And if she objects, tell her it’s because enough time has passed and my time has been cut short. I know she will understand.

It was at this point that Anna’s tears pooled, sad that this man, Michael Harper, her dad, my dad!, had pictured her and her mum living a life somewhere together.

I only saw you once, on the day you were born, and even though I knew I wasn’t going to be part of your life, I treasured that moment when I held you and your mum in my arms. The three of us together for no more than an hour or so. It is something I have never forgotten and it’s one of my most cherished memories.

In that moment, everything felt possible.

They say you can’t help who you fall in love with and this is true. You also can’t help when you fall in love, and if I could have changed the time and circumstances of meeting Karen, I would have. But this kind of wishing does no one any good, it just takes the edge off any potential happiness. It can send you nearly crazy with thinking and thinking...

If you are reading this then I am no longer with you. That is a strange thought for me. I have wasted too much time on regrets.

‘No!’ she howled, her tears coming fast. ‘I just wanted to see you once!’ she cried. ‘I just wanted to know what you looked like, my dad!’ All those years of scouring traffic jams for cab drivers, looking into every pair of eyes and hoping beyond hope to see her own reflected back at her. She pulled off a length of loo roll and blew her nose, then wiped her streaming eyes so she could continue reading.

Anna! Even writing your name makes me smile. Anna, Anna...

I hope you are happy. I hope your mum forgives me.

I made promises I knew I couldn’t keep and no one is more sorry for that than me. I hope good things for your future.

I am proud to think that I have another daughter on the earth, a daughter made in love. A daughter called Anna.

Michael Harper, your dad x

A complex storm of emotions raged inside her. She placed her head in her hands and tried to digest each different bit.

My dad’s name was Michael Harper – I know his full name!

I was made in love. He loved me!

He held Mum and me in his arms.

What a wonderful thing!

The longing for her mum’s presence was overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around her trunk.

He named me. I am named after my nan on my dad’s side!

A family! I have a sister.

He is dead. My dad died. He died before I had a chance...

Back at her desk, Anna stuffed the letter into her bag and did her best to get through the morning. It felt surreal, as if she was floating, operating on autopilot. She tried to stay focused on her chores, but her mind alternately raced and went blank, as she struggled not to vomit.

She sipped at the glass of cold water that Marius had thoughtfully placed within reach. It was during her lunchbreak that Anna retreated, with permission, to the boardroom and with shaking fingers that slipped off the buttons used the telephone on the wide oak table to call Mr Ernest Faversham.

* * *

‘Why are you doing this?’ Anna asked herself as she stood by the gate at the end of the path leading to a house in Church Road, Croydon.

She tucked her bob behind her ears and flattened the Peter Pan collar of her floral blouse over the neck of her buttoned-up navy cardigan. Her eyes roved across the house, a standard three-bedroomed Victorian terrace whose upstairs curtains were drawn shut. Like all the houses in the row, the front garden had been ripped up and replaced with block paving. Moss had gathered in the cracks and in the space were parked a new white Audi and a slightly dated black cab that had been polished to a high sheen.

My dad’s taxi!

Her heart raced at the sight of the steering wheel and seat where he would have sat hour after hour. Despite all her searching, it wasn’t impossible that he had one day passed her in a crowded street or even given her a lift. Wouldn’t that have been something?

There was a black wheelie bin and a pair of mud-encrusted wellies with a chewed tennis ball resting on the ground between them. They’ve got a dog.

The wall that separated the front path from the next-door house had a collection of large planters dotted along it, some of which had seen better days. An ordinary house. Only it wasn’t it was an extraordinary house, it was a house that contained half of her lineage, memories and tales of the man who had fathered her and the nan she was named after. This is what she was keen to claim.

Her gut bunched with dread at what she might find on the other side of the frosted-glass front door.

A... Anna.

B... Be brave.

C... Come on.

D... Door. Knock on the door...

Her pep-talk worked. While her nerve held, she trod the eight steps along the path and rang the bell, knowing her dad must have done the same thousands of times. She let her fingertip rest on the little white circle, wondering if particles of him still remained there and liking that idea very much. Then she realised that he would of course have had a key. ‘Only me!’ he might have called out to a family that might or might not have greeted this with the fanfare it deserved, unaware how fortunate they were to have their dad coming home to them every night. What wouldn’t she have given for just one night with both of her parents. It was as she was picturing this that the front door opened.

Anna stared at the man in the doorway. He was in his thirties, had the light stubble of a day-old beard and wore jeans and a grey sweatshirt pulled tightly over his wiry frame. He looked nothing like her.

‘Go back, Jester!’ he shouted.

There was a second when her bones jumped in fear, until she realised with relief that he was speaking to the skinny mutt pushing against his calves. Reaching down, he placed his hand on the dog’s flank and steered him backwards.

She tried out a nervous smile. ‘Hello, I’m—’

‘We know who you are.’ His London vowels flattened in distaste as his top lip curled.

Anna’s mouth went dry and her legs twitched with the desire to run. Of course, they were expecting her. Mr Faversham had made the arrangements. A mere six months since Michael Harper had passed away, this was how long it had taken the lawyer to locate her.

The man stepped back, allowing her entry. ‘Come in.’ He looked over her shoulder and closed the front door. ‘On the left.’

She followed the nod of his head and glanced at the red carpet on the narrow staircase to the right, the newel post hidden under a pile of coats and jackets. At the end of the hall she could see a galley kitchen; its surfaces were neat and on one of them sat a packet of Bakewell tarts. She wondered if they’d gone to the trouble of buying them for her. Judging by the man’s welcome, or lack of, that seemed unlikely. The back door was ajar, but a white net curtain over the glass hid the view of the garden.

Anna walked ahead on legs made of jelly and paused at the entrance to the room on the left. It was crowded with two plum-coloured sofas, a large chair and a massive TV. On one of the sofas sat a solid-looking woman in her fifties wearing a collection of gold bangles, earrings and chains and a cream, lace-covered T-shirt. She had the lined face of a smoker, which made Anna think of Sylvie. This was Sally Harper, presumably.

The woman stood up and held out her hand. ‘I’m Sally.’

‘Hello. I’m Anna.’ She felt Sally’s fingers trembling, just like hers, as they shook hands.

‘You’ve met Micky.’ Sally nodded at her bearded son. ‘And this is Lisa.’

Anna glanced over at the young woman in the large chair. She was wearing black leggings and had her legs tucked beneath her. Her thick hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head.

‘All right?’ Lisa’s greeting, like her smile, was hesitant.

Anna nodded at her. She was older than Anna by a couple of years, she guessed, and had the sturdy build of Sally, but her face was so similar to her own, she found it hard not to stare. She couldn’t help the involuntary smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Sally gestured towards the kitchen.

‘No, I’m fine. Thank you.’

Sally nodded with what looked like relief. Anna knew then that there wasn’t going to be an abundance of pleasantries and certainly no offer of a Bakewell tart. This was a necessary chore to be got out of the way. She heeded the warning signs.

‘Sit down.’

Anna lowered herself onto the empty sofa and watched as Micky sat down hard on the seat next to his mother, budging the dog into a gap between them. His protectiveness was striking and she thought of Joe coming to collect her from the hospital all those years ago, speaking with his hands on her shoulders. ‘It’s okay, Anna Bee, I’m here now.’

She felt all three pairs of eyes scanning her, no doubt searching for any resemblance to the man they had loved and lost as well as looking for any clues as to what she might be after. ‘I know this must be really strange—’

‘You reckon?’ Micky snorted aggressively.

‘Micky!’ Lisa glared at him and he immediately sat a little further back on the sofa.

Anna guessed that her arrival had been discussed in detail. ‘I...’ she began falteringly. ‘I know you didn’t know anything about this, about me, and I didn’t know anything about you. Nothing at all. I didn’t know who...’ The words failed on her tongue. She figured that using the words ‘my dad’ might be more than this anxious trio could cope with, and this too she understood. ‘I never met Michael. I didn’t even know his full name until I got the letter from the solicitor a couple of weeks ago.’ She saw a flicker of emotion cross Lisa’s face.

‘What, your mum never told you nothing?’ Micky fired back, sounding doubtful.

Anna shook her head. ‘No. She didn’t. All I ever knew was that he drove a cab and his name was Michael.’

Sally harrumphed at this and Anna wondered if maybe it was in his cab that her parents had met.

‘But, what, she’s told you all about it now? How convenient! And what I want to know is why does she think it’s all right now he’s not here to defend himself?’

‘Don’t start, Micky!’ Sally reached for her cigarettes, her weary tone suggesting they’d been over this many times already.

Anna understood Micky’s anger, his disappointment at his dad’s big secret, but she hadn’t expected to be the recipient of his rage. ‘It’s nothing do with my mum. It was me who got the letter, as I said.’

‘Funny, I think it’s a lot to do with your mum!’ he cut in, and whether intentionally he not, he bared his teeth.

Anna’s unease flared at how quick he was to blame her mum, a person he knew nothing about.

I am proud to think that I have another daughter on the earth, a daughter made in love. She mentally reached for the words her dad had written, a salve for moments such as this and something she would keep sewn beneath her heart.

‘My mum died when I was nine.’

She let this sink in. Lisa shook her head in sadness and Sally lit her cigarette and took a long, deep draw, letting wisps of blue smoke drift from her mouth and nose. Her shoulders dropped with what looked like relief. Even Micky swallowed this unexpected nugget of information.

‘Where did you live? Did you have a stepdad?’ Lisa asked.

‘Erm...’ Anna cursed the emotion that constricted her throat. There was something about being inside a family home that did this to her, a reminder of what she had lost. ‘No. No stepdad. I lived with my brother at first in a flat and then with some relatives for a bit and then in care.’ She brushed invisible debris from her skirt and kept her eyes downcast.

‘That must have been horrible.’ She liked Lisa’s lack of guile.

‘It was sometimes.’ The two exchanged a look. Similar-shaped eyes stared back at each other; mouths set in alignment hid sets of neat white teeth just like their dad’s and their Nanny Anna’s.

Micky took a breath. His voice was softer now, but his words were less forgiving. ‘Sorry to be blunt,’ he lied, ‘but what are you doing here? What is it you want exactly?’

Anna inhaled and spoke slowly. ‘I want to say that I understand you must be shocked, and it’s true what I said earlier, I’m shocked too.’

Again he interrupted her. ‘Yes, we got that, but I mean what are you after? Half the house? Me mum’s wedding ring?’

‘Micky, please! For God’s sake!’ Sally sighed, took another drag and rubbed her temples with the thumb and middle finger of her free hand.

Anna stared at him. ‘No, nothing like that.’ She bit the inside of her mouth and thought about what she did want. ‘I suppose I wanted to meet you because, like it or not, you are my half-brother and Lisa is my half-sister and I don’t have any family, apart from a cousin.’

‘So what? You think you can come here for Christmas? Pull a cracker and get pissed around the telly? Share a bowl of trifle?’ He sniffed and laughed.

‘No. No, I don’t expect that.’ Especially not now.

‘Good. You need to understand that just because my dad got his leg over, did the dirty on my mum...’ His face became contorted and she wondered if he might cry. ‘There’s no reason for us to have to pick up the pieces of his mistake, no reason why we have to see you or sit here and play happy bloody families!’

Anna found it hard to witness his visceral distress. It wasn’t his fault. She knew what it felt like when you’d thought life was going to give you roses and instead it delivered you a box full of disappointment. She chose not to mention her firmly held belief that Michael and her mum had been in love and if circumstances and the timing had been a little different... She also decided not to remind Micky how lucky he’d been to get such a big share of their dad. What wouldn’t she have given for twenty-plus years of contact, instead of the measly hour or so when she’d been too young to register it?

‘You’re right, Micky. I don’t know what I expected coming here, but I felt it was important that you knew I had never met Michael. He wasn’t deceitful like that and he obviously went out of his way to make sure no one knew about me until he’d passed away. He clearly wanted to spare you that upset for as long as he could.’

‘Spare himself more like,’ Sally murmured.

With each comment, the air in the room felt more oppressive. Anna decided it was time to leave. A part of her had hoped that her older brother and sister might welcome her with open arms, but this had proved to be yet another instance when she’d expected roses, yet another family that shared her bloodline but with whom she had no connection. She pictured Jordan, the one good thing to have come from her encounter with her aunt and uncle. Was this how it was always going to be? she wondered. Would she ever have a family that she could call her own? Or would there always be that sense that she was like sticks on the river, a passenger in her own life?

As she cleared her throat and prepared to bid everyone goodbye, a stuttered mewling came from the corner of the room. It made her jump. The dog lifted his head from his paws and stared in the direction of the noise. Lisa swung her legs from the sofa. ‘Baby monitor. That’s Kaylee, my little one.’

‘Ah.’ Anna smiled at her.

‘Come and see her if you like?’ Lisa asked casually from the door.

Anna did like. Ignoring the lengthened necks and narrowed lips of Micky and his mother, she followed Lisa up the stairs, conscious of the handrail being a little loose along the wall, which maybe her dad had meant to tighten, letting her palm linger on the painted wood that must have known his touch.

Lisa cooed as she walked into the little room at the top of the stairs. ‘Here she is.’ She turned to Anna, her face lit with pride. ‘She’s four months. My dad never met her. I’m sad about that.’ She reached down into the cot, lifted the pink bundle, took her in her arms and kissed her round face.

Tell me about it... ‘You’ll just have to make sure you tell her all about him.’

‘I will.’ Lisa nodded and kissed her daughter again. ‘Her dad’s in the army. He’s away at the moment, worse luck. We’re only kind of together – we keep getting back together and splitting up – but I miss him even so.’

‘That must be horrible, him being away.’

‘It is.’ Lisa held her gaze. ‘Sometimes. Do you want to hold her?’

‘Oh! Really?’ Anna felt a little overcome by the offer, as well as wary of doing it wrong.

‘Yeah! Course! You’re her auntie after all.’ Lisa lifted her elbow and carefully passed baby Kaylee into Anna’s arms.

‘She’s lovely. Happy little thing.’ Anna smiled at her niece.

‘That’s cos she recognises you probably. We look alike, don’t we?’

Lisa’s words caught her off guard. Anna hadn’t expected to cry, hadn’t thought that she would be so deeply affected by the feel of the infant, trusting and compliant in the arms of her relative. Her tears slowly snaked their way into her mouth.

‘Yes. Yes, we do. God, I’m sorry, Lisa, don’t know what’s wrong with me!’ She masked her embarrassment with a burst of laughter, her eyes fixed on the little one. The unexpected strength of connection to this young woman and her baby left her feeling quite overwhelmed.

Lisa reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘Is there anything you would like of Dad’s?’

Anna again felt dazed by the generosity of her half-sister, not only in what she was offering but also in the way she’d chosen to say ‘Dad’s’ and not ‘my dad’s’.

‘If it’s okay...’ She hesitated. ‘I’d quite like to see a photograph.’

‘A photograph?’ Lisa looked at her quizzically, as if she’d expected something quite different.

Anna nodded. ‘I... I’ve never seen him. I don’t know what he looks like.’

‘Oh God.’ Lisa squeezed her arm again. ‘Hang on.’ She dashed from the room.

Anna walked to the window with Kaylee in her arms. She inhaled the scent of the child and smiled. Realisation dawned. This was when she would feel like she belonged somewhere or to someone. This is what would anchor her to a family – when she became a mum.

She closed her eyes, picturing the way her mum used to look at her when she kissed her goodnight or greeted her in the morning. It was a look that told her that her life was complete, that her child made her happy, beyond happy! And this, Anna now knew, was what she wanted: her own baby that she could love to the moon and back and who would love her in return.

The future father of her child was out there somewhere. The man who would make her world sunny even in the rain and who would give her the family she craved. ‘I know you’re out there,’ she whispered to the strip of sky visible over the muddle of rooftops. Even the thought was enough to fill her with a bubble of excitement.

‘Here we go. I’ve found a couple.’

Lisa took Kaylee and handed Anna two framed pictures, one of which had a photo-booth snapshot tucked into the bottom corner. One photo was of Sally and Michael on their wedding day, a black and white picture that showed his grainy face smiling at his new bride. He was tall and dark and looked so young. The next one was of him on holiday, holding Micky or Lisa on his lap, both of them enjoying a melting ice cream with messy faces. This image sent a flicker of jealousy through her. But the final picture, the little rectangle that had been shoved into the frame as an afterthought, was the one that drew her attention. It was nothing more than a slightly blurred image taken in a photo booth, but it showed her dad staring straight into the camera and it felt like he was looking at her.

‘This is wonderful!’ She beamed, running her fingertip over his face.

‘You can have it.’

‘Really? I can keep it?’ She hardly dared ask for fear Lisa might change her mind.

‘Course you can.’ Lisa nodded, watching as Anna peeled it carefully from the frame. ‘They’ll not notice.’ She jerked her head towards the stairs.

‘I wish...’

‘You wish what?’

‘I wish I knew the circumstances of how they met, my mum and Michael. Maybe Micky is right, it was no more than a quick, irrelevant thing, and maybe he only wrote to me because he felt guilty. I accept that I’ll never know, but it would make a difference to me.’

‘Course it would. I understand that. And if it helps at all...’ Lisa lowered her voice again. ‘He was a good man, a loyal man and if ever he had had a change of heart, his loyalty, his sense of duty would have been the thing that won out.’

Anna recognised the guts it must have taken to say this and once again felt immensely grateful for Lisa’s generosity. ‘Thank you, Lisa, for everything.’ She walked forward and held her half-sister in her arms. They were both a little awed by the enormity of this new chapter in their lives. ‘I can’t tell you how much this picture means to me.’

‘Will I see you again, do you think?’ Lisa asked, quietly.

‘Of course you will,’ Anna answered with certainty.

*

Anna sat on the bus with all sorts of emotions swirling in her head. She held the precious picture in the palm of her hand and stared at it the whole journey.

Michael Harper’s dark hair was smoothed back over a high forehead that resembled her own, and his smiling eyes, the same shape as hers, crinkled at the sides with kindness. But that wasn’t the main source of her fascination. No, it was his mouth that she couldn’t stop staring at. In the photo his mouth was open, his tongue was poking out and it was curled, indisputably curled.

You were right, Joe! This is my dad. My dad, Michael. He has dark hair like mine and he can curl his tongue.

As soon as she got home, she grabbed her plastic wallet of letters from the shelf in the corner, sat down at the table for two and began to write.

Dear Fifi and Fox,

How can I say this? I have always loved the idea of you, but now I know that I am ready for you! I am ready for you, my darlings! And this thought fills me with so much happiness, I feel I might explode!

I met my niece today – yes, I have a niece! Her name is Kaylee. And as soon as I held her, I knew that what I want more than anything in the world now is to be a mum. Your mum! So get ready, cos I’m properly on the lookout for your dad now.

I can’t wait to meet you, can’t wait to hold you, can’t wait to make you real.

I love you! I love you! I love you!

Mummy x