‘Hi Dad! You won’t believe this; I have the most amazing news.’

Once he answers the phone I hop off my bike and duck into a high-street doorway, cupping my hand over my other ear so that I can hear him over the crackling line.

‘You’ve won the lottery so you are coming home for good to keep your ol’ man company.’

‘Oh much better that that!’ I tell him, still breathless from the adrenalin of the process and all the uphill pedalling I’ve done cycling home from The Rembrandt. ‘I’ve got an interview with Jean-Michel!’

‘Jean who?’

‘The famous French chef? Only the one I’ve been obsessed with since forever,’ I tell him.

‘I thought you were always obsessed with a woman chef, what’s her face, Celia Someone?’

‘Yes, well, I do love Celia Sanderson and always will, but this is completely different, this isn’t hotpots and fairy cakes. This is fine dining, Dad. This is like the premier division; the highest level chefs can go. If I get this, it’s like being signed by one of the top managers in the country – in the world. This is my big, big chance.’

‘Right, I see, if you say so.’ He exhales into the mouthpiece. ‘It’s hard to keep up with you, Katie. We went through all this with the restaurant, now here we go again and it’s gung-ho about something else entirely…’

‘Oh, this is something else all right. Jean-Michel’s opening a new restaurant in London and he wants a whole new fleet. And I’ve got through the pre-selection! I’m into the next stage.’

A sigh on the phone. ‘But it’s still a cheffing job? In London?’

‘The cheffing job in London, Dad, a million chefs would kill for this chance.’

‘Yes, I’m sure they would. Kill themselves working around the clock in a thankless job, no doubt. No holidays, no pension, no sick cover or insurance. Remember when you burnt your hand with scalding water? They slapped some antiseptic and a bandage on it and you were back the next day. It’s not right, Katie. Worse conditions than a sweatshop.’

‘That was my choice, Dad, it looked worse than it was. It healed pretty quickly anyway.’

‘It did not. Sure, didn’t we all see it at your sister’s wedding? Wearing a lovely bridesmaid’s dress with a glove like Michael Jackson trying to hide it from us. You should have let us know, let us help you. So why on earth would you want to involve yourself in all that all over again? We’ve been through this before. You gave it a shot, your very best shot. It’s time to let it lie. Cut your losses, and move on to something else.’

I can hear the frustration mounting in his voice. I called him because I thought it’d make him happy, proud even. The last thing I wanted to do was distress him.

‘But that’s exactly what I’m doing, I’m moving on. And hopefully, moving up.’

‘So tell me this: are you still staying at Alice’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘On the floor.’

‘Well, yes. Just temporarily.’

I can hear him inhaling heavily through his nose. Not a good sign.

‘And are you still working for next to nothing at that old folks’ home?’

‘Yes. That’s why I need this—’

He cuts in to my attempt at an explanation, his voice an octave lower. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to say this to you, Katie, but coming up thirty years of age, you are too old to be staying on mates’ floors, surviving, if you can call it that, on less than living wage. Your mother and I didn’t bring you up to be struggling this way. There’s utterly no point living in one of the most expensive cities in the world to do a job that won’t even cover your rent—’

‘Dad, that’s totally unfair.’ Now I cut in before he goes any further. I hate when he brings my mother into things. As if she was still here. As if she was standing beside him nodding her head in agreement. ‘What choice do I have?’ My voice is reaching a pitch now. I take a deep breath and study the melted skin that the scald left on my right hand. It’s only a scar. It’s not like it hurts.

‘Plenty of choices, sweetheart! Ah, Katie, I’m not trying to upset you. I’m so proud of how hard you tried, but for your own good, now may be a sensible time to step away for a bit. To try something else. You have the world at your feet, you’re hard-working and you have plenty of solid, respectable choices at your disposal. Why not just consider looking at other careers, retraining, going back to college and setting yourself up in something a bit—’

‘Something a bit what?’

‘Something a bit less gladiatorial.’

Now it’s me that’s sighing.

‘Rachel said you sounded very tired on the phone the last time she spoke to you,’ he says.

‘But I haven’t spoken to Rachel in ages!’

‘Yes, she said that too.’

It’s hard to come back on that one. It’s true I’ve not answered my little sister’s calls in ages. Or Skype or Facetime. Everything is going so well for her; she’s settled in Australia with a great husband, a baby on the way. I can’t compete with that. Not that she sees it that way, but I don’t want her to worry about me. Because I feel fine, as in I function okay, when it’s just me by myself, or it’s just me and Alice. But if I stop and look at myself through my little sister’s eyes, seeing me as I must present to her, I feel like such a let-down, a disappointment – not the big sister she so admired when we were growing up, that’s for sure. I know what Rachel will be looking out for, what she’s trying to find – signs of happiness, of energy, of hope and excitement. And I also know that my skinny frame, pale skin and dark hollowed-out eyes wouldn’t exactly send that message to her sunny veranda in Melbourne.

‘Okay, I’ll definitely call her. Soon, I promise,’ I tell him, surprising myself with how convincing I sound.

‘That’s great, Katie. She’d appreciate a nice long chat with her big sister. With the baby on the way, I think she’s a little homesick, you know? Your brothers are great, but it’s you she can open up to, I guess. She misses you, that’s all. Hold the line, I just have to let the dog in. Back in a tick.’

I swallow. How I miss her too. I miss them all. And ironically, sometimes I feel much, much worse for speaking with them. I miss them more acutely remembering how far away they all are. My brothers are complete nutters so they both joined the Irish Navy, Adam as a medic and Conor as an engineer. When my brothers are not at sea, they spend their time diving to explore wreckages or climbing mountains and sleeping in caves. For fun, clearly. They’re survivalists, so they like to live off-grid and push themselves to mad extremes of cold and hunger and remoteness. We don’t share that gene. Rachel and I like custard and fluffy socks, so we’ve always just let them off to do their own thing. So mostly they are in far-flung corners of the earth or in the middle of the deep, blue sea. Or indeed, under the sea. Which is what they’ve both wanted to do since they were ruddy-faced lads, knee-deep in mud. And as bad and as mad as it sounds, I hate hearing their voices because it feels like a punch to the heart. Then there’s hearing them laugh, and all too soon it’s time to say goodbye and to hang up. Oh my god, how I hate hanging up, cutting off the beautiful, soothing homely comfort of their voices telling me they love me and promising a time when we can all get together again. It’s more than I can bear, this vision of us all in one place, in touching distance, so close that I could reach out my hands and pull them tight to my chest. Speaking to them on the phone is a fleeting joy that leaves me aching, surrounded by their absence. So that’s why I don’t answer and I don’t call back. Not because I don’t miss them. But because I really, really do.

Like seeing Ben today. Even fleetingly. It was mercifully brief, but it still shot something through my heart that I knew as longing. And heartache and regret. So I did what I always do and busied myself with something else. Distracted myself with something that demanded every ounce of my attention. And it worked. Sort of.

I hear my dad back on the phone which is a welcome interruption to my thoughts of Ben and what might have been. ‘You know, it just struck me there, why don’t you think about doing law? You were just as smart as Alice in school, she could give you a foot in the door of her firm and you could work together. Look at how well she’s doing for herself!’

Oh yeah, if he saw her crying whilst eating ice cream in her knickers he’d know exactly how well she’s doing…

‘I’ll think about it, Dad. I need to go,’ I tell him, even though I don’t. I was expecting this phone call to go differently, for him to be excited for me. To wish me luck, not to scrunch up my big chance and toss it back like a piece of scrap paper, reminding me of all the holes and heartache in my life.

‘Don’t be like that, Katie. I just want you to be happy. I know what’s pushing all this, and it’s time to let it go. You have nothing to prove; you are free to live your own life now. It’s what I want for you. It’s what we all want for you, just to be happy.’

‘Sure, thanks. I do really need to go though; I’ve got to make arrangements for the next round of selections tomorrow.’

‘Ah, well, speaking of arrangements, I am making some myself as we speak.’

There is a stilting quality to his voice; I can picture him with his fingers pinching his lips, almost daring himself to let the words pass across the line. He always does this with bad news. I brace myself.

‘I’ve been offered early retirement and I’ve decided to take it.’

‘Wow. That’s great, right?’

‘Yes, I’m excited. There’s more to life than just work. I fancy a bit of time off, a change of scene. I might go travelling, visit some places I’ve always wanted to see – maybe even go to Australia to help your sister with the new baby.’

‘Dad, that’s great! Maybe you can come to London and visit me sometime. We could grab a bite to eat, check out the sights—’

He cuts me off. ‘And in order to do this, Katie, I’ll need to downsize. It means selling the house.’

Aha. I knew there was going to be bad news. Amazing how you can live thousands of miles away from someone yet still read them like a book, be completely fluent in their cues and quirks. I bet he’s pinching his lips till they are blue now.

‘But we can’t sell our house, Dad,’ I tell him.

‘It’s time, Katie. It’s not practical with just me at home on my own now. I’m rattling around in it. I’m afraid I’ve made my decision; I want to move on, release some equity and live my life to the fullest. Your brothers and sister can see it from my point of view and they support it one hundred per cent.’

‘So you’ve told them all except me…’

‘I’ve tried to call you many a time but you never seem to pick up.’

I blink back tears of anger. I can’t believe everyone knows except me. I’m the last one who should be on the very outside of the family… even if it is my own doing.

‘Katie? Please, love, say something. It’s nothing personal, it’s just been so busy and with everything you’ve been going through, it’s been hard to find the right time.’

I blurt out the words before I even feel like I’ve processed them. ‘You cannot sell the house. It’s where we grew up. It’s where all our memories of mum are.’

I can’t find any more words. I shouldn’t need any more words.

‘I thought you’d feel that way, but you can’t stay in the past, Katie, you can’t hang on to something that is gone, never to return. Maybe you should think about that too. Maybe it’s time you took stock and considered doing something else altogether. Something that lets you have a life. That lets you get on with life. Look at Conor and Adam, building great careers, careers for life! And how about Rachel, she’s happy, married, starting a family, she’s got the balance right, able to keep a relationship.’

Ouch.

‘Maybe this time you could meet somebody who wasn’t a chef. That might be the key.’

I open my mouth to speak, to scream. But I’m actually too upset. If I start shouting back my protestations, I’m going to get hysterical and that’s not something I want to do here in broad daylight on the high street.

‘I can’t keep the house on as a storage unit, Katie. You’ll have to find some time to collect your things and some place to put them before I start the viewings.’

‘Fine. Do what you like. I need to get ready for tomorrow.’ So much for the best day of my life so far. So much for the congratulatory call home.

‘Okay, but just remember: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results.’

And at this, I hang up the phone. Insanity? Well, if I am insane, it must be genetic. Selling our family home? I am appalled. This is the worst idea I have ever, ever heard of in my twenty-nine years. As a family, we were broken by grief and now we are scattered through circumstance. The only thing that binds us together is our family home. And Dad wants to sell it? To move on? No way.

My dad is wrong. He is so wrong about me and so wrong about the house. It’s not being a chef that’s holding me back; I just need my big break. Last time was different. I took on too much, and I was naive, inexperienced. I put all my focus on the food and completely ignored the finances. I put too much trust in staff I hardly knew. I didn’t plan for a rainy day. Or cancellations. Or unforeseen expenses in the form of a blocked toilet or a leaky roof or customers who stole the silverware. I never even opened an Excel spreadsheet. I never read my bank statements, I didn’t check my cash flow, I didn’t secure my rent and I didn’t have insurance when the water mains blew. All this eventually totalled my profit, so I paid suppliers on my credit card and before I knew it, I was in the red. Severe red. Bright, flashing, danger-sign, bloodbath red.

Then it became clear that my staff were being extremely liberal with the float and what I can only call tipping themselves. I was called in to the bank, dark suits behind a table, managers, solicitors, debt advisors… Everything was presented to me in very clear, numerical terms… and we came to an agreement. The only way I could manage the debt that I had accrued was to cap my arrears and stem my losses. And that meant unplugging the fridge, closing my beautiful bright blue door and turning the key for the final time on my perfect little restaurant and having no choice but to walk away.

So what else could I do but take the first job that paid weekly? To rely on the kindness of friends? To pack up my knives and my chef whites and fall into line with the rest of the broken and near-bankrupt?

So, yeah, Dad has some valid points, but that does not make him right.

Because as bad as it was, I learnt a lot. I own all the mistakes I made. But not everything I did was a mistake. There was a lot of good in there too. My menus were original, exciting, appealing and, most importantly, delicious. The reviews were positive, the footfall increasing; I was getting busier, I was growing professionally, creatively, skilfully. I was trying new things and often, they were working. I was getting faster, more assured, more daring.

And it was just about then that I got the bank call, and everything unravelled. I had to look to myself and accept that it was my entire fault, because the buck stopped with me. So, when I had finally faced the music and looked deep inside myself, I learnt that I could go through something like that, start right back from the bottom and, with Alice’s help, survive. I remember her telling me that very first night, when I was still very tender and wary of what lay ahead, that a mistake that makes me humble is better than an achievement that makes me arrogant. That all the arrogant lawyers she works with have never failed because they’ve never tried anything new and, as a result, they don’t have a lot to draw on. They can’t empathise. They don’t really know themselves or anyone else.

So, what did I learn about myself? I learnt that if all I could do was crawl, then I’d start crawling. I crawled to Alice for a place to stay and I crawled to the catering agency for a job that started the next day. I know first-hand that it’s not about life getting easier or more forgiving. It’s about me getting stronger and more resilient and taking all those mistakes and turning them into lessons for the future.

My future. The one I want to be excited about, not afraid of.

I want to ring my dad back and tell him, you know what? I’m not insane. I’m not doing the same thing over and over and expecting the same results. I learn, I adapt, I change. I dropped the steak. I cooked a new one. So maybe the most important thing that’s happened to me is not falling but rising up all over again.

But I’m spent, and too tired to try and convince him of something he’s already made up his mind about, so I decide to text him instead.

And then I wait a split second and send another text because I can’t stay mad at him, for all his good intentions and law-oriented suggestions, he’s the only parent I’ve got left.