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Robyn glanced across at Amélie, in jeans, fashionably ripped, and a soft baby-pink jumper, arms clasped around her knees, shining pink toenails on elegant pale feet, and mouth slightly agape. Schrödinger was curled up next to her, head tucked into her side, the rise and fall of his tiny body indicating complete peace.

The girl was on the precipice of womanhood and had changed considerably from the round-faced girl with a blob of vanilla ice cream on the tip of her nose, giggling uncontrollably at the camera, while Robyn and Davies grinned wildly for the kind Spanish tourist who’d snapped their photo outside the Houses of Parliament. The picture stood on the mantelpiece over the fireplace that had not contained a crackling fire since Davies’ death.

The Devil Wears Prada had been Amélie’s choice, borrowed from her mother, Brigitte, who would not have looked out of place in the fashion industry with her sultry French looks, impeccable grooming and ability to wear any combination of clothes and make them look as if they’d been especially designed for her petite frame. Amélie had thrown the DVD on the table with carefree abandon before dropping full length onto the carpet to play with the cat.

‘He’s perfect,’ she repeated as Schrödinger woke and nudged her elbow with his damp nose, deep vibrating murmurs of approval at her light touch along his backbone. ‘How come you decided to get a cat all of a sudden?’

‘His owner died unexpectedly. He seemed all alone and I felt sorry for him.’ Her own words echoed in her head. Was she not lonely too? Was that not one of the reasons she’d taken him?

‘Poor little thing. How old do you think he is?’

‘At least four months. His eyes would have been blue when he was born and they take up to three months to change colour.’

‘And what a colour they are. They’re not just orange, they’re Day-Glo orange. I know Richard would let me have a cat but it isn’t fair, is it? He’d suffer too much.’

Amélie was talking about her stepfather, married to her mother before Davies had met Robyn. Richard, cheery-faced with his exuberant confidence, impeccably attired in freshly pressed shirts and slacks with razor-sharp creases, as if he were permanently about to step onto a deck of a yacht, was as proud of Amélie as if he’d sired her. He would do anything for his stepdaughter, even allow her a pet cat in spite of having a severe allergy to them.

‘You can share this one,’ said Robyn. ‘He’s taken to you.’

They’d talked about cats on many an occasion. For all her grown-up ways, Amélie had something missing – Davies. Her sudden adoration of cats came about roughly the same time Davies died. Robyn thought Amélie had transferred her feelings for her father onto the animals, and chosen cats because Davies had always loved them and read stories of Mog the Cat to her when she was very young. It didn’t require a degree in psychology to work out Amélie’s obsession with the creatures. She needed something of her own to love and that would always be there for her. Robyn understood that emotion. It was one she was familiar with herself. Why else would she be showering Davies’ daughter with such affection? Because she was the daughter she and Davies never had together.

Amélie had allowed an opening in the conversation to mention Davies. Robyn couldn’t resist seizing her opportunity.

‘I reckon Davies would have loved him too,’ she said.

Amélie rubbed the animal’s head with the palm of her hand. ‘He would’ve,’ she replied.

Robyn didn’t need to say anything else.

A myriad of emotions passed over Amélie’s face. She gave a small cough before speaking again. ‘I don’t like to talk about him too much with Mum. It’s difficult, what with her being with Richard. I feel I have to keep my thoughts to myself. I’ve chatted to Florence about him, of course, but it feels like he’s moving away from me. I’m beginning to forget him, Robyn. And I worry I’ll forget all about him completely one day. Sometimes, I can’t picture exactly what he looked like. I have to look at photographs, and then I feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t forget him. He was such a great dad. Even though he was away a lot, he’d be there for me as soon as he returned. And now I know why he was away, he’s even more of a hero. Not many girls can say their dad was a spy like a real-life James Bond.’

The words dried on her lips and in that instant she’d transformed back to the vulnerable eleven-year-old who was shell-shocked to learn her father was dead. Robyn dropped beside her on the carpet and put an arm around her thin shoulders, making out the bony ridge of her collarbone.

‘You won’t ever forget him. Think of the way he’d throw back his head when he found something funny and erupt with laughter so noisy it would make you want to join in. Remember the way he’d kiss your forehead for no reason other than he cared about you. You might forget every detail of him, but you’ll always remember something special about him, and that will keep him in your heart and alive forever.’

Amélie swallowed and returned her attention to Schrödinger. ‘It’s weird because sometimes I think I see him. Do you?’

Robyn tried not to tense at these words. ‘That’s normal. There are so many people who resemble others. It’s only natural you’d see an identifying feature – a tall man with dark hair, glasses like those he wore – and think it’s him. I’ve done it too. Soon after we lost him, I was crossing the road and was convinced I saw him in a crowd but it wasn’t him. I chased after the man and when he turned around I could see the similarities, but it wasn’t Davies.’

She’d not opened up about this before but if she wanted to gain Amélie’s confidence, it was necessary. It had been a horrendous few weeks following his death. Soon after he’d been buried, she’d lost their baby she’d been carrying, and the loss of the two most precious gifts in her world had sent her spiralling downwards into a serious depression and breakdown. Her cousin Ross and his wife, Jeanette, had helped her through it. And now, she was dragging them both back into her mess by asking for help again.

She removed her arm and Amélie spoke again. ‘It’s horrible, isn’t it? I was so sure it was him even though I knew it couldn’t be. He did look like Dad, only older and thinner, and he wasn’t dressed smartly like Dad. He was wearing a faded sweatshirt. Dad always looked like he was going into an important meeting. Always had the shiniest shoes.’ She smiled at the memory.

‘See, you remember all sorts of things once you start talking about him. You needn’t worry about forgetting him,’ said Robyn, hoping Amélie would say more about this unusual encounter.

‘I even wondered if Dad had a long-lost twin brother. Florence said that was hardly likely and I was being silly, and maybe I needed to start wearing glasses. She was trying to cheer me up,’ she explained.

‘Where was this?’ asked Robyn, keeping her tone light so as not to cause suspicion. ‘Town?’

‘Yes, at the CineBowl in Uttoxeter. We were at a friend’s bowling birthday party at the end of January, and he was bowling a few lanes down from us. I didn’t spot him to start with, but I’d just bowled a strike and was cheering, and I spotted him looking across at me. It was one of those weird moments. He stared right at me. I didn’t know what to do. I told Florence and she looked across but he’d gone. I felt silly afterwards. It couldn’t have been Dad. I suppose it’d happened because I’d been thinking about him a lot over Christmas. Anyhow, it’s not happened again. I’ve not seen the man and we went to the bowling alley again three days ago.’

‘I wouldn’t let it bother you. As I said, it happens a lot. It’s part of brains refusing to accept a loss. As for forgetting Davies, you won’t. If you fancy we can talk and talk about him and it’ll bring back all those happy memories. What about the time he decided we should all go camping?’

‘And he forgot to bring a tin opener! His face. He turned every bag upside down looking for one. He was so sure he had brought it!’

‘And he tried to open the tins with a stone.’

‘And gave up and took us to the pub for dinner instead. We had such a laugh.’ Amélie’s face broke into a huge smile and they both began to laugh. Robyn, grateful to be part of this girl’s life, was not going to press her further, but Amélie had given her something to consider – Davies might be alive and was watching them all.