Then he starts to follow us out.

And I have to reason with myself not to stay and watch.

William’s driver greets me with a tip of his hat and a warm smile, opening the door for me. ‘Thank you.’ I nod, sliding into the backseat. I watch for a few moments through the window as William and Miller talk. Or William talks. Miller is just listening, looking down at his feet, nodding every now and then. Every curious part of my brain wants to roll the window down and listen, but my curiosity transforms into panic when I allow the newsflashes of earlier to settle. In the space of a day, I suddenly have a mum and a dad. Miller doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that William Anderson is my father, and something tells me he’s going to be even more shocked than I am.

I’m out of the car in a split second, joining them on the pavement. Both men look to me, Miller on a frown, William with a knowing, almost smug, smile. He’s going to enjoy this. I know he is. I could think for years about the best way to word this and still be clueless. There’s no right way. There’s nothing that’s going to lessen the shock. Miller’s still regarding me closely a few moments later when I still haven’t spoken, so I draw the biggest breath I’m ever likely to and gesture towards . . . my father. ‘Miller, meet my dad.’

He doesn’t give me anything. His face has fallen into complete blankness. Poker-faced. Straight. The most impassive expression I’ve ever seen on him. All this time I’ve spent learning how to read him and deciphering his moods, and now I’m lost. I begin worrying my ring on my finger, shifting under his blank face, and I look to William to gauge his mood. His smugness is now full-on amusement.

I shake my head a little in despair and return my cautious eyes to Miller. He looks like he’s gone into shock. ‘Miller?’ I prompt, getting increasingly uncomfortable as the silence extends.

‘Hart?’ William says, joining me in my attempt to rouse Miller from his daze.

It’s another awkward few seconds before he finally shows signs of life. His glazed gaze passes between us a couple of times before he takes in air. Lots of it. And lets it spill slowly out on three familiar words: ‘Just . . . fucking . . . perfect.’

William laughs. A proper belly laugh. ‘So now you really do have to respect me,’ he chuckles, getting a cheap thrill from Miller’s reaction.

‘Fuck . . . me.’

‘Glad you’re pleased.’

‘Fucking hell.’

‘Less of that in front of my daughter.’

Miller coughs his thoughts on that and throws wide eyes my way. ‘How . . .’ He pauses, pursing his lips . . . and they slowly slink into a mischievous grin as he leisurely returns his focus to William, brushing down the sleeves of his jacket casually as he does.

What’s he thinking?

Once he’s through fussing over his suit, his hand slowly extends towards William. ‘Nice to meet you.’ His grin widens. ‘Dad.’

‘You can fuck right off!’ William blurts, knocking Miller’s offering away. ‘Over my dead body, Hart! Just think yourself fucking lucky that I’m even allowing you in her life.’ His mouth snaps shut and he looks embarrassed, and I know it’s because he’s just realised that he has no right to dictate that. ‘Just look after her,’ he finishes, fidgeting under my bemused eyes. ‘Please.’

Miller’s palm slides onto my nape and his mouth moves to my ear. ‘Will you give us five?’ he requests quietly, flexing his hand to turn me towards the car. ‘Jump in.’

I don’t protest, mainly because no matter how much I try to delay the talk these two men are going to have, it’ll happen eventually. So we may as well be done with that today, too.

I slide in and get comfortable, shutting the door softly, and fight the temptation to push my ear up against the window. But I’m distracted from my temptation when the door on the other side opens and Gracie appears, bending a little to get level with me. I shift in my seat, a little self-conscious, feeling under close scrutiny. I am. Her navy eyes are gazing at me fondly.

‘I know I have no right to be,’ she says quietly, almost reluctantly, ‘but I’m so, so proud of you for fighting for your love.’

I see her hand twitching by her side, wanting to touch me, but I can see uncertainty now, maybe because Miller’s back to his normal self and I seem more stable. I know I feel it. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need her in there. My mother. She was there for me, and perhaps she was operating on guilt, but when I needed her, she was there. I take her shaking hand and squeeze it, silently telling her that it’s OK. ‘Thank you,’ I murmur, struggling to maintain our eye contact, simply because I might cry if I don’t look away. I don’t want to cry anymore.

She brings my hand to her lips and pushes them hard to my skin, clenching her eyes shut. ‘I love you,’ she croaks. It takes every modicum of my remaining strength not to break down on her, and I know she’s struggling, too. ‘Don’t be too hard on your father. Everything that happened, it’s my fault, sweetheart.’

I shake my head, angry. ‘No, it was Charlie.’ And then I have to ask because there’s one thing unclear in my mind. ‘You met William before Charlie?’

She nods on a frown. ‘Yes.’

‘And William broke things off?’

She nods again, and I can see it hurts her to think of it. ‘I was oblivious to his world. He wanted me out of it, but I slept with Charlie to punish him. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into before it was too late. I’m not proud of what I did, Olivia.’

It’s me nodding now. I get it. All of it, and despite the horrors my mother and father have endured, I can’t help thinking that I wouldn’t have my someone if our histories were different. ‘Why didn’t you just tell William?’ I ask. ‘About me, about Charlie?’

She smiles fondly. ‘I was young . . . stupid . . . scared. He screwed with my mind. It was a simple decision. I hurt or everyone I loved hurt.’

‘We hurt anyway.’

She nods, swallowing hard. ‘I can’t change what happened and how I dealt with it. I wish I could.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘I just hope you can forgive me for my poor decisions.’

There’s no question. I don’t need to think about this. I get out of the car and throw my arms around my mum, burying my face in her neck while she sobs relentlessly on me. And I don’t let go. Not for a long, long time.

It takes William to sever our contact when he takes Gracie by the hips and gently tries to coax her away from me. ‘Let’s go, darling,’ he soothes, letting her kiss my face a few more times before gently tugging her back.

I smile at William, seeing completeness as he holds on to my mother and looks at me. ‘I didn’t want you to hate your mother,’ he says, telling me without the need to ask why he spun me the story about sending her away. He didn’t know she’d been scared away. He thought she’d abandoned us. ‘I didn’t want you to know who your father was.’ He pauses and Gracie squeezes his forearm. ‘At least, who I thought was your father.’

‘You’re my dad.’ I smile, drawing one from him, too.

‘Are you disappointed?’