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‘I’ve been doing a bit of tidying up and clearing out,’ he said. ‘This is for you, it was your mother’s.’

‘Dad …’

‘It’s OK, you know I’d hate to leave you with all of that to do,’ he said pragmatically and held out the box to her. It was a small red leather jewellery box, inscribed with the name of the jeweller – Mappin & Webb. Fliss recognised the name of the famous – and expensive – jewellery house on Regent Street. She had passed it once or twice, had gazed through the windows at the ornate displays of beautiful objects, the gems iridescent as they caught the light.

She clicked the little catch open and inside there was a silver brooch. It was shaped like a rose, the design delicate and intricate, studded with red rubies.

‘She would want you to have it now.’

A memory quivered in the back of her mind. The fleeting image of a man handing over a box to her mother.

‘… she has your eyes, don’t you think …?’

‘It’s so pretty,’ she said. ‘Where did it come from?’

A shadow passed across her father’s face. ‘She never told me, but I think it must have been from him … Anyway, she called it her winter rose. She didn’t wear it much, I think to spare me, though I saw her take it out of the box from time to time to admire it.’

Fliss turned the brooch over in her hands, the rubies glinting as a shaft of sunlight fell across the room.

She looked at her father. His eyes were closed and his head had slipped back on to the headrest as sleep overtook him. But Fliss was wide awake, her heart full of questions that her father would never be able to answer.

Fliss caught the train home the following afternoon. She had barely slept and felt exhausted. She had put her father to bed, and slept fitfully in her old room, aware that her father’s sleep was troubled and that he woke up every couple of hours, in pain or discomfort.

John had been quiet and rested for most of the following day. She hated leaving him – it was clear he didn’t have long left, and every moment felt precious – but she had a lot to process and needed some time on her own. She promised to return as soon as she could.

The train journey home felt very different to the one travelling there yesterday. Everything had changed. Fliss was no longer the person she thought she was, and the man she believed was her dad wasn’t. Inevitably, she found herself wondering about this mysterious other man, her biological father. Part of her felt disloyal to John by thinking about him, but another part of her was intrigued – who wouldn’t be? Her real father was someone her mother had loved – or thought she had – who had been married, and who had wanted nothing to do with her …

As Fliss stared out of the window, the fields gradually giving way to a more urban landscape, she thought of Tara and her unwanted pregnancy. Fliss’s mother had been in the same position – a young, unmarried woman, falling pregnant to a man who had no interest in the baby. The difference was that her mother had kept the baby, had kept Fliss. The situation was an almost impossible choice for any woman, she reflected.

On the train table in front of her, Fliss’s mobile phone began to ring, Kit’s name appearing on the screen. Fliss hesitated. She wasn’t sure she was ready to explain everything that had just happened, but she desperately wanted to hear his voice.

‘Kit,’ she greeted him.

‘Fliss! I … th— … you?’

The phone crackled in and out of life, syllables staccato, words impossible to understand. ‘The reception’s really bad – I can’t hear you.’

They must have moved into a better area, as this time Kit’s voice was clearer.

‘I’ve had some incredible news – Tara too. It’s been confirmed – they’re bringing This Is Us to the West End, at the Duke of York’s theatre. We start rehearsals in a fortnight and open in the new year!’

‘Oh, Kit, that’s incredible. Congratulations!’ Fliss breathed. She was genuinely happy for him. She knew how much he wanted this, how hard he had worked for it.

‘What time are you back? We’re g … to the …’

Fliss rested her head against the window, staring out, unseeing, before closing her eyes. ‘Can you hear me? My train gets in just after seven.’

Another burst of static. ‘… all of us. We’ll be at the Phoenix. I …’ There were three beeps and the call cut off.

Fliss sighed, a tangle of emotions pulsing through her. She was happy for Kit, of course she was, though she still needed to make a decision about America. It seemed like the wrong time to leave. Her father was gravely ill, and Kit certainly wouldn’t be able to join her in the States, given he was committed to this play for the foreseeable future.

She wanted to tell Kit what her father had told her, but now Kit was going out on the town, with Tara of all people.

Fliss sighed. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. She would text Kit and tell him she couldn’t make it.

Chapter 29

The music was loud, a heavy dance beat with a repetitive bassline. The room was dark and packed with bodies, coloured lights spinning across them as people laughed and danced, throwing their arms up in the air with abandon. The night was full of promise, everyone young and having fun, excited to see what might happen.