My wife left me with our six daughters for a wealthy man. Fifteen years later she texted to say she’d be at our oldest daughter’s wedding — and my daughter told me to let her come, because she had already prepared a special welcome for her.

Tansy was on my hip. Junia was nine and standing on the stairs and she has told me since that she remembers all of it, which I did not know for eleven years.

Sabina said — and I have never once had to look this up, it is simply in me the way my own phone number is:

“You can’t give me the life I want. Roland can. He bought me a car. He took me to the coast for a week. Do you understand what kind of life that is? That’s the life I’m supposed to have. You can’t give me anything.”

Roland Frayne was her manager at the property firm in Bristow Vale. It had been going on nine months, which is a number I only learned later and which I have chosen not to think about in relation to Tansy’s age.