My mother’s driving was truly terrible. Why was she in such a rush to reach the coast? The beautiful weather was forecast to hold, so there really was no hurry.

When we stopped at the hotel for lunch, it all made sense. My mother sat at a white-clothed table with my father, showing him underwater photographs of dead fish.

I listened in at a distance, amazed to hear my father’s voice again. He was in good health for someone who was dead. I was not, however, invited to join them for the meal.