I was starving, but now I have no appetite at all. 'No, thanks. Can I have a coffee?' I say.

'Sure, sure.' He rubs his hands together, as if pleased it's going well. He fills up the kettle cautiously, and I stare at him.

This man is my father. This is my dad. Dad. Daddy. Father. Pa. I've never said that to anyone before. I used to practise it at night in my room at Bryant Court, especially during the height of myRailway Children obsession. My daddy's away, I'd told myself. He'll come back soon. Mum's just protecting me, like Bobbie's mum is. Night after night, but he never came, and then I grew out of pretending. I watch Guy as he shuffles round the kitchen, trying to slot everything into place.

He's Cecily's lover. He's the Bowler Hat'sbrother, for God's sake - oh God, I think to myself. That means the Bowler Hat is my uncle and Octavia and Julius are my actual first cousins, not half distant relatives it didn't matter that I didn't like so much. And - he's my dad. Not much of one so far, I have to say.

The room is spinning; my head hurts. I get up. 'I'm sorry, I think I have to go,' I say. 'I don't know

If I can do this right now.'

Guy turns, his face full of alarm. 'No!' he says loudly. 'You can't go.' He hears himself and then says, 'Sorry. I mean, please, please don't go.'

'I didn't have any idea . . .' I say. I shake my head, still standing there. To my surprise tears are flowing down my cheeks. I dash them away, crossly. 'Sorry. It's just a shock—' I sink back into my chair.

'I thought she'd have told you,' Guy says. 'That's why I asked you yesterday, to come and see me. She promised she'd tell you. She really didn't?' I shake my head, stifling a sob. He grits his teeth. 'God, that woman - I'm sorry, I know she's your mother, but really.'

There's a pause while I collect myself. 'Don't be mean about Mum,' I say. 'Where were you, when she was bringing me up with no money, completely on her own?'

'I didn't know!' Guy shouts suddenly, and he looks about ten years younger, not this tired, washed-out old man I don't recognise from Cecily's diary.

'You didn't know?'

'Of course not, Natasha!' He looks appalled. 'What do you think I am? I had no idea until she turned up completely out of the blue, two weeks ago, the day after I'd seen you at the shop. Out of the blue! First this diary arrives in the post, and then she arrives, no warning, nothing. At first I thought she'd brought another bloody diary for me to read, but it was this!' He's practically shouting. 'She tells me this, and then she runs off to God knows where, and I'm left - I didn't know what to do! Do you understand? Next time she comes I'm not letting her in, I tell you.'

His tone is so outraged, I almost want to laugh, but he's serious. He lowers his voice a little. 'Natasha, don't you think if I'd have known before, I'd have . . .' He swallows. 'I know I was awful when you came round last week, and I'm sorry . . .' He bangs the teaspoon he's holding impotently against his baggy cords, like a child with a rattle. 'I'd only just found out I was your father, and Miranda's nowhere to be seen, I don't know if she's told you or not . . . And it was the anniversary of Hannah's death . . . it's always a bad day for me. Then you appear and - I'm so sorry.' He looks so sad. 'I just - I wasn't ready to talk to you properly. To be the person you needed.'

'Look, Guy,' I say. 'I don't need a dad, I've got by all these years without one. It's fine.'

The kettle screeches away on the hob and he turns it off. I look round the sunny kitchen again with photos on the walls, poetry magnets on the fridge, cream ceramic jars marked Sugar, Flour, Tea, Coffee. In the corner, a cat stretches out in a basket. Radio 4 is on in the background. It's messy, but lived-in. Cosy. Upstairs, someone is moving about. When I was younger this was something like the sort of family set-up I dreamed of having.

'Do you believe that I didn't know?' Guy says. He comes over and slaps his hands onto the back of one of the chairs. 'Does it make sense?'