"Thanks," she said, crossing the threshold and glancing round in search of somewhere to put down the dish. "Where can I put this? It's apple," she added, by way of an explanation, "Popsicle ... my dad ... used to bring me apple pie whenever I was upset about something."

She'd hated the Hilltop Cafe, but their food had been excellent. And she still thought of him as her father, despite the fact that she now knew who and what he was.

"It was really brave of you."