In my defence, officer, I’ve never met my dad. Mum always lied about him tenfold. She never wanted us to meet, let alone spend time together. As far as she was concerned, the moment he wouldn’t support me as a father, he was dead to her. She gave birth to me in between working as a chalet girl, and then raised me in the Alps after remarrying. I never got on with my stepdad.

Of course my biological father was part of the reason I moved to Southwold. When you grow up without a father, there’s this curiosity inside of you. My dad always represented this other life, one with home cooked meals and ironed clothes, folded neatly in a cupboard. The kind of family my friends had grown up in. One where no one ever questioned whether their mother was coming home that night.

I was the one to reach out to him, to tell him about my life, to invite him into it. I didn’t talk about it too much, partially because I was afraid he’d reject me, that he’d live up to every illustration my mother had made of him, by saying he wanted nothing to do with me. I also knew how much my mother would hate it. She wouldn’t I was building a life, that it was important for me to at least try.

He answered almost immediately. Said he was delighted. That of course he would love to meet. He asked how my mother was, that he would be overjoyed to hear about our lives. We planned to meet right by the merry-go-round in town, then stroll towards the pier and have lunch there.

It was a windy day and there was no phone signal, so I gripped Dorothy’s hand and waited. Then, I saw him. A man with eyes as blue as mine, and a great white beard. He was even more perfect a grandfather for Dorothy than I could have imagined.

I went towards him and said:

“Dad?”

I could have sworn his eyes were full of wonder, and I felt touched, I thought there was love there. He looked down at Dorothy and knelt to her. He pulled out a lollipop and said:

“This must be your beautiful daughter.”

I beamed. He was so kind, so softly spoken, with that lilting Norfolk accent I had imagined a million times. Dot looked up at me and smiled back. We walked towards the pier, as we’d planned to. Dot is only four and can’t walk fast, but my father didn’t seem to mind, he took the time to ask me and my daughter questions. It was a dream come true. He was so gentle, so considerate. He seemed to really want to get to know us, wanted to be part of my life and my family.

“And did you enjoy living in Switzerland?” he asked me.

“What’s your favourite ice cream flavour?” he asked Dot.

“Chocolate,” Dot said.

When we got to the pier we found a café, and ordered fish and chips and lemonades. I asked my dad about his life. He’d had a wild time, he’d been a guitar teacher and a bartender. He talked about fishing, told me he was going out the next morning.

“So, how about we got and get us some chocolate ice cream, ey?” he offered.

He bought three cones and held Dot’s hand. They looked perfect together, better than I ever could have imagined.

“I’d love for you both to come and spend a day on my boat, sometime,” he said.

Dot was the happiest I'd seen her since we moved to Suffolk. We sat on a bench and my dad listened to me rant about work while bouncing Dot on his knee. He made horse sounds, and she giggled some more.

“We can’t, I'm sorry. I’ll be working an early morning shift tomorrow. I’m a nurse,” I reminded him.

“Ah, that’s a shame. What time does your shift start?” he asked.

“At four o’clock. It’ll be alright. It does mean David, my husband, has to take Dot to work with him.”

“Isn’t that a bit tiring for a little one?”

“Well,” I hesitated. Dad’s eyes were so warm and concerned. It felt nice to have someone care so much.

“It’s not ideal. Poor Dot.”

“Here’s an idea, why don’t you let me take care of Dot for you? I’d love to get to know you all better. And she is my granddaughter.”

Honestly, I couldn’t believe my luck. One of the reasons I reached out was because I wanted Dot to have a grandfather. I'd fantasised about having him babysit her. But to have it offered, so heartwarmingly, felt like a dream come true. So I said yes. He offered to come pick her up the next morning before school, and I gave him my address. We parted with warm hugs and promises of days spent on the boat.

I was on such a high, that it was only once I got home that I checked my phone. I had already typed out the message:

“Thank you, Dad, for such a lovely day, it was so great to see you,”

when a notification from a few hours ago came through:

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there, car broke down on the way to the pier. My wife Jill and I were very upset, we were so keen to meet you. When you didn’t pick up your phone we remembered the signal is terrible down by the coast. We hope you had fun without us. Promise, next round of ice cream and merry-go-rounds are on us! Sorry again. Dad x”