Wrapped in a pink fluffy woollen blanket, a baby is buried without ceremony, in a cemetery at the dead of night.

One of a series of revelations that only became known to me in later life and started to unravel the cosy family history I had always imagined for myself. The assumptions, the omissions, the contradictions, the little white lies; the more I discovered, the more questions it posed. Why hadn’t the family secrets been shared with me? 

On a hot summer’s day, a pleasant walk, a chance meeting and a bombshell dropped. ’You know who that was, don’t you?’ my brother said. No. I didn’t.