David Davison was someone I had never heard of up until now, but I felt like I had known him all my life.

Suddenly I was finding out so much about him – like when you get a new car and you start seeing the same one everywhere.

We were at Mrs Davison’s house, getting it ready for her (unbeknownst to her) imminent return.

Her neighbour, Genghis, had hatched a crazy plan to spring her from the care home where she was convalescing – and in the process, smoke out her long-missing son.

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On the mantelpiece was a photo of David with his smiling wife and daughter.

In the bedroom, a photo of a teenage David with Mrs Davison and Herbie the husband, on holiday: Herbie with a tanned beer-belly, Mrs Davison glamorous in sunglasses, and David with a huge, happy grin.

I imagined a home video of the family playing up to the camera at the beach, the sun blinding the lens.........

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