At nine years old she’d never had a chance to know her father. Not to know about his life, his personality, or his dreams, Only that he loved her and had been frail and ill all her life. “She never even asks how her father is”, said her mother’s friend disapprovingly. Her mother must have told her that. “They won’t tell me, so there’s no point in asking”, she thought. No! I think she said! They wouldn’t tell her why he was in hospital. They wouldn’t tell her why he died, not at nine years old, not until years later when they were all dead and more voices could speak.