The sun might be dropping now, a ball of fire, into the sea, but the residue remained, radiating in waves from the white stone pathway and imprisoning the perfume of the bougainvillaea and frangipani that lined it on either side. Lilli felt it burning through the soles of her shoes and longed to exchange them for a pair of rubber-soled flipflops, longed, too, to get out of the cool-wool trousers and into a loose cotton sundress. But the discomfort her unsuitable attire was causing her was nothing compared to the tightness in her throat, the hammering of her heart. She was home and in a few moments she would see her father. It was what she wanted more than anything, her whole reason for being here, and yet now that the meeting was imminent she shrank from it. The circumstances of their parting were very immediate now, the awkwardness exacerbated by the years of estrangement. But it was not only that which made her dread seeing him. It was knowing that very soon she would be face to face with the reality of his illness, seeing with her own eyes, rather than with her imagination, the ravages it had inflicted on him.
