Not his. And that was both relief and aching disappointment. "I'll make a guess that someone cut a chunk out of his memory to lose that one."
Since that was what had happened to him. He'd had a sharp reminder, recently, but there was no sense of familiarity to it. "You're not mine by blood, Emma. My daughter was born in 1906, in Cardiff. In the middle of an earthquake."
And he really needed that drink. Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he started to head towards the hotel, and the bar. "Still family as far as I'm concerned."