When she remembers visiting Dad in his high-rise building each holidays, she thinks about how walking down Adelaide Terrace felt like walking through a canyon; how she was small anyway, but felt miniscule; and how when they hopped in the lift, the carpet always smelled strange, as if no amount of cleaning could erase the number of feet that had trodden on it over the years. The receptionist would greet them, making a fuss because she only saw the children (at most) four times a year. Dad's was the corner office, looking out over the river and the big green parks surrounded by cars, and som