Chocolate eggs with caramel centres melting in your mouth. A treasure hunt for shiny ova, brightly coloured blue, green, gold and red. Unwrapping the metallic foil and pressing it in a large heavy book, along with other remains of Easters past.

These are my memories of Easter as a child. No thought of Jesus or gruesome crucifixions. With that in mind I walked into the supermarket looking for chocolate eggs for my daughter. I knew what I wanted and finally found them — a dozen small eggs with yummy caramel in the middle — my favourites.

“Happy Easter darling. I bought something for you, so close your eyes.” I opened the dash box of the car and transferred the netted eggs to her little hands.

“You can open them now. They’re my favourite, with caramel centres, just like the caramel bears we used to get from the shop.”

“Oh, yummy.”

“But you better not eat them now because you’re mum said you’re pretty sick, and I can feel that you’ve got a temperature. So take them home to mummy’s and eat them when you’re feeling better.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t eat them now Daddy.” A look of disappointment crossed her face.

“So you’re flying up to Nanna and Pappa’s farm tomorrow, that’s sounds exciting.”

“Yes, mummy said I had to rest today so I am well enough to go.”

“We’ll just lay down and watch a video this afternoon then take you back to mummy’s early so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

The phone rang and I was brought back to the present — Good Friday.

“Hello Daddy.”

“Hi sweetie how was the flight?”

“OK.”

“Were you scared flying by yourself?”

“No, there was a nice man sitting next to me and he helped me with all the puzzles.”

“Did the airline ladies look after you?”

“Yes, I had to finish all the games in the book.”

“So what are doing tomorrow?”

“I’m going to hide some eggs for everybody to find.”

“You mean, like a treasure hunt.”

“Mummy gave me 20 eggs and I’m giving two eggs to everyone.”

“Even the baby.”

“No, not the baby.” She giggled.

“So counting everyone else that makes . . . 1, 2 . . . 8. So 8 time 2 is the same as 8 plus 8 which is 16, and 20 take away sixteen leaves 4 eggs.” I patiently explained my reasoning so she would see how mathematics could be useful. She had been disliking it at school.

“No Daddy, there’s 6 left. I worked it out already.”

“Did you work it out all by yourself?”

“Yes. Get a pencil and I’ll tell you.”

I was impressed and hunted for a writing implement, though I couldn’t see how 6 could be the right answer.

“OK, ready.”

“Now draw 20 circles on the paper.”

“1, 2, 3 . . . 19, 20. OK finished.”

“Write a name for everyone on two eggs. Just use a letter or two letters for names that start the same. ‘E’ for Ellen, ‘JA’ for Jane and ‘JO’ for John. Have you done that?”

“Almost. Just a second.”

“Count how many eggs are left.”

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.” Oops I had counted the baby by mistake before.

“That’s right.”

“So what are you going to do with the 6 that are left.”

“I’m giving them to you.”

“Thankyou so much, darling.”

“I have to go to sleep now, so I can wake up early and hide the eggs. Happy Easter Daddy.”

“Happy Easter darling. Have fun with your egg hunt. Bye.”

As I hung up, I glanced at the coloured drawing on the fridge. There was a large yellow, orange and green butterfly in the middle, a blue and pink egg to the left, and a blue egg cracked open to reveal a yellow chick to the right. I had helped her colour it in at afterschool care the previous day, just before I gave her the caramel eggs. ‘Happy Easter Daddy’ was written in loving ink across the top, by a tiny gorgeous hand belonging to the most precious gift that Easter brings.