‘You mustn’t worry about the job thing, Sadie,’ Jan says. ‘You know you can stay with me for as long as you like.’

‘I know,’ I say, and give her arm a squeeze through the raincoat.

‘Everybody needs a break sometimes,’ she goes on. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

A break is a nice way to put it. She’s conveniently leaving out how I was asked to leave Horton College, and how I’ve been having periodic panic attacks since arriving back, jobless, to Milham. It’s frankly embarrassing. Jan’s house has always been a second home to me though. As for my actual home, Mom’s house is only a three-minute drive from Jan’s, but that door is closed to me these days.

‘I sometimes think that -’ Jan pauses. ‘I sometimes think it was my fault, Sadie.’

I stop walking, taken by surprise.

‘What do you mean? What was your fault?’

She sighs. ‘Well, you know. Driving you so hard. Pushing you. You never did ‘have a break’ growing up, did you? I was always pushing you to do more. You and Fiona. But Fiona was different. She never worked as hard as you did.’

She didn’t have to. Fiona was smart, smarter than me. Smarter than almost anybody. I touch the locket I always wear around my neck.

It’s true, Jan coached us, pushed us. But I always wanted to be pushed. I wanted to escape little Milham town every bit as much as Jan wanted me to. Everything she dreamed for us, I dreamed too. Harder than she knows.

I squeeze Jan’s arm again.

‘You were my fairy godmother. You still are. Don’t second guess yourself. And don’t worry about me. I’m keeping an eye out for substitute teacher gigs to tide me over for now. Something will come up.’

She turns her head just enough to look me in the face; her raincoat squeaks. She smiles at me.

‘You’re a good girl, Sadie.’ Her voice is kind, protective, loving. ‘You always were.’

I drop my eyes from hers, focus on the parking lot. The drops are coming down thick now, enough that nobody could tell if it’s rain on my face or tears. I glance back. The wind is strong and the flowers are cheap, and there’s already a flutter of pink petals come loose, whipped up in the air like morbid confetti.

A good girl.

If only she knew.

One

The doctor’s waiting room hasn’t changed much since I was a little girl. Whiskery old Doctor Harrison died years ago, but the chenille sofas, the sad-looking potted plants, and the popcorn ceiling are all pretty much the same. What’s changed is me. It’s twenty years later and I’m not here for an earache or a sore throat any more. I wish I were.