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Chapters (86)
  1. Title Page
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Love
  4. Before
  5. One
  6. ONE
  7. Two
  8. TWO
  9. Three
  10. THREE
  11. Four
  12. FOUR
  13. Five
  14. FIVE
  15. Six
  16. SIX
  17. Seven
  18. SEVEN
  19. Eight
  20. EIGHT
  21. Nine
  22. NINE
  23. Ten
  24. TEN
  25. Eleven
  26. ELEVEN
  27. After
  28. One
  29. ONE
  30. Two
  31. TWO
  32. Three
  33. THREE
  34. Four
  35. FOUR
  36. Five
  37. FIVE
  38. Six
  39. SIX
  40. Seven
  41. SEVEN
  42. Eight
  43. EIGHT
  44. Nine
  45. NINE
  46. Ten
  47. TEN
  48. Eleven
  49. ELEVEN
  50. Twelve
  51. TWELVE
  52. Thirteen
  53. THIRTEEN
  54. Fourteen
  55. FOURTEEN
  56. Fifteen
  57. FIFTEEN
  58. Sixteen
  59. SIXTEEN
  60. Seventeen
  61. SEVENTEEN
  62. Eighteen
  63. EIGHTEEN
  64. Nineteen
  65. NINETEEN
  66. Twenty
  67. TWENTY
  68. Twenty-One
  69. TWENTY-ONE
  70. Twenty-Two
  71. TWENTY-TWO
  72. Twenty-Three
  73. TWENTY-THREE
  74. Twenty-Four
  75. TWENTY-FOUR
  76. Twenty-Five
  77. TWENTY-FIVE
  78. Twenty-Six
  79. TWENTY-SIX
  80. Twenty-Seven
  81. TWENTY-SEVEN
  82. Twenty-Eight
  83. TWENTY-EIGHT
  84. Eleven Months Later
  85. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  86. Copyright

When she comes to stand next to the girl in the teddy-bear coat, it’s like someone’s been asked to draw a picture of two girls that are the exact opposite of one another. Where the girl in the teddy-bear coat is small and pale with a soft, round face and a smooth, neat bob, this girl is tall and spider-thin with a sharp nose and an even sharper smile. She’s mixed with something. With what, I don’t know. Her skin isn’t much lighter than mine, and her eyes are the same colour. A brown that, like the navy blue books, looks almost black in this light. Like Rosh she has far too much hair, a storm of dark curls that twist halfway down her back. Except where Rosh’s are loose, these are tight as springs.

She raises her eyebrows at me.

‘She’s awake.’

She unbuttons her black wool coat and throws herself into the armchair next to me, draping her legs over the arm. ‘Have you told her yet?’ she asks, peering at me from under her thick eyelashes. When I glare at her, she rubs her hands together. ‘Good. I didn’t miss it. I love this part.’

I lift my chin and hold her gaze for a moment longer than is comfortable, determined not to let her know how scared I am. She does the same and just as I’m about to ask her what her problem is, I see it. Not quite a smile, more of a swift twitch at the corners of her mouth, then it’s gone.

I’m determined not to look away, but I’m aware of someone else, a woman who emerges from a door behind the counter and says, ‘Ashana, you’re awake.’

I turn as she picks up a wooden chair and walks over to where I’m sitting on the sofa. She puts it down in front of me and there’s something about the way she sits, so properly – back straight, shoulders back, knees together – that makes me sit a little straighter as well.

She’s older than the other two, about my mother’s age, I’m guessing, but they look nothing alike. Where my mother is all soft curves with a fine halo of fluff around her hairline that always sticks up, no matter how much hairspray she uses, this woman is immaculate. Her hair is the same colour, that same poppy-seed black, but is cropped short so I can see all of her face. The light from the lamp on the counter picks out the highpoints of her face so they seem to glow. This rich, red-gold that catches on her cheekbones, the arch of her eyebrows and the tip of her nose.