‘I don’t want to go.’ I searched each of their faces in turn. Only Bonnie looked at me as she settled beside me. Her leg shook against mine and I couldn’t remember a time when we had been so close.

Removing my hood, I looked back at the island through the scratched glass of the boat where the rain still lashed against it. I could have drawn a line right through my heart where it was splitting in two.

Tears continued to trickle down my cheeks as the wind rocked the boat heavily to one side, making Bonnie yelp. I reached out my hands to steady myself, letting go of Grey Bear. Maybe Bonnie was right and we wouldn’t make it to the mainland, but for some reason Dad was determined to try. Maybe I no longer particularly cared if the sea swallowed me up.

At eleven, I wasn’t prepared to accept our parents’ hurried reasons for leaving the island. I couldn’t believe that this was for good and I couldn’t understand one bit why they were dragging us away in the middle of a storm. ‘Will we come back?’ I whispered to my sister.

Bonnie’s hand shook as it reached for mine under my mac. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think we ever will.’

PRESENT

Chapter One

My clients sit on the sofa opposite me. Her arms are crossed tightly in front of her chest; he is leaning forward, his hands clasped between his widely stretched legs. I could easily fit in the gap between this couple, and in each of their sessions they are moving further apart.

Her jaw is so tense I can almost see it pulsing as she stares at me. I’m surprised she hasn’t cried today – she has in every other session. Her husband keeps glancing over at her, but she won’t look at him. Each time he does, his eyebrows twitch as if he’s either wondering where it all went so wrong or what he should do about it.

‘I don’t know what more to say,’ he mumbles, and she laughs and shakes her head, mouthing something so quietly I can’t work out what it is. ‘I’m sorry,’ he continues.

‘God!’ she cries and looks up to the ceiling. Her determination is so resolute I can see her willing the tears not to fall.

I hate this time of the session, but already the minute hand has ticked past six. Tanya will be waiting for me to leave so she can close up behind me. Looking after reception means she is always the last one out of the door.

‘I’m afraid—’ I start, but my client interrupts me as she pulls herself off the couch and grabs the cardigan that hangs limply on the arm.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘Our time is up.’