“I lifetime of poor decisions,” I say, forcing a smile as I grab my bags. “Thank you.”

It’s no longer snowing when I step outside, which would have been nice if the aftermath wasn’t a sidewalk of slush. I take two steps before my feet slip out from underneath me. And as my apples and blackberries and mint chocolate chip ice cream roll into the street, I look up from the ground and see Callum standing over me.

* * *

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

Holly almost spills her wine all over the doormat, which would be an actual travesty. One, because I’m standing on it. Two, because her wine is red. And three, because my boots are suede and Saint Laurent.

“Banoffee pie?” I hold the box out to her, and hope that it distracts her from my almost-quarter-life-crisis hair.

It doesn’t.

“Did someone attack you?” She grabs a messy curl and uses her Law & Order investigating skills to examine it. “Did you get a good look at them? Did you phone the police? You should have filed a report straight away. You deserve justice. Mum! Mum, Bree’s been assaulted.”

“Oh, for the love of God, Holly,” Gran says as she pushes past me. “She did it herself, and she looks just fine, so tone down the theatrics and get me a drink.”

I step in after Gran and hold the pie out to Holly again. She frowns.

“What were you thinking?”

“What’s that saying? New country, new me?”

“No, I don’t think that’s the saying,” she says, and then sighs in defeat. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Yeah, thank God for that…

The Dunbar residence is a slightly bigger extension of Gran’s house. It’s warm and cozy with years of photos lining the walls. I watch Holly’s siblings grow up as I follow her into the kitchen. Ollie on a soccer field. Eva and Freya smiling on a rocky beach. Holly graduating from college. Emma in tears while riding a horse. Aggie moments after birth.

I try to ignore the hollow ache in my chest.

I practiced piano for ten years. Took ballet lessons. Played volleyball. But there aren’t any pictures. The only proof are the charges on my parents’ credit card statements.

“Wine?” Holly asks.

“Please,” I say. “I might need the whole bottle.”

“Rough start in Mairead?”

“I met this terrible guy at the grocery store, who insulted my shoes and then tried to charm me with canned pasta and the last box of Jammie Dodgers.”

Holly snorts as she uncorks a bottle of red. “Sounds about right. Was his name Silas? Because he’s completely harmless.”

“Holly would know.” Freya skirts around the kitchen island to grab the bottle of wine. “She fooled around with him in sixth form.”

“He helped me with my maths coursework!”

“And he got quite the thorough thank you.”