When she caught her breath, she felt a sudden, acute sense of those who were missing: Shane. Eve. Michael. Myrnin. Maybe even Amelie and Oliver and a half-dozen others she knew – however unexpectedly – she would regret not being here to see this. Myrnin would have been delighted. He’d have been grabbing a pile of cupcakes from the tray, and punch from the cooler, and remarking on how the red colour of the sugary liquid looked remarkably like diluted blood … and Shane would have wearily threatened to stake him. Eve would have voted in favour. Michael would have laughed.

It suddenly all seemed both too much, and too little.

The Midland airport was not exactly used to celebrations, but it seemed to put smiles on the faces of the security people, and even the jaded, weary business travellers with their battered, sturdy suitcases. Claire’s were new, and polka-dotted, lime green and purple. She wasn’t sure if they were too weird or not, but at least she wouldn’t lose them.

The party was short – fifteen minutes, and then Claire’s dad began to cheerfully remind people that she had a plane to catch. Her mom hugged her tight as the first of the visitors began to leave, and said, ‘It’s so good to see you, sweetie. Even just for this.’ She pushed Claire back to arm’s length and gave her the mom inspection, up and down. ‘You look a little thin, sweetie. Are you eating?’

‘Yes, Mom, I’m eating. Don’t worry. Once I get to Boston, it’s all the snacks and cafeteria food and pizza, so I’ll probably gain ten pounds the first week.’

‘Well, you could do with another ten pounds, anyway.’ She nervously brushed at Claire’s hair, rearranging it around her face. ‘Oh, dear, you could use a haircut too. Well. Promise me – do you think you’ve got everything you’ll need? Do you need sheets, or towels, or—’

‘I’ll be okay, Mom,’ Claire said, and caught her mother’s hands in her own. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Mom took a deep, convulsive breath and let it out before she nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You probably need clothes, though. You always do.’

It was an old refrain. Mom had her hair fixed nicely, and she had make-up on, and the sweater and pants she was wearing fit her well. Her mother had always had much more fashion sense than Claire possessed, and it had always been something Mom had seen as a social shortcoming. Claire didn’t. She figured when she was ready to care about those things, she would. But right now, the comfortable geek-girl tee, loose jacket and jeans were all she really needed.