“Is all this really necessary?” McGraw put his arm up as he leaned on the doorframe, and Susan felt an alien stab of something like nostalgia for the friendship they had once had. There had been a time when Susan had thought she’d need no other friends in the world as long as she had McGraw.

How wrong she’d been. Better not to have any friends at all than ones who betray you.

“Yes, McGraw. All this is very necessary.”

And with that, Susan turned on her heel and walked away, down the long, cream-colored corridor, back to the life she’d been so keen to make for herself before McGraw had come along to ruin it.

2
THE INSPIRATIONAL IMPACT OF NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC

When faced with a life-changing event, Daisy focused on the practical. Within her first week of university, she had registered with a new doctor and dentist, arranged insurance for her room, and updated her address for all the most important correspondence, such as bank statements, the quarterly village newsletter, and postcards from her Peruvian pen pal, Frida, to whom she’d been writing since she was six.

Nonetheless, when she went down to the mailroom on her way to breakfast, Daisy found a large envelope addressed in Granny’s familiar looping handwriting, forwarding a stash of letters and magazines that had arrived in Crickleton.

The faint scent of home that emerged from the envelope —whether real or imagined—and the sight of the latest issue of National Geographic conjured a rush of homesickness so acute that Daisy had to take a moment to sit on the bench outside and gather herself.

The magazine in her hand was a yellow-framed window into the past. Daisy could see herself as a little girl, perching on the faded chintz of Granny’s favorite armchair, looking with fascination at photos from across the world, from inside the human body, and of outer space. It was afternoons sitting at the kitchen table, reading about unearthed Iron Age habitations and pterosaur remains, that had awakened her interest in archaeology and led her all the way to Sheffield. Yet here she was, wishing with everything she had that she was back home, eating breakfast with Granny, so engrossed in whatever debate this particular issue would prompt that their tea would grow cold and intellectual repartee would shift seamlessly into bickering over who should make a fresh brew.

It didn’t matter that she was on her way to a J-block breakfast with her friends—the only company she craved right now was Granny’s. Taking her phone from her pocket, she dialed Granny’s number.

No answer.

Frustrated, Daisy tried again.

No luck.