“Ahh…” he says, and I can picture him running his hand through his hair as the penny drops. I realize I’m smiling at the very thought of him. “That would explain why my colleagues thought I was mad earlier. Oh well,” he goes on without a shred of embarrassment, “it’s like that. But real.”

“Creepy,” I say, simultaneously disappointed to miss seeing the capital so void of crowds and glad to be away from the pandemic’s center.

“That’s precisely the word I was thinking. Although, you know the boarding school I told you about, opposite my place?”

This was once a small teaching hospital but is now the home of an elite ballet school that takes only a handful of kids each year. Fi once dated a guy whose daughter was a student. She was terrified of the somber, earnest girl with her hair scraped back into a tight bun. “Yep.”

“The students are still there for now, and they keep writing messages on Post-it notes and sticking them to the windows. I thought they were all so serious, but some of the messages are pretty funny.”

“I wish I was there with you,” I say suddenly, trying to keep the longing from my voice.

“Me too, Leah,” he replies. “But I’d rather you stay safe in the New Forest.”

“It won’t be for long.”

“You have wine?”

“Of course.” I laugh.

“That’s the important thing.”

“I hate the patchy signal though,” I say.

“I’ll email you. It’ll be romantic, like old-fashioned love letters between two lovers whose families are keeping them far apart. A modern-day Romeo and Juliet.” I don’t have the heart to remind him they both ended up dead.

“I just don’t know how often we’ll get to talk.” I doubt I’ll be able to escape from the house that regularly without raising too much suspicion in Chris.

“We’ll make it work.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “A few weeks apart isn’t going to matter in the long run. I love you, Leah.”

I know he said it in his text, but to hear the words “I love you” out loud, in that gorgeous baritone of his, makes my heart almost burst.

“I love you too,” I say back. I don’t think I’ve ever meant it like this before.

We hang up and I head back to the house. I wish he could call me by my real name. Will I ever get used to being her? Or will there always be that flicker in my chest, that stab of guilt and fear when I hear her name on his lips?

* * *

I have been trying to get through to Mum’s home for two days now. Every time I ring, I get a recorded voice telling me they are very busy but that the home remains in safe hands and staff will be in touch with all the families of residents over the coming days. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” It isn’t fucking good enough.