Amelia returned to London a week later, unable to cope with seeing her parents and Thomas fall apart.

But the irony was, being in London was no easier. The months that followed dragged her down. Pulled her so far under, she could barely breathe.

*

‘She only has a few more weeks,’ her dad said down the phone. ‘That’s what the nurses have said. If you want to visit, now would be a good time.’

Amelia had packed an overnight bag and headed straight there.

Her heart had constricted as she stepped into her mum’s bedroom. Seeing her so washed out, her eyes so heavy, broke her heart.

‘I’m so glad you’re here, Amelia,’ her mum said. Whether it was the cancer or Lark’s disappearance that had caused her mum’s light to fade so fast, Amelia couldn’t be sure.

After kissing her mum’s cheek, Amelia looked about her. This room was where Caroline had worked on flower arrangements after Rosamund’s florist closed. She’d set up a small business, all those years ago – not that it had been particularly successful – and there were still boxes of ribbons, silk flowers and rolls of cellophane piled high on a pine table.

A pale-blue journal and gold pen lay on the bedside cabinet, and rows of photo albums she’d made over the years lined a pine shelf. Watercolours of flowers – bluebells, daffodils and roses – hung on the walls. Her dad had left everything as it was when she moved out with Jackson.

The single bed, where Caroline had spent most of the time over the last few weeks, was new. Robert bought it when she moved back in. ‘Stay,’ he’d said to her. ‘Stay, until Lark and Jackson are found.’

It was a sunny bedroom – cheery, the open window letting in a warm breeze that gently moved the pretty lilac curtains. It was a nice place to spend her final days.

Amelia gripped her mother’s hand, the feel of her skin against hers comforting, yet at the same time tearing her apart to see her mother so ill.

They talked about anything and everything, but avoided any mention of how little time they had left to share those precious words.

‘Could you look in my bag? There’s a letter inside.’

Amelia leaned over and picked up the bag. Handed it over.

‘I need you to post it for me,’ her mum said, pulling out a sealed envelope and handing it over.

Amelia turned the envelope over in her hands. It was addressed to Neil Green. ‘What’s it about, Mum?’

‘Just do this one thing for me, Amelia. Neil needs to get this letter. Don’t ask me why, please. Just post it.’

Amelia knew her mum was getting a little confused due to the morphine, but today, although she was growing tired now, she felt sure her mum knew what she was doing.