I roll my chair back over the plush carpet, put the photo of William in the bin, and my Thor figure, that Thomas bought me a few years back because I told him I love Chris Hemsworth, in my bag. I grab my jacket, rise, and head for the door, throwing one look over my shoulder at the rabbit warren of desks. Nobody looks my way. I’m right. Nobody will miss me.

Outside, I dash towards London Bridge Underground, pushing through the crowds. I won’t cry, I tell myself. I’m all cried out.

*

‘William, it’s me. Pick up, please.’ I’m pissed, sobbing into my phone, my cat curled on my knee, her purr giving me comfort. Drunk-me is far too needy, and I seem to turn to her too often lately. ‘Call me, please. I need you right now.’ It’s the tenth time I’ve called and it’s only seven o’clock. Ten times he’s ignored me.

I throw my phone across the room. It hits a photo of us in Rhodes. It clatters on the dresser. The glass cracks. Were we even happy then? I know it was difficult when Mum got cancer, and everything that followed was impossible – William struggled with me struggling, which made me struggle even more.

I look at the empty wine bottle, before burying my head in my hands until the tears stop. And then it hits me. I need my dad, to feel the comfort of his arms around me. But I can’t take off to Berwick-upon-Tweed and leave my cat – who now looks up at me as though she knows what I’m thinking. ‘But if I stay here, sweetie, I’ll go crazy,’ I say, tickling her soft ears.

Later, after crying on my neighbour’s doorstep – a kindly twenty-something with pink hair – she gives me a much-needed hug. ‘You’ve been through hell, Amelia,’ she says. ‘Of course I’ll look after your cat. Take as long as you need.’

‘Thanks so much,’ I say, wishing I knew her name – but it’s far too late to ask her what it is; we’ve been chatting for months.

I return to my flat and call Malcolm, realising, after apologising profusely for letting him down at such short notice, that he sounds relieved I’m taking time off.

‘Great. Super,’ he says. ‘Brilliant!’

‘I’ll be taking an early train to Berwick-upon-Tweed and probably won’t be back for a while. Is that OK?’

‘Of course, Amelia. Please, please don’t hurry back.’

I end the call, flop down on my bed, and close my eyes.

Chapter 2

Present Day

Amelia

I caught the early train from London and it’s now 10 a.m. I’m relieved to be here, standing on the doorstep of the house I grew up in, waiting for Dad to answer the front door.