‘Then I’ll speak to you on Thursday,’ she said, turning back to her computer. ‘Thank you, Fran.’

I popped up the handle of my suitcase, looking doubtfully at the full-to-bursting black shell. ‘And you’re sure I can keep the clothes?’

‘I’ll speak to you on Thursday, Fran,’ she said again, two deep furrows appearing between her eyebrows as she stared at her screen.

‘Right you are. I’ll just let myself out,’ I said, opening the door and kicking the suitcase onto the street with a heart full of joy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

By the time I got home to Sheffield, it was raining cats, dogs and any other domestic animal you cared to mention. Just crossing the street from the train station to catch my bus was enough to soak right through my supposedly waterproof coat, and by the time I got to the house, my hair was plastered to my head and what was left of my makeup looked like it had been applied by a drunk toddler. And not a very talented one at that.

I was still buzzing from my meeting with Sarah, thrilled at the prospect of my new job, but the closer I got to Nana Beryl’s house, the further away it seemed to slip, the reality of the Stew Situation coming into full focus. I’d spent a long time trying to decide what I wanted to say to him, Juliette and I had discussed it endlessly, but now I was here on the doorstep, all my prepared speeches slipped away.

Stew looked up from the television while I stood dripping in the doorway, slipping off my sodden shoes.

‘Oh. You’re home.’

Taking off my coat and hanging it on the end of the stairs, I crossed the living room to close the curtains. When the streetlights came on, the curtains were closed, a concept he had never been able to grasp. Or rather, he hadn’t needed to because I had always been there to do it for him.

‘There’s a shepherd’s pie in the oven,’ he said, turning his eyes back to the TV. ‘Mum brought it round yesterday but there’s still some left if you’re hungry.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Sounds good.’

The photos above the settee smiled down at me the same way they always did, but in the time I’d been gone, they’d changed somehow, like each one was a full stop rather than a reminder of what had been and could be again.

‘Stew,’ I said. ‘Can you turn the TV off for a minute?’

‘Fran, no.’ He didn’t even look at me. ‘I’ve been up since half five and I’m knackered. Can we not get into it right now? You’ve just walked through the door, for Christ’s sake. Have a minute.’