She had got herself to England, and that alone felt almost unreal to Bonnie, because she’d sworn she would never come back. That was life, though – unpredictable, unfathomable and undeniable. All you could do was strap yourself in and hope for the best. Her father would have called it ‘rolling with the punches’, but Bonnie had never cared much for that phrase. Why was it that people so often plotted the route of their lives from one hurt to the next, rather than focusing on the moments of happiness, or love? She knew that she was guilty of the former, but while there had been darkness in Bonnie’s life, there had also been light, and it was this that had taught her the most about herself.

When Bonnie had touched down at Heathrow Airport earlier that same day, the courage that had got her on to the plane deserted her, leaving nothing in her tank for what she had planned to do next. Instead of taking the Piccadilly Line to King’s Cross, where she could catch a train up north to Cambridge, Bonnie had stalled for the best part of an hour in the arrivals lounge, before eventually opting for a taxi. A taxi that she instructed to drive in the opposite direction.

The gap between herself and her reason for coming to England still felt too great. She needed to bridge it somehow, create not an olive branch but a whole tree – one that she could then use to make her approach. Bonnie knew her time was limited, but she also knew that it would be foolish to rush something so important. This was the best chance she had at explaining herself, and she must take it.

Pausing a moment longer to gather her thoughts, Bonnie listened to the sound of the rain, and searched inside herself for a beginning. As the sky outside the house began to darken and the moon glowed bright among the stars, Bonnie picked up her pen and began to write.