The new understanding breaks my heart and makes it soar.

Andrew’s right. It is time to be free. To look forward.

Nothing is random.

I put the book down and lie down next to Bear, shaping my body into a C around his back. I breathe along with him – one breath for every two of his, because his life runs much faster. He stretches his legs without opening his eyes and sighs his way closer to me.

Whatever the result tomorrow: Life is too short to be lonely. You deserve love.

Chapter 50: Dan

Saturday 28 July

The knock wakes me. ‘Room service!’

The door opens and I blink. Not a hotel and not room service. Vijay looms over me, gangly but kind of heroic. My best mate.

‘What time is it?’

‘Caffeination time!’ He sits on the bed and passes me an espresso. ‘Also, eight a.m.’

In less than two hours, Gemma should know.

I check my phone: nothing from her, but there is a message from my Airbnb guests telling me they’ve checked out and are on the way to Temple Meads for the train ride home.

I stretch out, surprised by how rested I feel. ‘Didn’t think I’d sleep at all.’ When I lay down on the sofa bed – the one Angelica has been sleeping on for the last month – my ears hummed and my brain did too. I told Vijay I was worried that my flat had been trashed.

But really I was worrying about Gemma.

‘You look fresh as a baby. Or a daisy. Or both.’

‘I’m scared, Veej.’

He nods. ‘At least you know your beloved trainers are safe. Except for the pair your ex trashed.’

We packed up my collection last night: my most expensive pair were sodden, full of something vinegary. A month ago I’d have been angry, but once we worked out what it was – organic kombucha, a very Angelica-specific revenge – I laughed my head off. I was just grateful she’d only ruined one pair.

‘That’s not what I’m scared about.’

‘Yeah, I get you. It’s the price of caring.’

Forty minutes later the city’s already baking hot when I drive out of the underground car park, two cases on the back seat, plus my airtight box of trainers. As I leave the centre, the buildings get tattier and the cafes greasier, but they’re as familiar as old friends. This is my manor, where I don’t need to pretend.

A lorry ahead of me spews out exhaust fumes. Do they even allow lorries in Clifton? Yeah, if they run on recycled extra-virgin olive oil. Gemma lives in the fanciest part of Bristol, while I definitely don’t. It’s not only where we live that makes us so different: it’s our backgrounds, our work, our history – but that’s irrelevant. We have a connection, even though we’ve tried so bloody hard to ignore it. I don’t know why I love her, but I know that I do. And if she comes to see me, I am going to tell her so.