Had she known this was Noah’s suggested mode of transportation, she would have gladly taken a taxi back to Verona, knocked on the door to Tyler and Phoebe’s room and asked if they could accompany her back to England instead, on the Eurotunnel no less. Or called Antoine and asked him to put her back inside his tiny private plane, all enclosed spaces with no means of escape.

If she had she known this was where she would end up when she first entered the bookshop back in Norfolk, no, when that man and his dog turned up on her doorstep, she would have laughed in the face of all things fateful and serendipitous and told the gods to leave her be.

She could hear the sound of water, could see the church steeple rising from the hillside, taste the scent of pine mixed through with salt. It was all so familiar, and yet she wasn’t yet able to link together now with then. The reality of what was staring her in the face versus the memory of a place she never thought she would come back to, having been so desperate to escape.

Noah stood by her side, hands on hips, still wearing his helmet. They were both looking up at the front façade of a house that had been extended in all directions. It had a picture-perfect porch that wrapped around the side, with an oversize swing hanging from the rafters, on which were sleeping a pair of fat, ginger cats.

Beyond the porch was a gate to the vegetable patch, where Emily and her grandmother helped plant seedlings, pulled away weeds and dug up carrots to be taken to the kitchen for supper. On the upper floor, around the back, were two bedrooms, connected by a Jack ’n’ Jill bathroom. One of the rooms had lilac walls and a corner seat by the window, overlooking the water. Scratched into the base of that seat was the shape of a duck, along with her initials, E.C.D. Emily Catriona Davenport. The name her parents gave her. The name she felt stopped belonging to her the moment they were gone.

“Are you going up?” Noah nudged her with his foot.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“This is where I say goodbye.”

She stared at him. “Goodbye?”

“For now.” One hand on the back of her neck, so familiar, so comforting. “This part is up to you. But you know where to find me, and I will always be here for you. Remember that you are not alone, that there are people who care for you, and not just because of her.”

He kissed her cheek gently, and she watched him mount his bike, roar up the engine, and disappear off and down the road, out of sight.

Come on, then, Emily told herself as she picked up her case, climbed the steps to the maroon front door, rang the bell, and waited for her past to open up, invite her in.