I peel the little white envelope off the front of the cellophane and rip it open, staring at the words, confused.

To Lizzie,

So sorry I gave you a shock at your party. Thank you so much for letting me stay. Please forgive me. For everything.

Love, Catherine xx

I read the card again, still reeling with disappointment that they’re not from Ross. Damn Catherine Dawson and her new personality. How dare she send flowers and thank-you notes! How dare she ask for forgiveness! Isn’t it enough that I have to cope with the knowledge that she’s working with my fiancé? Isn’t it enough that she ruined our housewarming party?

—

Ross finds the flowers stuffed into the kitchen bin when he comes home from work. I never got round to putting them outside in the black wheelie bin, like I’d planned.

Later, when we’re sitting side by side on the sofa, the TV blathering away, he broaches the subject, as I knew he would.

“You’re probably going to bite my head off for saying this, but…” He gives me a worried glance. “Don’t you think you’re being a tad unreasonable?”

I don’t say anything.

“I mean, it was twelve years ago. Can’t you just forgive her and move on?”

“No. And I don’t want her sending me any sodding flowers.”

Ross sighs. “All this negativity isn’t good for you, especially now you’re pregnant. And I have to work with her, remember?”

My fingers clench into the palms of my hands. “I can’t bring myself to be friendly with her.”

“You don’t have to be friendly with her. You just have to be civil. There’s a difference.”

He puts his arms round me and pulls me toward him.

“Have you any idea what it was like for me back then?” I say. “To have to listen to all those whispers behind my back? Whispers I’m certain she started.”

Ross sighs again. “Kids can be cruel at that age,” he says. “Vicious little bastards, some of them.” He puts his hand on my tummy. “Ours will be perfect, of course.”

I cover my face with my hands. “If it weren’t for me starting that stupid argument—”

Shit. Shit! My words expand in the room, filling every available space. I can’t believe I said that out loud. Nobody but me knows about the argument. Nobody.

“Hey,” he says, grasping my shoulders and looking deep into my eyes. “You don’t really blame yourself for Alice’s death, do you? You mustn’t do that, Lizzie. It wasn’t your fault.”

I swallow hard. He doesn’t seem to have picked up on the argument thing, thank God.

“Of course not,” I say. “But if I hadn’t had a seizure, I could have stopped her crossing the line. I could have saved her life.”