They’d lived for almost eighteen years in their little bubble, Robin never knowing of Zeb’s existence, and Zeb seemingly content with his mum and grandparents and only a question mark of a dad. Emma should have known the bubble would burst, but she hadn’t expected it to happen quite so spectacularly. Five months ago, Robin had bumped into an old classmate who knew why Emma had moved schools and, assuming Robin knew, too, had casually released the secret Emma had kept for so long. Robin had tracked Emma down and had been bombarding her with emails ever since, insisting they should talk, meet, even asking where she lived, pushing for photos of Zeb. Each new message in her inbox had triggered the kind of panic she hadn’t experienced since school. Delete, delete, delete. Pretend this isn’t happening. Pray it will all go away.

What she hadn’t realized, though, was that Zeb had made a discovery of his own. As he’d grown up and started college, branching outside their bubble, he’d begun to wonder about his father. Thinking back now, Emma realized he’d tried to ask her about him, but she’d shut down every discussion. So he’d resorted to snooping for clues, eventually learning Robin’s identity by eavesdropping on a conversation between Emma and her mum.

At the same time as Emma had been deleting Robin’s emails, feeling nauseous even at the sight of his name on her screen, Zeb had been googling that name, posting it on Facebook, trying to find the man Emma was so keen to erase.

Except she hadn’t even erased him well enough. She’d left one of his emails in her inbox, her laptop open in the living room, and she’d heard Zeb’s shout as she’d been putting away washing in her room. What the fuck, Mum? She still remembered freezing while hanging up her favorite 1970s blouse, letting it slide off the hanger as she’d realized her mistake.

How could you have denied me a dad? Zeb had said during the awful argument that had followed, or maybe even a subsequent one—they all merged now. How could you not tell me he’s been emailing you about me, while I’ve been scouring the fucking internet to find him?

It’s about the worst thing you could’ve done.

After that, things had slipped out of her control. Zeb had Robin’s email address and was determined to make contact. When he’d come to her at work, already packed, and announced he was moving in with his dad to help renovate an old remote house, Emma had lost her cool. She’d clutched at straws to explain why she wouldn’t let him go, her voice getting higher and louder in the street outside her shop. The house didn’t sound safe, the dust would aggravate his asthma . . .