Emma was there, too, as they stepped out of the car. Standing on crutches, with Zeb, in front of their railings. She was wearing the baby-pink 1960s coat that Steph had often admired, and her hair was a turbo-charged shade of blue, as if freshly dyed. Steph held her gaze, and thought she saw Freya catch Zeb’s eye, something unsaid momentarily connecting them all. It seemed that one of them might speak, like maybe they all wanted to, but Emma just smiled and stuck close to Zeb, and Steph looped her arm around Freya as they moved toward their front door.

Then she noticed the sign. to let.

Steph’s stomach corkscrewed with jittery relief. Vicky was leaving, of course. Would she start again, like Steph had once? Would she spend her life trying to forget what her husband had done, or would she stick by him?

Steph blinked, though, as she registered what the sign actually said: Two-bedroom ground-floor flat. She swiveled back to Emma. “You’re moving?”

Emma flushed a little, and nodded. “It’s all happened quite fast. I’m giving my business another go, fingers crossed . . . but until I start making money I can’t afford the rent on this place as well. So I’ll live above the shop temporarily. Zeb’s going to stay with his dad a bit longer. They’re helping me spruce up the shop . . . and then we’ll see.”

Steph wasn’t sure what to feel. It seemed her relationship with Emma—however she might define it—probably wouldn’t evolve beyond the intensity of this period. And maybe it never would have, because where was there to go from here? It was already becoming dreamlike: Steph trusting Emma with the address she’d kept secret for years; running beside her in pursuit of a man who was still unidentified. Now they’d reverted to two neighbors in the street, talking politely, their children beside them.

“Well, that’s great,” Steph said. “Good luck.” For old times’ sake, she added: “Your earrings are spectacular.”

Emma touched the dangling peacock feathers. “If you fancy something similar, swing by the shop in a few weeks.”

“Not sure I could pull them off,” Steph said, and Emma smiled in recognition of their familiar script.

“Welcome home, Freya,” Emma added, turning to her, a sudden dampness in her eyes. “It’s such a relief to see you.”

Freya murmured her thanks, seeming overwhelmed. Zeb nodded beneath his curly fringe, and a moment of quiet settled. It was Paul who broke it, suggesting they should get Freya inside to rest.

Steph glanced toward the basement steps, just for a moment, before she urged Freya into their cool, quiet hallway.