She slid the drawer open. It was full of a mixture of lip salve, earplugs, pens, crumpled tissues, a writing pad, headache pills... Her fingers touched a plastic wrapper and she pulled it out from beneath the pile of litter, a programme for an iconic rock concert in the 1980s. Really she should treat it better, but she needed it near her when she slept and somehow it felt appropriate for one of the few mementoes her mother had left her to be tangled up with lipstick and tissues and powder.

She took the programme out of the plastic bag, her fingers sliding over the smooth cover. For a moment nothing happened and the gap of time left a moment for her to worry that the gift—if that was what it was—really had left her. But then the sensations came to her. It was not simply a vision; it felt as though she was actually there. She could feel the sun on her, fiercely hot, and the spray of water that hit her bare arms like a cold shock. She heard the roar of the crowd and sensed the electric atmosphere about her. The world was alight. She felt excited, pulsing with adrenaline and intense pleasure.

She was Annie Bowling, twenty years old. There was so much she wanted to do, so much of life to explore. A boy was sitting beside her; she was holding his hand but they could not keep still; the music was around them and in them. It was a part of them and they were a part of the whole, and they leaped up and danced and kissed, and Lizzie could feel the tumble of emotion inside; the love, the happiness, the sweet sense of fun, a life that was simple and easy...

Lizzie opened her eyes. Her cheeks were wet with tears. The feeling of happiness was fading away now, leaving only an echo of emotion. She touched the programme one more time: LIVE AID, 13 JULY 1985. At the bottom, beneath a picture that was still crayon bright, were the words This programme saves lives. It had certainly saved hers on more than one occasion. Connecting to the mother she had never really known, knowing that there was a time when her mother had been happy, when her life had been uncomplicated and exciting, gave Lizzie strength.

Carefully she put the programme away in its bag and slipped it back into its place beneath the make-up and the pills. She felt bereft but steadier too. When she came out of the bedroom, Kat was in the living room, perched on the leather sofa, waiting to go to the dance studio with her. Kat had her own key to Lizzie’s flat and came and went as she pleased. In the past Lizzie hadn’t minded. Kat had been a part of her life forever and it seemed natural. Today, though, for the first time it irritated her that Kat would just walk in unannounced, essentially doing her job as she had done it for the past ten years or more.