She’d not wanted to come back before, because there’d been no reason to. Both her parents were gone and her brother had moved to Canada. Was it strange that they had both moved so far away from home, left Ireland behind them? That they had wanted to get away from Limerick in search of something better? Maybe it was a natural instinct.

But now she had a reason to come back.

Izzy took her phone from her pocket, looking at the string of messages again, scrolling down to the most recent. It made her smile when she thought of their time together – and then she’d catch herself and look around quickly to see if anyone was watching, wondering why she was grinning like a fool. She typed a quick reply and pressed send.

She was glad that her travelling days were over. It was time to return to the fold. Not quite home, but close enough to it. Because now she had a reason, the best one of all. The only reason that ever made sense, when all was said and done.

It was time to settle down. For good.

She would swap her rucksack for a piano, in her new place. She would learn to play again, as part of her new start, and maybe one day she might be as good as Lucy.

She moved nearer to watch the teenager’s delicate hands flying over the keys.

Lucy turned, startled, brushing tears from her cheeks.

‘Sorry, don’t stop,’ Izzy said. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt. I could listen to you play all day.’

‘No, it’s fine, I was almost finished anyway. Really.’

Izzy smiled, but she knew straightaway that something was off. One of the many lovely things about Lucy was that she didn’t lie well. She didn’t hide her emotions well, either.

Just like her father.

Izzy lowered her voice.

‘Are you all right, Lucy?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Lucy took a deep, shuddering breath, using the sleeve of her top to wipe hastily at her cheeks until all traces of the tears were gone. ‘I just get a bit emotional sometimes, playing that piece.’

‘You have a wonderful talent.’

‘Thanks. I’m supposed to practise every day.’

‘It sounds familiar but I can’t quite place it.’

‘Kinderszenen, by Schumann. It means—’

‘Scenes from Childhood.’

Lucy smiled. ‘How many languages do you speak, exactly?’

‘My fiancé used to play. He wasn’t quite as good as you, mind.’

Izzy thought she saw a shadow flit momentarily across Lucy’s face, then it was gone.

‘I did this piece for my grade eight exam,’ the teenager said. ‘Some of it, anyway.’

‘So what’s next for you? A-levels, right?’

Lucy nodded.

‘Assuming I get the GCSE grades I need.’

‘Don’t think that’s in any doubt, is it? What are your A-level choices?’

‘Maths, physics, chemistry and biology.’

‘Wow.’ She smiled. ‘Going for the easy options, then?’