‘I need to disappear,’ she whispers, a tissue in shreds in her hand. ‘I can’t face all these people.’

‘Then go,’ Tegan says, her face wet with tears. ‘Everyone will understand.’

I don’t really care if they don’t.

She pulls free from Tegan, and runs across the lawn towards the waiting black car.

‘Take me to Butterfly Cottage, please,’ she says to the driver.

As they pull away, tyres slow over cobbles, she glances out of the back window at the swarm of black exiting the crematorium.

Leon is there; tall, handsome in a thigh-length black jacket over black jeans. He looks about him, dragging his fingers through his fair hair. She knows he’s searching for her, and places her hand on the window, splays her fingers, desperately needing him.

They’d been together a year when everything fell apart three months ago. He was the best thing that had happened to her, yet she wrecked it. They’d met at the Literature Festival in Whitby. Leon hoped to get a publisher or an agent interested in his fantasy novel. Alice’s interest in the event was purely to hear her favourite authors speak. Her dad had instilled a passion in her for reading. Something they’d shared. He’d never go to events though. Rarely left the house.

When it started to rain that day, she ended up in the bar, sitting next to Leon. For a long time after that, he joked that he’d picked her up at a bar. She supposed he had. They began talking. Him telling her about his book, and how, for now, he was a swimming instructor and lifeguard at the local pool. ‘Only until the millions roll in, you understand,’ he said, and laughed. And she told him about her shop in Whitby, how she was an artist – and he listened. If there’s such a thing as love at first sight, this was the closest she ever came to it.

At first it had been perfect. Leon was optimistic, charming, fun. They were so happy. Eventually, he mentioned marriage, having a family, and she knew she wasn’t equipped. She adored children, but the thought of caring for a baby, a little boy or girl fully dependent on her, sent her into a cold panic. She couldn’t explain why, but she was afraid to commit. Her life hadn’t been normal growing up, and her father kept secrets – secrets about his past, the first seven years of her life. Secrets she suspected played a huge part in the woman she was now.

Leon deserved better, someone who shared his dreams.

As she watches from the funeral car, she spots Tegan dashing towards Leon. She takes him in her arms. When did they get so close? A memory flies in. ‘I’m thinking of changing my agent,’ her father said a week before he died. He never did explain why.