They’d talked about it before, the idea that he might adopt her. But Penny had come this far alone, and always delayed a conclusion. She couldn’t delay it any longer, though, because it was true: Francesco was Hermione’s father as much as she was her mother.

Francesco nodded, careful not to wake the baby as her eyes drifted closed in her father’s embrace.

‘I’d like that,’ he said. ‘I’d like that very much.’

And in Bridges café on a back street of Stoke Newington, family that were friends and friends who were like family – all dented in their own way by love and grief and uncertainty and disappointment – came together and celebrated, choosing to try again in their imperfect humanness, thankful for everything that had happened before that meant there was so very much to look forward to in their futures.

Penny grinned at her boyfriend and her daughter.

‘I’d like that very much too,’ she said.

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1

I was having the best morning of my life.

‘Annie-Doo, you look like a … princess. No. Wait. Better than that. You look like a queen,’ my little sister Freddie said in awe, as Asma put the finishing touches to my lipliner. Freddie had called me “Annie-Doo” since she was old enough to talk. She tilted her head to one side, assessing Asma’s work. ‘You look pretty but also … what’s the word when you’re like, the boss? Like you’re the one in charge of everything?’

‘Regal?’ supplied Asma.

‘Yeah! Especially with the flower crown!’

She gives the best compliments, my sis.

‘Come here, you,’ I said, pulling her tiny thirteen-year old frame towards me for a hug. We’d spent the night in the suite of fancy hotel in Mayfair, paid for by my soon-to-be in-laws as a girly treat. The three of us – me, Freddie and Asma – had arrived yesterday and settled in for gossiping and giggling and doing silly dance routines for social media in our matching dressing gowns as my last celebration as a single woman.

‘You can still stay over as much as you want, you know that don’t you?’ I told Freddie. ‘You know how much Alexander loves you.’

‘Even on Saturday nights?’

‘Bear, I don’t think you’re going to want to hang out with your fusty old sister on Saturday nights for much longer.’

‘I will.’

‘We’ll see about that.’