‘You look thoughtful, poppet,’ Grandma says. She hasn’t called me poppet in years, and I grin at the quaint word, and the affection in it. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

I take a deep breath.

‘I haven’t been well for a long time, Grandma. There’s so much I’ve been hiding.’

‘I know, Hannah, I do.’

‘Really?’

‘Or I sensed it. It’s why I wanted you to come with me on this trip. I can see now how selfish I’ve been; I’ve probably made you worse off. But I wanted you close. I guess I hoped you’d want to talk about it, one day. I suppose it’s why I wanted to tell you about Roy. About the secrets I kept.’

‘Is the divorce why you didn’t come back earlier?’

Grandma stops and sits on a bench. She pats the seat beside her. ‘When you’ve hidden the truth for so long it starts to seem normal. Coming back means facing all the lies I told. To Mum and Dad—even though they’re dead now—to my kids, to you, to myself. I wish I’d been strong enough before. I guess none of us is perfect.’

It is that violet grey of dusk and the line of the horizon is nearly invisible, so close is the colour of the ocean to that of the sky. A flock of birds flies high overhead, their shapes black blurs above. They’ll fly through the dark, all night. I’ve heard of birds migrating over the ocean that tire and—unable to rest—drop in the sea to die. I shut my eyes and wish these birds strength. I want more than anything for them to get where they need to go.

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 31

‘Ticket, please,’ were the only words anyone spoke to me on the journey. It seemed we took on a new ticket-puncher with every stop—I had never seen such vigilant ticket-punching. By the time the train pulled into Washington DC my stub looked like a leaf munched through by a caterpillar; there were more holes than paper remaining to punch.

‘Final stop, Union Station. All passengers will disembark the train here. Please take your luggage and personal belongings with you when you leave the car.’