As soon as she stepped out, she flicked on the light switch and looked at the damage. The front passenger wing was dented, and the headlight was cracked but still in one piece. She sighed heavily. ‘Thank God,’ she murmured. She felt pretty pleased with herself for using her head and not panicking. At least there wouldn’t be any evidence that the incident was her fault; if there was no debris at the scene, which she thought was the case, then no one could trace the accident back to her. She would take the car to a body shop first thing in the morning and say she’d hit the lawn mower while parking the Lexus in the garage. With that inspired thought clearly in her mind, she calmed down and walked into the kitchen from the side door. For a moment, she felt her heart sink. She peered at the breakfast bar and imagined Kendall sitting there swaying to some modern music with her headphones on. She wondered if she’d even had a chance to grieve. What with arranging the funeral, being preoccupied with her work, and Brooke suffering from the attack, she’d barely had time to give Kendall much thought. She stared at the cup left on the side and decided to make herself a coffee. Then, as she tried to remember some good times with Kendall, she drew a blank. Had she ever even loved her? She must have done, surely? She’d given birth to her, she’d nursed her . . . well, for some of the time. A tear fell down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away. Who was the tear for anyway? Was it for Kendall or herself?

***

As Poppy felt herself going in and out of consciousness, she could hear a voice asking her name. The problem was, though, she couldn’t speak. The numbing feeling in her head was blocking the pains in her back and her hip. She tried to move, but it felt as though she was wrapped in a cocoon. Her eyes flickered open. It was still dark and a figure was kneeling beside her, but all she could make out was the bright light coming from the person’s phone screen. Then she heard the words ‘ambulance’ and ‘quickly’ said urgently into his phone. Those words were bittersweet: she knew she was seriously injured but at least help was on its way.

Barely conscious, she heard the sirens in the distance and then more voices. However, everything was a blur; she didn’t know where she was or who was there, but the one thing she did recall was her mother’s number plate. How could she ever forget that?

***