I’ve always slept so well here, in the city. In the stifling confines of the flat I live in, I’ve felt safe, the bad dreams held at bay. Boxed in, I can sleep, knowing there is no expanse of trees and emptiness outside, just more flats and houses, light and people everywhere. But recently…What’s woken me again tonight? Is it worrying about work? About Julia?

It’s two a.m. I came to bed after midnight, so I’ve slept for an hour or so. I think I slipped into a dream. It was the night before Dad and Julia’s wedding again; Bella and I were in a garden…

I push the covers aside and get up. I have to distance myself from the dream before I can try to sleep again. The floorboards are cold. I curl my toes and grope under the bed for the slippers I kicked off only a couple of hours ago.

I make tea, taking comfort in the familiar steps: cup, milk, teabag. With my back to the window, sipping my tea, I can pretend it’s day. That everyone around me is awake and I’m not alone.

When I turn, though, I spill it, my hand slipping as I see I’m not alone at all. Bella is there, silent and smiling. My breathing was too loud; the kettle boiling was too loud. I didn’t hear her come in. Not awake then. This is still a dream. I look down at my wrist, stinging and red from the tea spill. A very vivid dream.

“Bella?” I whisper it, but in the dead of night it sounds as if I’m shouting.

She glances behind her at the dark window and then looks back at me. Her smile fades and I wonder if she sees it, the changes the years have wrought. When we were kids, Bella used to pinch my cheeks, laughing at how red they’d glow and stay glowing. Apple cheeks, wild curls, and freckles. That was me. She was the pale one, the skinny one, the one they always said should be a model with her blond hair and killer cheekbones. Now, ten years later, I know I look like a wild-haired imitation, a hollow, dried-up copy.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I say, and my eyes burn.

“You’re the one who left,” Bella says, lifting a cigarette I didn’t see her holding. She inhales, blows out a smoke ring. She’s leaning against the windowsill, looking the same as she always did back then, skinny jeans and a tank top, bare feet, even though it’s February and below zero. She grins and holds up the cigarette packet.

“Want one?”