‘Oh, God, Margot. I’m so sorry.’

I close my eyes, tears seeping out from underneath my lashes as I think of Flora as I like to remember her: a sixteen-year-old girl in love, floating about her sunny bedroom in her long skirts and DM boots, singing along to ‘Martha’s Harbour’ and no doubt thinking of Dylan.

‘Despite the stroke, and how ill she is, at least she’s safe. She’s away from those monsters,’ says Margot.

‘I know. I understand.’

‘Don’t forget about us, will you?’ she says suddenly. ‘Heather would love to see you again. She’s allowed to come home at the weekend.’

I open my eyes, blinking away the tears. ‘You’re both stuck with me now,’ I say, as I gaze across the river. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ And I realize that this is what I want. To grow some roots. To enjoy my life with Rory here in Bristol. Maybe to have children one day. To be a mum. I’ll learn from my parents’ mistakes, not become like them. Because I have Margot as a role model.

‘I’m glad.’ Her voice sounds lighter. ‘Thank you for being there for me. For being a friend to me and Heather, above being a journalist.’

I’m surprised. I never consciously understood that that’s what I’ve done. But it’s true. I’ve held back much more than I would if another family had been in the same situation. I kept Margot’s confidence, when asked, not writing about finding Flora having overdosed on heroin, or going after Leo and revealing what I knew about his dalliance with the underage Deborah Price. I’d needed Margot and she’d needed me. We were there for each other.

I’m smiling as I end the call, promising Margot that I’ll visit Heather at the weekend. And then I stand up, pocketing my phone as I make my way home, to Rory and our future.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Heather

Three months later

My sister is propped up in bed, her head resting on a layer of pillows when I visit, her dark hair sleek and shiny and cut to her shoulders. She’s no longer in a hospital but a rehabilitation centre for stroke victims. It has a view of Tilby Bay from her window and sometimes, when it’s quiet, you can hear the waves crashing against the rocks below. It’s therapeutic, and Flora has always loved the sound of the sea.