But she knew that wasn’t true. She couldn’t make it work, because that was the sort of person she was. She wasn’t ever going to be able to have what other people had – friends, relationships, jobs. Lives. She watched the back of her father’s head for a while, pressing her finger into one of the bruises on her leg and wishing for his sake that she had been the kind of person who knew how to build a life and resist the temptation to raze the whole thing to the ground.

One Year Later

Chloe’s hands were freckled on the bar handle of the pram. She hadn’t thought she’d been in the sun much lately. But she must have been. She peeked over into the basket of the pram, smiling at baby Rose, who lay on her back, holding her foot in her hand, seemingly transfixed by the leaves on the trees overhead.

‘Thank you for coming with me.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Lissy. ‘It’s nice to get out of London.’

‘You don’t think it’s a bit morbid?’

Lissy shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. It’s all part of life. The sooner this lot get used to it, the better.’ She pointed at Claudia, who was toddling ahead, fat legs in little white bloomers, a pale pink hat jammed on her head. ‘Anyway, as far as she’s concerned, it’s not a graveyard, it’s just another park to play in. Do you know where we’re going?’

Chloe shook her head. ‘No. Her mum didn’t say where it – where she – was. Just that it was here.’

The graveyard was a pretty one, known for playing host to the graves of various Victorian poets who’d met their end from opium or consumption. It sat behind a beautiful, ancient church where upper-middle-class couples fought to get married every summer, attending Mass for six months beforehand just so they’d have it in their wedding photographs. It was as chic as being buried could be. Not that Chloe would have expected anything else from Zadie. Tasteful to the last.