Then, of course, huge thanks to Cassie Browne and Rachel Neely for believing in my writing, and for pushing me to explore my dark side more (!) and also for all their intelligent and patient editorial advice and guidance. I have so loved working with the enthusiastic team at Quercus, and would also like to thank Hannah Robinson, Ella Patel, and Katie Sadler for championing my work to the world. Thank you too to Chelsey Emmelhainz and all the team at Crooked Lane Books for taking this book Stateside—the stuff of dreams! I really appreciate you wanting to spread Violet, Lily and Yvonne's stories far and wide, and hope US readers enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Author friends are the best friends, and so I must thank all my fellow writers from my Faber Academy group, as well as the Savvy Authors, for understanding what this strange job is like and brightening the darker days. Special cheers go to my beta readers and dear friends Susannah Ewart-James, Victoria Harrison, Caroline Hulse and Rebecca Fleet for listening to me whinge without complaint and for being brilliant writers themselves.

Thank you again to Alice Marlow and Claire Emerson for helping me with the medical aspects of the book. If I got anything wrong, it’s my fault not theirs.

My family put up with my obscure witterings about writing/plots all the time—sorry and thank you. But the biggest thanks must go to Oli who can often be found patiently listening as I attempt to unravel a plot conundrum. You are such a support to me and I appreciate your unflinching belief in my work so much. Thank you to Daphne too, for telling everyone “my mummy writes books” and for bringing joy into every day.

A huge thank you to all the book bloggers who enjoyed my first book and spoke so enthusiastically about it online. Your love of reading is such a pleasure to see. I really hope you enjoy this one too.

And finally, thank you to everyone who has bought or borrowed my books. Writers wouldn’t exist without readers—we owe it all to you.

LILY

DECEMBER 2017

It’s the best part of my day. 7.35pm. I sink on to the sofa, fish bowl of wine in hand, and reach for my laptop. The coffee table is littered with relics from a rainy Sunday: Archie’s latest work of art, his bright red cup—name scrawled on the side to stop his friend Tom from using it—a half-chewed breadstick and two lift-the-flap books in need of repair. I push them to one side, and open the lid of my laptop.

I’m not usually one for organisation. James used to find it frustrating, frowning at my attempts to laugh it off. Adorably inefficient, that’s what he called me. If only James could see my laptop now. He’d open it up and stare open-mouthed at the Internet history, the neatly organised bookmarks. He’d think I was a weirdo. Maybe I am.