It was the beginning of June, nearly a month since I’d arrived back home when I found out they were even more remarkable than I’d given them credit for. My knee was still stiff, the scar red and gnarly, although the other abrasions had faded, and when I looked in the mirror, I was starting to appear slightly less like a bedraggled zombie. I’d had a call from Brenda, filling me in on what was happening with the case against Lucy (not a great deal yet, these things took time). I’d spoken to Becky the day before about the business, and was painfully aware that she was running retreats without me, and the next few months were jam-packed with guests.

Even worse, she’d told me that my old editor had been trying to get in touch with me about something important. When I called Miles, he’d warned me that the story of Lucy’s arrest was about to break in the tabloids. It was inevitable that my name would be printed along with it. My dad found me, sitting at the kitchen table where I’d been peeling potatoes for hash browns, head in my hands.

‘Eleanor, is there something wrong?’ He stopped by the table, and even went so far as to put one hand on my shoulder.

‘Yes. Yes, there is.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Dad, there’s something I need to tell you.’

‘Oh?’ He took a seat opposite me.

‘It’s about my previous job. Writing the reviews. I wasn’t… it wasn’t quite… I mean… have you heard of Nora Sharp?’

Dad looked at me steadily. He let out a little huff and tapped his fingers on the table a few times. ‘We know.’

‘What?’ I sat back, genuinely stunned.

‘We’ve always known.’

‘But… how? And why didn’t you say anything?’

‘We knew you’d tell us when you were ready.’

‘Yes, but how?’

‘Eleanor, we’ve read everything you’ve written since you could pick up a pencil. We know you. We know your voice. And didn’t you think we’d put two and two together when suddenly a mystery restaurant reviewer appears in town, coincidentally the exact same time you suddenly develop a social life and start eating out all the time?’ He raised his eyebrows, but his face was kind.

‘But then I moved to London.’

‘And could afford to rent a flat in the capital on the income you made from that little blog? Don’t get me wrong, the blog was wonderful. But not big city apartment wonderful.’

‘Didn’t you think it was horrendous?’

His brow creased, adding even more wrinkles. ‘We thought the reviews were balanced and fair. Anyone working in hospitality would agree. We also of course found the memes and the click-bait headlines awful. But we knew they weren’t you. That image wasn’t you, and we believed you would find your way back in due course. You were miserable, and in a perverse way, the more miserable you got, the more we felt sure you would give it up.’