“I will. I’ll get him to a doctor.” Maya grabbed my hand, her skin soft and warm. As I mumbled a thank-you to her she handed the cashier what looked like a few bucks before pushing me to the exit.

“Let me know how it goes,” Fiona called over, at the same time as Keenan shouted, “It’s still a pile of bullshit.”

The door slammed shut behind us. Maya looked at me, took two steps, turned around again and pointed a finger at me, her concern changing to something else, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was. Anger? Disappointment?

“Are you faking it?” she said. “Pretending not to know who you are? Who I am?”

“No—”

“Is this because of Keenan or something? Or because I found you, and you’re going to leave again? If so, you can stop now, because it’s not funny.”

I had zero clue what she was talking about. What did she mean when she said she’d found me, and why did she think I’d leave when I’d just arrived? “I’m not faking it. I promise.”

Maya threw a glance over my shoulder and pulled a face. “We’d better go.”

“Go where?”

“Home. To our house.”

I stepped away from her. “But I don’t know you. And why did you give the cashier money?”

“Because I asked her to call me if you went back to the store. I was desperate,” Maya said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “And you do know me. I’ll prove it to you. I’ve got photos of us, right here, see?” She held up the screen, and I leaned forward, staring at the picture of this woman named Maya, and me. Her hair had been cut since the picture had been taken, and mine had grown, but it was definitely us, sitting on a porch of some kind, a couple of beers raised at the camera. “That was taken at the house. In Newdale. Where you lived for over half your life. Please, Ash. Come with me so I can show you, and before Keenan comes outside and starts up again. We can do without his stupidity.”

I glanced through the window. He and Fiona stood by the row of fridges, and Keenan had what looked like two six-packs of beer under one arm. From what I could tell, they were in the middle of an argument, Fiona shaking her head and gesticulating with her hands. Maya was right, it probably wouldn’t be long before they stepped outside, and he’d be in my face again.

“He doesn’t like me very much, does he?” I said.

Maya’s face softened. “Not exactly. You have a history. I lost count how many times you two got into dustups at school over the years. You really don’t remember?”

“No, I really don’t,” I snapped.

“What do you recall?” she asked gently.