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Nothing about this visit was going as she’d planned. She unclipped the twisted silver barrette, throwing it on the passenger seat, and ran her fingers through her hair. What exactly was she so cross about anyway?

For all she knew Daniel Ramsay was a genuinely kind man, trying to make a go of a small country auction house. He’d seemed kind. After all, how many men in her London circle would drop everything to go running when their daughter’s school rang?

That didn’t take very much thinking about. None. She didn’t know anyone like that.

She shut the glove compartment with a hard shove. It was the fault of this wretched place. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from behaving badly. Maybe because that was what everyone was expecting from her? Who knew what the psychology was? Whatever it was, she was certainly living down to their expectations.

Steve, the driver of the white van, walked past her car, sparing her only the briefest of glances. No doubt this morning’s performance would be added to the canon of her supposed misdemeanours. Only in this case she was more than a little guilty.

Freya bit her lip. Why had she ever thought coming back here was a good idea? Okay, so she’d thought her physical presence might deter her dad more effectively than the knowledge she was watching from a distance, but there was more to it than that.

So many complex reasons bound up together. The fact was, this whole approaching thirty thing had taken on a life of itself. It felt almost like a life crisis. At least it would if she didn’t hope to live considerably longer than sixty years.

Now she had something to prove—to herself if no one else. She would not run back to London like a dog with its tail between its legs simply because other people didn’t like her. Been there, done that, had the battle scars to prove it.

But being back in Fellingham did make her feel as judged as before. And after twelve years she honestly hadn’t expected it to feel like that. She could feel everything unravelling. All her hard-won peace of mind.

Statements like It’s so important to feel no residual anger towards anyone or anything no longer seemed to make sense. What did it mean when you actually unpicked it?

She was angry—really angry. How about One’s past must not be allowed to determine one’s future? Wasn’t that what her therapist had said?

It was all total rubbish. Freya turned the key in the ignition. Clearly Dr Stefanie Coxan had no first-hand knowledge of what it was like to live in a gossipy little place like Fellingham.

Of course one’s past shaped one’s future. Even if you managed to draw a black line under the grotty bits, pieces of it still steeped through and stained whatever came after.

She reversed out into the narrow country lane and, without stopping to analyse why, turned her car towards Kilbury. Post-war bungalows still lined the entrance to the village, followed by a rash of 1930s semis, many carefully extended beyond recognition.

She took the left-hand turn towards Church Lane, the second right into Wood End Road, and bit down a wave of pure loathing as Kilbury Comprehensive School appeared from behind a row of Leylandi.

Squat. Ugly. Built of breeze blocks some time in the 1970s, when it had seemed a good idea to make everything square and functional. She slowed her car down to a stop as large droplets of rain spotted the windscreen.

There’d been nowhere on earth she’d been more unhappy. Nothing to do with the school, of course. Now, with hindsight, she could see that. Everything that had tortured her had been from within. But at the time it had been just another thing to kick against. Something else to resent.

Freya glanced down at her watch and restarted the engine. There was no point in sitting here remembering how unhappy she’d been. If she’d hoped seeing it again would lay some ghosts to rest she’d been kidding herself. If anything it felt as if she’d stirred a few up.

Freya turned the car round in a lay-by and headed back along the main road towards Fellingham. She set her windscreen wipers going and flicked on her headlights to compensate for the overall gloom.

It was strange to be driving along this road. It was all so familiar, and yet not. The red telephone box had been replaced by one of those see-through boxes. The pub at the end of the lane had changed from the Pheasant to the Plough.

But most things were the same.

Presumably the school bus still took this route. Still left at 7:25 a.m. from the bus stop opposite the garage, still took a lengthy detour through Westbury and Levingham before looping round to Kilbury.

She slowed at the crossroads and glanced over at the brick-built bus shelter which had been her escape route. It hadn’t taken too much ingenuity to slip out through the changing rooms, cross behind the bike sheds and then walk down the main road to this bus stop. From there it had been a twenty-minute ride into Olban and all the diversions of a big town.

And it seemed times hadn’t changed much. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a teenage girl in school uniform, turning away from the wind to light a cigarette.

As she pulled away from Pelham Forest it crossed her mind to wonder whether she should have stopped. But then what would she have done? Or said?

You couldn’t just pick up stray adolescents. There were laws against that type of thing. And if that girl was anything like she’d been at the same age she’d have given her a mouthful for interfering in what didn’t concern her.

But…

Freya glanced in her rearview mirror, softly biting her lip. Maybe she ought to ring the school? She debated with herself for all of thirty seconds. She couldn’t do it. It would feel like a betrayal. Honour among thieves, and all that.

From the distance she heard the slow rumble of thunder. Moments later there was a crack of lightning.

Freya glanced again in her rearview mirror but she’d driven on too far to be able to see what the teenager’s reaction to the storm was. It was one hell of a day to have picked to bunk off school.

It was all too easy for her to imagine how that girl must be feeling. And how cold. Freya swore softly and steeled herself to go back and check the teenager was at least okay.

At the next junction she performed an illegal U-turn and drove back up the other way. It was one thing not to want to deliberately get someone into trouble, quite another to drive off leaving them wet and miserable.

The light from her headlights picked up the rain, now coming down like stair-rods. Despite it, the girl stepped straight out and lifted her thumb—which certainly made it all much easier. Freya gave quiet thanks that she didn’t have to get out of the car. She slowed and came to a stop.

‘You in trouble?’ she asked, opening the window with the push of a button.

‘The bus is late and I’ve got an appointment in Olban.’ The girl took a drag on her cigarette. ‘Are you going that way? I could use a lift.’

Rain slipped in through the opened window, darkening the suede of Freya’s jacket. One glance at the teenager showed she was faring much worse. Her khaki coat was sodden, and her hair, dragged back in a tight ponytail, hung limply down the back of her neck.

‘What time’s your appointment?’ Freya asked, mentally reviewing her options. Now she was here she wasn’t at all sure what she was going to do.

‘Twelve-fifteen. I’m meeting my mum at McDonalds.’

And she believed that just about as much as she wanted a hole in the head. ‘Can I ring her? To check she doesn’t mind me giving you a lift?’

‘She won’t mind.’

‘I’d like to ring her anyway.’

‘My phone’s died,’ she said, with a jut to her chin, then brushed a long strand of sodden hair off her cheek.

‘We can use mine.’

‘I can’t remember her number.’

Freya’s hands moved over the steering wheel. Hell, this kind of thing never happened to her in London. For one thing she was always too busy to notice if anyone was out of place.

Damn it! She really should have just rung the school. They could have checked their records and she could have driven back to Fellingham guilt free.

‘Are you going to take me?’ The girl took another drag on her cigarette and then dropped it to the ground, twisting the ball of her foot on it. ‘I won’t smoke in your car. And I’ve got a plastic bag in here,’ she said, lifting her schoolbag forward. ‘I can lay it across the seat if you’re worried about your leather.’

Freya fought the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. This girl was only a beginner in delinquency. Way back when, she wouldn’t have said anything like that. She’d have been more inclined to smoke if she thought it would shock, and the idea of protecting a car seat just wouldn’t have occurred to her.

‘I can give you a lift, but I need to ring your school and ask them to contact your mum. I need her permission.’

‘Don’t bother.’ The girl turned back towards the shelter, her shoulders braced against the wind.

‘You know hitch-hiking is dangerous,’ Freya offered, wincing at words she knew would achieve nothing. ‘I might be anyone.’

The girl looked over her shoulder. ‘But you’re not. You’re Freya Anthony. I’ve seen you before.’

‘Have you?’

‘And everyone’s talking about you.’

Ah. Why did that still have the power to surprise her? ‘Do I get to know your name?’

‘Do I get a lift?’ she countered.

It was a little like looking into a mirror. Albeit one that had the ability to turn back time. There was something else, too. Some sense that she’d seen this girl somewhere before. Maybe it was nothing more than the ghosts of her youth haunting her. Reminding her.

‘It’s pouring down out here, and I’m wet.’

‘I…’ Freya was momentarily distracted by a bright light shining in her rearview mirror. She looked up and then over her shoulder as a silver estate car bore done on her.

The girl swore, and Freya turned in time to see her duck out of sight. What the—?

The lights were switched off and a car door slammed behind her. Freya swung round in her seat and she watched, amazed, as Daniel Ramsay stormed over towards the shelter.

Oh…my…goodness. She made the connection surprisingly slowly. Somehow it had never occurred to her that a man the age of Daniel Ramsay would have a daughter as old as this one. But that had to be it. Every line of his body screamed his anger.

His dark eyes met hers briefly, but his attention was on the belligerent teenager. Fascinated, she watched the confident, mouthy girl turn into a sulky, quiet one. Freya deliberately looked away, and carefully re-zipped the inner pocket of her handbag.

She felt a strange pang of envy watching the two of them. No one had ever come looking for her. Certainly not her dad. Not ever. It would have meant a lot if he had. If just once he’d put her first. Freya brushed an irritated hand across her eyes. It had been such a long time since she’d allowed herself to be so affected by thoughts like that. It didn’t matter.

Not any more.

Her parents were her parents. They’d done the best they could and that was that. One’s worth must come from inside oneself. She only wished she could believe that…on some level other than a cerebral one.

‘Ms Anthony?’

Freya looked up.

‘Is that yours or hers?’ he asked abruptly, his voice edged with anger and his eyes on the cigarette butt on the kerb.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The cigarette?’

His voice was like steel…and she instinctively reacted against it. Who did he think he was, to be talking to her like that? She glanced at his daughter, standing sullenly behind him, and caught the appeal for help in her eyes. It was fleeting. Barely there before it was gone. And Freya couldn’t do anything but respond to the sense of kinship she felt.

‘You have a problem with that?’

His brown eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Actually, plenty. But if you want to sabotage your chances of living into old age so be it.’ He turned his head. ‘Mia, get in the car. Now. I said now!’

The teenager allowed herself a quick glance of gratitude towards Freya before doing as she was told. It was amazing how much ‘attitude’ she still managed to exude. Even the slam of the door spoke volumes.

Freya turned back to look at Mia’s father, feeling a little guilty.

He took a moment, seemingly trying to gain some control. ‘That wasn’t helpful. I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but—’

‘I—’

‘—if she’d actually got into your car I’d have seriously considered charging you with abduction.’

‘I—’

‘I suggest, in future, you mind your own business,’ he said, stepping back from her car and heading towards his own.

Freya sat, a little stunned at his attack. She felt as though she’d been verbally cut off at the knees. And people said she had a tongue dipped in vitriol.

She wouldn’t care to be in Mia’s shoes right now, she thought as she caught a glimpse of Daniel’s expression as he drove past. There was a price to being loved, it seemed. Because she didn’t doubt he was motivated by that.

Even so…he’d had no business talking to her like that. Slowly she reached down for the ignition to start the engine.

Surely it had been a tad disproportionate? She’d known from his reaction to her name earlier that he’d heard something of her history, but what exactly did he think she’d want with a truanting teenager? Did he honestly imagine she went around the country finding disaffected girls to turn into mini versions of her?

After starting the engine, Freya pulled away from the kerb. The sooner she got out of this spiteful little place the happier she’d be.

CHAPTER THREE

‘IS YOUR granddaughter here?’ Daniel asked, shaking the rain from his coat. ‘I’d like a word with her if I may?’

‘Through there.’ Margaret nodded towards the door to the dining room. ‘I don’t think you’re Freya’s favourite person right now.’

‘I don’t imagine I am. May I—?’

‘Go through,’ she said with a smile, giving every appearance of thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘I’ll put on the kettle. Call if you need rescuing.’

Daniel walked down the hallway, but he didn’t venture further than the doorway. Freya was there. Wrapping china and seemingly absorbed in her task.

He stood with one hand on the doorjamb, searching for the words he knew he needed to say—and trying to whip up some anger towards Mia for having placed him in this embarrassing situation.

But he knew this was about him. He’d spent long enough over the past few months talking about personal responsibility to know he’d no one to blame but himself for the way he’d spoken to Freya.

He’d done it because he could, he supposed. Because he’d needed someone to blame. Someone to take out his anger and frustration on.

Only…

Only—and this was the damnable part—he’d seen the slight widening of her blue eyes and caught the hurt in them. A fleeting expression. Swiftly controlled. But he’d seen it—and it felt as he imagined he would feel if he kicked a puppy.

There were enough people round and about who were ready to stick the knife into Freya Anthony, and he didn’t intend to be one of them. She was here now. That was wonderful, as far as Margaret was concerned, and if she was happy he had no business making it hard for her granddaughter to stay.

Which meant he had to put things right.

Try to. This wasn’t going to be easy. The slight tilt of her head told him Freya knew he was there, but that she’d no intention of meeting him halfway.

And why should she? He thrust his right hand deep in his jeans pocket. ‘I owe you an apology.’

Freya looked up momentarily from the bubble-wrap she was cutting. ‘Yes, you do.’ She reached for the top saucer from a pile to her left and placed it carefully in the centre of the bubble-wrap.

‘What I said to you…’

One perfectly shaped eyebrow flicked upwards.

‘…was…was out of line, and I apologise. I was unfair…and…’

‘Rude?’ she offered, her voice like a shiver.

Yes, damn it! He’d been rude. Completely unreasonable. Daniel pulled his hand out of his pocket and thrust it through his hair. ‘I took my anger out on you and I’m sorry. I had no right to do that.’

He’d done it. Made his apology. The best he could do without going into his relationship with his daughter.

‘No.’

His mind stuttered. No, his apology wasn’t accepted? Or no—

‘No right,’ she clarified, her fingers moving for a second saucer. ‘Would you pass me the sticky tape, please?’

Daniel walked further into the room and picked it up from the far end of the dining table. Stepping closer to her, he caught the waft of her perfume, light and citrus. Saw the pulse beating at the base of her neck…

And suddenly it mattered, really mattered, that she should believe him. He’d hurt her, and he had the uncanny sense that far too many people had done that.

He kept hold of the sticky tape as she reached for it and forced her to look up at him. ‘I’d like to have shouted at Mia, and since I couldn’t I took out my anger on you. Made you my whipping boy, if you like.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile as he saw the flicker of understanding. ‘I really am sorry for the way I spoke to you.’

There was a moment’s hesitation, then, ‘I know that.’

Just three words, but her voice had lost its hard edge, and the underlying huskiness of it seemed to hold him frozen. A small tug on the roll of sticky tape pulled him back to the present. He swallowed, watching as she ripped off a few centimetres and taped it across the top of the pile.

‘I can understand why you were angry. I just don’t think I deserved—’

‘No, you didn’t.’ She really didn’t.

She moistened her lips. ‘What happened to…Mia? Did you get her back to school?’

Freya’s concern merely added to his confusion about her. People asked about his daughter all the time, but none of them managed to imbue it with real concern. Why would she care? By all accounts empathy wasn’t one of her strong suits, and she’d not been anywhere near Margaret all the time he’d lived in Fellingham. She had to know her grandmother had desperately wanted her to.

‘Do you mind my asking?’

‘No. No, not at all. I drove her straight there.’ Daniel watched as Freya carefully folded over the end of the Sellotape and replaced it on the dining table.

He’d love to know what had made Freya visit now. She didn’t look like someone who’d want to spend days on end packing up someone else’s possessions. Maybe Sophy was right in thinking she had nowhere else to go?

Her hands moved to cocoon another teacup in bubble-wrap. She made even that mundane task seem faintly exotic. As was her dress ring. Whilst the thumb ring she wore was more bohemian. And she had tiny wrists that reminded him of Anna’s.

But that was where the similarities stopped. He looked up at Freya’s oval face, with her perfectly shaped eyebrows and carefully accentuated lip colour. The two women couldn’t have been more different.

His Anna had been a woman without artifice, whereas Freya couldn’t have exerted more care over her appearance. She was beautiful, but he fancied she’d look more beautiful first thing in the morning—before she’d hidden herself away behind her make-up.

He stopped. Maybe she was hiding. Maybe that was exactly what she was doing. Maybe Freya Anthony was less spoiled and more scared.

God only knew why that bothered him so much. She was nothing to him. But…

There’d been something unpleasant about the gossip swirling around the village over the last few days. Something in it he didn’t like.

‘The school picked up on her absence very quickly,’ Freya remarked, placing the saucers into a cardboard box by the wall. ‘That was good.’

Daniel put his hands deep in his jeans pockets and determinedly focused on her question. ‘They register her at the start of each lesson.’ She glanced up at him and he added, ‘Unusual, I know, but Mia skips off so often we’ve got a fairly established routine going now.’

‘Is she being bullied?’

‘Nothing like that.’ If only it were that simple. ‘There’s no real reason. At least not one she’s prepared to tell us about. We’ve got an excellent Educational Welfare Officer assigned to us now, but nothing anyone says to Mia seems to make any difference. She can’t see the point of school and that’s that.’

‘Tea?’ Margaret said, coming in behind him with a tray.

Daniel turned to take the tray from her, and she sat herself down in the nearest chair with something like a sigh. ‘My hip…The sooner I get that operation the better.’

‘If you’d go private,’ Freya said, rolling the bubble-wrap back on the roll and standing it in the corner, ‘you wouldn’t have to wait. I keep telling you that.’

‘I’m not paying.’

‘You wouldn’t have to. I would.’

Daniel set the tray on the table as another preconception bit the dust. From everything he’d heard he hadn’t expected there to be any kind of emotional connection between Margaret and her granddaughter…but there undoubtedly was.

How come? Freya Anthony had shaken the Fellingham dust from her shoes a long time ago, and hadn’t looked back. Before that she’d been nothing but trouble. But what he was watching wasn’t a new reconciliation. There was familiarity in the way they talked to each other. Love.

‘I’ve paid into the National Health Service for nearly fifty years, and I don’t see why I should have to pay extra now.’

Freya sat down opposite Margaret, but her blue eyes flicked over in his direction as she picked up the milk jug. ‘I assume you take milk?’

‘I do. Thank you.’

She poured some in the bone china teacup, and then lifted the matching teapot, steadying the lid with her finger. ‘We’ve been arguing about this for months, and I don’t think we’re ever going to agree.’

‘No, we aren’t!’

‘It’s crazy to go on in pain when there’s an alternative.’ She passed across her grandmother’s tea. ‘Just think—when you’ve had your operation you might not feel the same need to move from here—’

‘No one will want this place after I’m gone,’ Margaret said, setting the cup down in front of her and reaching for the sugar bowl. ‘This is a family home. I should have sold it a long time ago.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘Let someone else worry about the garden, for one thing. And your dad is quite right in saying I need to take steps now to avoid paying inheritance tax.’

‘You wouldn’t be paying it! Dad would. It would come out of your estate.’

‘But I don’t want my money going to the government.’ Margaret set her spoon down in the saucer and turned her attention to him. ‘Daniel, what have you done with Mia? There was no need for you to rush here this evening. I hope you didn’t feel you couldn’t cancel?’

Actually, it hadn’t occurred to him. His sole thought had been to apologise to Freya.

‘She’s in the car.’ He brushed a hand across his face, reluctant to confess even that much. He’d got a fifteen-year-old daughter he didn’t trust to leave at home even for half an hour. What did that say about him?

His life was a mess. Other parents seemed to be turning out well-balanced young people, whereas he was heading towards a fully-fledged delinquent. What did Freya make of that?

Of him? For reasons he couldn’t fathom he was suddenly interested in that. There was something particularly astute about the expression in her eyes when she looked at him. It made him feel she was weighing everything he said. Making a judgement. Probably finding him wanting.

‘Oh, Daniel, bring her in. It’s too cold for her to be sitting out there, even if she’s got her…whatever that thing is they all seem to be plugged into.’

Opposite, Freya smiled, her blue eyes holding a sudden sparkle. ‘I suspect you mean an MP3 player.’

‘Something like that,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Freya, be a darling and go and get her a glass of diet cola. She must be so fed up, sitting out there.’

‘She’s—’

‘She’s going to be frozen, Daniel. Just bring her in.’

Freya smiled and pushed her chair away from the table. She’d heard that tone in her grandmother’s voice many times before, and it really did brook no argument. Even her dad had done as he was told when faced with that voice.

It was a shame she hadn’t used it more often. If she’d been able to stay longer than that one summer holiday perhaps she’d have made different choices. Passed some exams.

For the umpteenth time that day she wondered what was motivating Mia. Her relationship with her dad was clearly fractured, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was all his fault.

‘A nice man doing his best.’ That was what her grandmother had said when she’d recounted the incident earlier.

And she honestly hadn’t expected him to apologise. At least not in any sincere way. That changed things. Maybe she really had stumbled on a man with integrity?

She found a two-litre bottle of diet cola on the floor of the larder and poured some into a tall glass, carrying it back to the dining room. ‘I found it.’

‘Good. We can’t leave Mia sitting out there. She’ll be texting someone she shouldn’t.’

‘A little like me, then,’ Freya said, setting it down on the tray.

‘Except there wasn’t texting when you were her age. You made your trouble in other ways.’

She’d certainly done that. But she’d had her reasons. When a person deliberately set out to push the self-destruct button there usually were reasons for it. So what were Mia’s?

Freya turned her head as she heard father and daughter returning, taking in his bleak expression and her sulky one.

‘Come and have a drink,’ Margaret said as soon as they appeared.

Dry, Mia really was a very attractive girl. Her hair, which had looked a dirty honey shade earlier, was a dramatic strawberry blonde colour. She’d have been quite stunning if she’d smiled.

In case they didn’t already know she was here under sufferance, Mia scarcely acknowledged that Margaret had spoken to her. Daniel ripped an exasperated hand through his hair and frowned at his daughter.

From this side of the fence it was almost comical to watch. Almost. It would never be quite that, because Freya knew what it felt like to carry a hard knot of anger inside. To feel lonely and frightened and so angry you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

‘Have you finished your tea?’ Margaret asked.

Freya looked down at her empty cup. ‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps you’d take Daniel to look at the chiffonier and the table? I’ll sit here and keep Mia company.’

‘They’re in the morning room,’ Freya said, standing up.

Daniel quickly drained the last of his tea and set the cup back in the saucer. He glanced at his daughter. ‘I won’t be long.’

Mia hunched a shoulder and picked up her cola. This time Freya couldn’t stop the tiny smile, then turned to look at Daniel and caught the quick flash of anger in his eyes. If Mia was looking to provoke a reaction from her father she’d succeeded.

A second glance at his daughter confirmed that she was completely aware of that. Whether or not Daniel was the root cause of Mia’s anger, he was certainly the focus of it. ‘If you want any more cola, I’ve left the bottle on the side in the kitchen.’

‘Thank you.’ Daniel spoke for her.

Freya turned her head and smiled. ‘I assume you know where you’re going?’

He nodded, and walked in the direction she’d pointed. Freya glanced back. With her dad out of the room Mia’s whole belligerent air had vanished. She just looked sad. And quite a bit younger.

Margaret smiled at Freya across the top Mia’s head. A look of complete understanding passed between them.

‘Would you mind pouring me a second cup of tea, Mia?’ Margaret asked. ‘This hip of mine makes it difficult to get out of the chair.’

Freya followed Daniel out into the Minton-tiled hallway, with its stunning mahogany staircase sweeping upwards. She glanced across at him, wondering what had happened in their relationship to make it so strained. It might be arrogant, but she somehow felt that if she just had half an hour with Mia she might be able to help.

But it was none of her business. And Daniel was at least working on it. He lifted his hand to rub his temple, and Freya caught sight of his wedding ring.

Where was Mia’s mother in all this? Her grandma hadn’t mentioned her and she hadn’t liked to ask. Just ‘a nice man doing his best’. That was all she’d said.

‘Margaret’s really good with her,’ Daniel observed.

‘With Mia?’

He nodded. ‘This is one of the few places I can bring her.’

‘Well, one way or another she’s had practice.’

‘You?’

Freya walked past him into the morning room. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking that. I imagine you’ve heard at least five versions of my youthful misdemeanours.’

‘One or two.’

It shouldn’t hurt to hear what she already knew. But it did. Nevertheless, she liked him better for not lying to her. ‘That’s the trouble with Fellingham,’ she said breezily. ‘Nothing ever happens here, so they have to re-hash old stories. You’d think they might have found something else to talk about after this much time.’

‘Your arrival re-sparked interest.’

‘I just bet. Let me know if I’m under suspicion for murder. Or whether it’s just abduction of minors—’

‘I’ve apologised for that!’

Freya brushed an irritated hand across her face. ‘True. My turn to apologise.’

‘You can’t have been much older than Mia when you left here.’

She took her hand away and caught the full force of his expression. Daniel really had the most incredible eyes. They seemed to offer a warmth and an acceptance she hadn’t seen in the longest time.

‘How old were you when you left?’

‘Seventeen.’

Daniel nodded. ‘Mia’s fifteen. Not so very different in age, then.’

‘Two years is a long time when you’re a teenager,’ Freya said quickly, wanting to make it absolutely clear that she didn’t think Mia’s life was on the same trajectory as hers had been. ‘Fifteen to seventeen weren’t good years for me, and I didn’t make it easy for anyone to like me.’