I lean forward and give her a big hug. 'Thank you for everything you did today,' I say. 'Well, everything. You should come into town some time. Come and see me.'

She looks taken aback. 'Oh, Nat darling, lovely. I'm sure that'd be - er . . .' She trails off.

'I'm very near the Geffrye Museum,' I say. 'We could go and look at nice almshouses and English furniture. Maybe wander down Columbia Road, there are some lovely places to have coffee there. And you could see where they're stocking my jewellery.' Next to me, Mum looks uncomfortable. 'I'd love you to see it.' I feel that if I don't say it now, I won't have a reason to see her again. Yes. So I say, 'I'd love to see you.'

Louisa suddenly goes a bit pink. 'I'd love that too.' She pats my arm. 'I'm so proud of you, Natasha. Your granny would be too . . .' She bites her lip and looks away. 'Goodbye,' she says, and she grips Mum's arm too.

'Goodbye, Natasha,' the Bowler Hat says.

He kisses my cheek and I stare at him. I don't feel rage, just cold dislike. I want him to suffer for what he's done but I realise there's no point, really. It would only hurt Louisa and that's not what any of us wants. He's not worth my time. Hopefully I won't ever have anything to do with him.

He doesn't go near Mum. 'Bye,' he says, raising his hand, rather flatly, as if unsure of what comes next.

'Ready?' Archie says. He opens the car door for his sister, as he always does. 'I'll be back soon, Louisa,' he says. 'Sort out the rest.'

'Thanks,' Louisa says, her voice muffled again; and it's strange, I've never noticed it before, but

233

it's true, there's an awkwardness between them. Whereas the Bowler Hat gets to stroll around carefree, and what he did that summer was much worse, and half of them - Mum, Archie, Guy - both my grandparents - know it. I sigh. That sums the whole crazy situation up, really. I mean, I know Archie can be annoying, but he's OK. He's Jay's dad, after all. He must have only just got back from dropping Arvind off, and here he is, driving us back to almost exactly where he's just been. 'Hop in, Natasha.'

'Thanks,' I say, feeling a rush of gratitude towards him, and I climb into the back. As we drive off I swivel round in my seat, just as I used to when I was small, to catch one last glimpse of the house, its white curves set against the sloping green and the sea in the background. In the front, Archie and Mum are chattering about something together, laughing, as if their spirits have been lifted already by going. I realise that, what with everything, I haven't said goodbye to the house, goodbye to Summercove for ever.

Then it occurs to me that actually, I have.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Just after seven the next morning, we pull in to Paddington. It is another beautiful spring day. Soft sunshine floods into the old, familiar station as Mum and I get off the train and stand awkwardly on the platform.

We look blearily at each other as the crowds recede. I swing my bag over my shoulder and she smiles at me, and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

'Darling Nat,' she says. 'My clever girl.'

We're nodding at each other. We've made it. We've come out the other side. I feel as though I've been fighting my way through the darkness for a long time, the whole of the last year. Perhaps longer, when I think about it, as if my life had gone the wrong direction, with no input from me. The way Mum's did when Cecily died.

She grips my hand with her long, smooth fingers, so tight she's almost pinching it. She is sort of wild, her eyes are huge.

I pat her shoulder. 'Mum,' I say. 'Shall we - do you want to go and get some breakfast? I know a nice place not far from here, by the canal.'

She's nodding. 'We could . . .talk,' I say, rolling my eyes, hoping she knows I don't like it much

either, but that it'd be nice to chat. 'Just . . . catch up and stuff.'

Mum opens her mouth, smiling at the same time. And then she says, 'Oh! . . . Yes. I'd - Yes, well,

234

I'd love to, darling, but I can't.'

'Oh. I thought you were - never mind, it doesn't matter.'

'Jean-Luc rang me early this morning,' she says, her eyes wide. 'His wife's left him and he's in a terrible state. He just happens to have a booking for the River Café for lunch! So he's taking me. I really should get home and make myself presentable.' Her smile is still bright, optimistic, sunny and a little scary. 'But it's a lovely idea, darling.' She grasps my hand again. 'Maybe some other time, hm?'

'Yes,' I say, looking at her, into her clear green eyes so like her own mother's, so like mine. 'Some other time.'

'Which way are you . . . ?' She points towards the main concourse.

'I'm—' I point behind me, towards the Hammersmith & City line.

'Of course,' she says. 'Yes, well, I'm getting the District . . .' We are still pointing in different directions. 'Well, I'd better run,' Mum says. She kisses me on the cheek. 'Bye, sweetheart,' she says, and she is dashing off down the platform, and I watch her go, and turn and climb the stairs to the Tube, the same stairs I ran down two months ago to catch this very same train, the one that would take me back to Summercove for Granny's funeral.

I sit on the Tube as it rattles gently east, away from the station, away from Mum, towards the centre of London and another day. I don't know when I'm going to see her again; she has made the parameters very clear, and after everything that's happened, that she's been through, I know it's fine. I see Louisa hurrying off . . . Mum, hurrying off . . . I see myself saying goodbye to Arvind, packing up my marriage. And just as I think I'm alone, pretty much alone, apart from Jay, but without the rest of my family, a thought strikes me.

I cannot believe I haven't seen it before.

I stand up abruptly in the crowded Tube. The doors are opening at King's Cross. Why didn't I think of it earlier? Why didn't I see it? I run through the crowds, the same faceless sea of people hurrying from one place to another, back in to work, vanishing in the distance, like Mum, hurrying towards the exit. I speed up my pace.

Half an hour later, I am standing outside a door of a house in a pretty Georgian terrace. I knock firmly.

A girl answers. 'Hi?' she says, looking at me. She is mid-twenties, with long, curly, dark brown hair, a touch of red in it. She is holding a half-finished cereal bowl and a spoon.

'Hi,' I say, slightly out of breath, as I have run all the way from the Tube. 'Hi. I'm Natasha. Is your - is your dad there?'

She looks me curiously up and down. And then she nods, and smiles. 'Um - OK. Sure.Dad!' she bellows with unexpected ferocity. ' Someone called Natasha here to see you!'

'Thanks,' I say. 'S'OK,' she says. She smiles. 'Yeah - so maybe see you later,' and she drifts off with the cereal bowl, back down the long corridor.

Guy appears in the hallway. He looks bleary-eyed, grey-faced. He peers, as if to make sure it is me. 'Natasha?' he says, shaking his head. 'When did you get back? What are you doing here?' It's not said unkindly.

'I wanted to ask you something,' I say. I look steadily at him. He meets my gaze. And swallows. 'OK. Fire away.'

'Guy,' I say. 'Um—'

He stares, and his eyes are kind. 'Go on, Natasha,' he says. 'Ask me.'

235

I take a deep breath. 'Are - are you my dad?'

He gives a little jump, and it's as if some tension within him has been released. He sighs. 'Yes,' he says. 'Yes, I am.' And he smiles, slowly. 'Oh,' I say. 'I'm so sorry,' he says. 'I've been more than useless. But you're here. I'm so glad you're here.'

I put my hand against the front door to steady myself. 'Why don't you come in?' he says. 'Come

on.'

'Oh,' I say, thinking of the girl inside, of how tired I am, how I want my breakfast, my bed. 'Oh . . .

well . . .'

'Come on,' he says again. 'I've been waiting for this for a while, you know. You're here now. Welcome.'

And he puts his arm round me and pulls me gently inside, and he shuts the door behind us and the rest of the world.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Guy's basement kitchen is a mess. He ushers me downstairs and sits me at the big wooden kitchen table, which is covered in newspapers and empty coffee mugs. He pushes some papers helplessly out of the way and gestures towards the cooker.

'Do you want some breakfast . . . ?'