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‘Leave it. I’ll grab some stuff on the way home.’

‘No, let me do it. It’ll be good for me to get out of the house.’

She gives a grateful smile, and I shuffle off to the shower. After I’m washed and dressed, I scan the grief resources that the hospital gave us and make an appointment to speak with a therapist. Then I add some items to the shopping list so I can cook dinner. I grab my camera, which I haven’t touched for weeks, and my car keys, and head out into the bright sunshine.

As I start the engine, my phone rings. I sigh when I see the caller, but answer. ‘Hi, Tom.’

‘Holly! Are you okay?’

I click in my seatbelt. ‘I’m fine. Sorry I haven’t replied to you. I’ve just been a bit down.’

‘Of course you have.’

‘I got your text about dinner tomorrow night,’ I say. ‘I’m free if you still wanted to go somewhere.’

‘Yes! Great. I’ll find somewhere and let you know.’

I’m disheartened by the excitement in his voice. ‘Okay. I was just heading out, so I’ll see you tomorrow night.’

‘Look forward to it.’

I hang up and set off towards the city, muttering, ‘Don’t look forward to it, Tom.’

Half an hour later, I’m in the botanic gardens walking towards the lake where Mum and Dad took me for my tenth birthday. It’s a weekday morning, so this section of the gardens is quiet and I’m grateful for the solitude. I dump my bag and wander along the water, looking for potential photo subjects. That’s what Dad taught me that day – look for the photo potential in the ordinary things. I spot a leaf on the ground and bend down to inspect it. At first glance, it’s just a pale green leaf that’s recently fallen. But a closer look reveals a fine silver thread weaving a symmetrical pattern through the leaf. I take it to a bench and set it in position. Through the lens, the silver thread catches the sun, giving the leaf an ethereal glow, and the edges blur into the soft morning light.

‘That’s for you, Mum and Dad.’ I close my eyes and hold the leaf to my heart, release some tears to ease the heart ache. I feel my parents’ presence and it comforts me.

I open my eyes and take in the lake, the trees, the city buildings in the distance. I do love Melbourne, and I still have Adam and his family and my friends. Maybe I should be more positive about setting up a new life here. I had my what-if answered. Casey is alive and well and we were never meant to be. I’ll be fine on my own, my camera for company. At least it never lets me down.

The following night, locked in the restaurant bathroom, I pull out my phone and stare at Casey’s message.

It doesn’t matter we’re in different countries. I don’t want anything from you other than to stay in touch. It’s not pointless and you’re wrong we weren’t meant to be. You said it was fate and I believe that.

It’s the reply she sent a week after Mum’s funeral, and there hasn’t been another since. Yesterday, after deciding to get on with life in Melbourne, I stayed on the park bench for a while longer and deleted her messages, bar this one. Even though she’s sent me pleading messages for weeks, there’s something about this one that almost cuts through the barrier between us. Almost. I take a deep breath, swipe delete and head back to the table.

Tom brightens when I reappear and tops up my wine. ‘It’s nice here, don’t you think?’

I glance around the restaurant. It’s small and busy, sleek furniture, exposed brick, hipster staff, overpriced food. The kind of place Tom never would’ve suggested going to when we were together. ‘Yeah. It is.’

As though he knows what I’m thinking, he says, ‘I’m sorry we didn’t do this more when we were together.’

I shrug. ‘Just the way it was.’

He swallows and gazes at me like a lost puppy. ‘I’m sorry about a lot of things.’

I shake my head. ‘Don’t, Tom. It wasn’t all you.’

‘I didn’t appreciate you enough.’

I fiddle with the cloth napkin in front of me. He opens his mouth to speak again, but I reach across the table and give his hand a friendly pat. ‘Seriously, it wasn’t all you.’ He glances down and hope blooms on his face. I slowly retract my hand, gripping my wine glass instead. ‘I’m sorry I left the way I did. That wasn’t the right way to handle it. I feel guilty about that – and about how much that would’ve hurt you.’

‘Okay, I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk about that, but since you’ve brought it up – yeah, you leaving hurt like hell, and I struggled.’

My guilt flares, but I also feel the urge to defend myself. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I felt suffocated here. Not just us, but Mum needing so much care, my job, the past few years … it all became too much, and I had to get away.’

‘I know. And expecting you to take on Jack…’ He shakes his head. ‘That was a big ask. I don’t think I even discussed it properly with you.’ He reaches for my hand again. ‘I’ll do better if we try again.’

My stomach tightens. ‘Oh, I thought this was a friends’ dinner.’