Page 41

Sophie

I’ve only been back in south Devon for a few hours and my plans have already gone badly wrong!

I had no appetite for lunch after Adam’s bombshell.

My throat was horribly dry, and the smell of tacos made me want to vomit.

I grip the steering wheel tighter as I drive the long way to Modbury, avoiding passing Lily’s parents’ house.

I shudder and consider another curveball: Tom unexpectedly popping up.

He was understandably distraught after Lily died and repeatedly tried to get in touch, claiming he didn’t blame me.

I felt too guilty to see or talk to him, even staying away from Lily’s funeral.

That’s what the recent emails could be about!

Maybe he hasn’t forgiven me for not going to her service or taking his calls back then.

It’s too much of a coincidence that he’s reappeared when I’m being anonymously targeted.

I’m almost relieved it’s him – at least I can steer well clear.

There’s still time to talk Adam out of attending.

We’ve arranged to meet tomorrow afternoon for a beach trip.

I could suggest a father–daughter day next Saturday, followed by a home-cooked dinner and movie night, so we’re all together in his final hours.

I pull into the village. Hardly anything has changed since I was here a few years ago to oversee fitting of the new boiler and other maintenance work.

Bunting is draped across the street and flowering hanging baskets swing from the windows of the black-and-white fourteenth-century inn.

I turn right off the high street up a steep, narrow road.

Our terraced house is small and painted a pale dove grey.

Mum inherited it from her elderly parents when I was tiny – she could never have afforded to live here on her income from yoga retreats.

Pushing down painful memories that prick at the back of my mind, I park the van around the corner and walk down the hill.

It takes a few trips to bring all my sewing equipment inside, and my arms ache when I finally close the front door.

The cleaners aired the rooms after the last guests checked out on Monday, but the pine air freshener doesn’t completely mask the damp smell.

My phone vibrates, making me jump, and I rummage for it in my bag. It’s Flora.

Good luck with SSD! (and a word that rhymes with luck!) Libby sends her love. P.S. I plagiarised your ‘happiness’ speech and she said ‘yes’ to getting back together! Xx

I reply: Thanx and hurray! Much love to you both xx

I’ll need all the luck I can get this week, but I doubt there will be any of the other!

I leave everything in the hall and do a quick inspection.

Before Mum’s travels, she repainted all the rooms a clinical white, replaced most of the rickety old furniture with cheap flat-packs, and removed our personal belongings.

Hardly anything is left from my childhood, apart from feelings of loneliness.

Those are ingrained in the walls. It never felt much of a home, unlike Lily’s house, which was filled with laughter.

Heading upstairs, I check the bathroom before stepping into my old bedroom, which has a damp patch in the corner, above the skirting board.

The carpet has been removed, leaving bare floorboards, and the bed has an elaborate wrought-iron trellis and a nautical blue-and-white-striped quilt.

Only the wardrobe and full-length mirror are mine.

I walk over to my closet, which always needed a hard yank to open.

The empty hangers rattle like skeletons, and I’m sent spiralling back to my teenage years.

The bare walls are plastered with Little Mix posters once more.

Lily and I are curled up on my rosebud duvet after an afternoon shopping; later, she’s putting on make-up at my wonky old dressing table, which needed a magazine rammed beneath the leg.

She jerks open my wardrobe, looking for something new to wear.

Inhaling deeply, I can almost smell her strawberry bubble gum and Calvin Klein perfume. Lily’s reflection is in the mirror, laughing as we prepare for prom. She’s putting on her gold hooped earrings as she dances to ‘Black Magic’ in her sexy strapless dress.

I push my thumbs into my closed eyelids but hear her tinkly laugh. It never fades.

Lily is everywhere.

I steady myself against the wall. I can’t sleep in here. Mum’s old bedroom will be fine this week; it contains fewer harrowing recollections.

I’d become accustomed to losing her long before she died.

Making amends with Joan’s family was one thing, but I mustn’t delve further back into my past.

If I do, I’ll feel the wetness on my cheeks as I sobbed at home, alone, during Lily’s funeral. I’ll hear Adam banging on our front door afterwards, crying and begging to see me. I’ll remember how I shrank even further away from him, Mum, Lily’s parents, myself.

Tugging on the loose threads risks unravelling everything.

I’ll fall apart.

I walk out, closing the door firmly on the memories of my best friend.