The City of Second Chances: Funny and heartwarming, the perfect winter warmer

By Jane Lacey-Crane

'Full of heart and hope' Heidi Swain.
Has she already met The One? What if Mr Right had come along at the wrong time...?

Evie Grant is forty-five years old, a widow, and single mum of two children about to leave the nest. Suddenly alone in the family home, Evie realizes she hates her job, hardly goes out and hasn't had a date since who knows when...

So it feels like fate when the opportunity arises for a girls trip to New York City. Staying with her sister on the Upper East Side, Evie is enchanted by a snow-covered city consumed by preparing for Christmas.

Bobble hat firmly on, Evie is walking through the city one day when she bumps into Daniel Roberts, Hollywood heartthrob and one-time boyfriend of hers.

It's now or never for Evie – but she open her heart to the possibility of a new beginnings and true happiness once again...?

Funny, real and wonderfully romantic, this is the perfect feel-good read to keep you warm this winter!

Praise for Jane Lacey-Crane:

'A beautifully written, emotional tale that will have you captivated from the off!' Rach.

'A story which made me feel all fuzzy inside and smiley on the outside from the first page right up until the end' SC.

'Fantastic read, good storyline, great twists and flowed well... My only complaint is that i got no housework done today as i couldn't put my kindle down!'

'An outstanding debut from a writer we're sure to hear more from! By turns funny, and heart-wrenching, it rarely takes anything for granted, and it gives us some laugh-out-loud moments too!' Mycroft.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Dec 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781788546027

Jane Lacey-Crane

Born in London, Jane's writing career began in cable TV, writing true crime documentaries. More recently, Jane has contributed to an anthology of short stories and written two weekly crime serials. When she's not writing, Jane loves to read good books, binge watch TV boxsets and drink tea. And wine.

Book preview

One

London, December 2017

When I was younger, back in the days my children liked to call ‘olden times’ but that were in fact only the late 1980s, you had to wait until the morning newspaper or the evening news to receive word on what was happening on the other side of the world. You would sit down with a brew on the sofa at night and watch the world fall apart in front of your eyes, but only for half an hour. Or you would unfold your newspaper at the breakfast table and be appalled at what one group of humans was doing to another in places you’d never seen or heard of. Nowadays things were different; in this age of twenty-four hour rolling news cycles and the power of the Internet, you could be happily stirring pasta sauce on your hob when you were faced with the kind of news that had the potential to shake your comfortable existence to its very heart. And that was how it was for me. I had a wooden spoon in one hand and my smartphone in the other, absent-mindedly scrolling through the news, when I saw the headline that made my heart pound and my head spin.

Missing Briton Olivia Bennett Believed Found After Eight Bodies Discovered in US National Park

The picture that accompanied the headline was of a young woman with shoulder length brown hair and a bright, slightly lopsided, smile. The wonky grin was a result of the damage done to her face after a terrible car accident when she was only fourteen, an accident that killed both her parents and her baby brother. How can you possibly tell all that from a photo? you ask. Because that girl was one of my best friends. I will never forget her face or the fact that I’m to blame for her disappearance.

New York City, December 1995

The bar was packed. We’d known it would be; Rachel had chosen it specifically because it was top of the list of New York’s trendy places to be seen. She’d read about it in one of her guidebooks and it was everything we dreamed of – and more. For tonight, we weren’t three ordinary girls from England – we were actors in our very own Hollywood movie, out on the town, looking to have a great time. We wanted to dance, flirt outrageously if given half a chance, and drink cocktails in an Uptown Manhattan bar.

Rachel strode up to the door. ‘Ready, girls?’ she asked. Olivia and I nodded enthusiastically. Rachel opened the sleek glass and chrome door, straight into another world. The heat from all those bodies crammed inside smacked me in the face. We pushed our way forward and into the crowd, trying to get nearer to the bar. The place had no dance floor, I noticed, but that didn’t seem to be a problem for the groups of revellers who bopped up and down where they stood, raising their hands and jigging back and forth to the beat.

‘Let’s get some drinks’, shouted Rachel, gesturing towards the long black marble bar that took up most of the left-hand side of the space.

‘I need to sit down,’ I shouted back. ‘These shoes are amazing to look at but hellish to wear – my feet are bloody killing me.’

At that moment, almost as if by magic, a group of people got up from their table and gestured to us that they were leaving so we could sit. This was how it had been for the entire trip so far – as if we’d been blessed by the gods of travel, with everything going our way without us having to try.

It had started at the check-in desk at Heathrow. A ticketing error meant that economy class had been overbooked so the three of us got bumped up to First Class. We couldn’t believe our luck and we took full advantage of everything that the upgrade had to offer. By the time we boarded the plane we were drunk on free champagne and stuffed with croissants, pastries and complimentary fruit. And that wasn’t the end of it. The first flurry of snow fell as we ice-skated in Central Park; as we passed a cathedral, one of the oldest in New York, a choir was rehearsing some of the most beautiful music I’d ever heard. We stood out on the steps, our breath fogging up the freezing air, and listened. Every time you turned a corner it was like stepping into a scene from a movie. Yellow cabs, police sirens, funnels of steam pouring from vents in the road. We were having the time of our lives. We shopped, we walked, we laughed, and we drank. A lot. Looking back though, after everything that happened, I realise I should have been wary. In my experience, the universe isn’t in the habit of dishing out good fortune like that without demanding payback eventually. But those thoughts would come later; right then, we were living in the moment and enjoying every second.

We’d already shared two bottles of champagne in our hotel room before we came out that night, so by the time we squeezed around the table in that Manhattan bar, we were a little tipsy to say the least. Not totally pissed, mind you, I’d say we were at that stage where we could find even the most mundane thing hilariously funny.

‘What can I get you, ladies?’ A waiter appeared at the table, wiping away drink spills and flashing us his gorgeous smile.

‘How come all you Americans have such good teeth?’ said Rachel, managing to keep her slurring to a minimum. The waiter flashed us another dazzling smile in response and then he winked at her.

‘We should have a round of Cosmopolitans!’ she shouted.

‘Yes! That sounds perfect,’ I cheered in agreement. ‘What do you think, Liv?’ I nudged her with my shoulder and she gave me a small smile in response.

‘I don’t mind. Order whatever. I don’t think I’m going to be able to drink much more anyway.’

‘Oh, really? Well, we’ll just have to see about that,’ said Rachel. ‘Waiter! Be a good man and bring us a round of Cosmos, please.’

‘Coming right up.’ He gave Rachel another smile and wink and then left. Rachel and I collapsed into more childish giggling and smutty innuendo about the gorgeous waiter and what we’d happily let him do to us over the bar. But Olivia’s mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse; the three of us had been friends for so long I could recognise the signs immediately. At the time of that fateful trip to New York, Rachel, Olivia and I had been friends for about four years. We’d met at sixth form college; Rachel and I had taken Olivia under our wing on the very first day of classes. I’d started chatting to Rachel as we waited for our first Theatre Studies lecture to start. I’d noticed her as soon as she strolled into the hall, sporting the wildest corkscrew perm I’d ever seen and wearing several studded leather belts criss-crossed around her waist and fingerless lace gloves à la Madonna. She looked effortlessly cool and she came and sat in the seat in front of me. She pulled a folder out of her rucksack and started looking at the reading list we’d all been given.

‘Jesus, I thought Theatre Studies was going to be a bit of a doss. All improv and farting about on stage. Not this.’ She half turned in her seat and waved the reading list at me. ‘Who’s August Strindberg when he’s at home anyway?’

I smiled and nodded. ‘I know what you mean. What with all this and then the reading for my Film Studies and English Literature classes, I’ll barely have time to eat and sleep.’

‘I’m doing Film and English too!’ she exclaimed, picking up her folder and bag and moving seats to sit next to me. ‘I’m Rachel.’

‘Evie,’ I replied.

‘I think you and me are gonna be best mates. I like your earrings, by the way. Very Susanna Hoffs.’

I smiled and touched the big red plastic hoops dangling from my lobes; I was flattered by the comparison. Back in 1989, I’d definitely been modelling my look on the lead singer of The Bangles: all fluffy auburn curls and too much dark eyeliner. We chatted away, comparing our favourite films (mine – Good Will Hunting, hers – Cocktail,) and our favourite music. Turns out we both loved Madonna, so we had plenty to talk about.

As we spilled out of the lecture theatre that first morning, engrossed in a chat about the demands of our A level courses, we spotted a shy looking girl across the other side of the foyer.

‘Did you see her in the lecture just now?’ asked Rachel.

‘Yes, she snuck in right at the last minute and sat down in the front, on the end of the row.’

I watched as the girl rummaged in her bag and retrieved her timetable.

‘Should we go and say hello? She looks a bit lost,’ I said.

‘Sounds good. Hey!’ Rachel waved a hand as we made our way across the hall. The girl with the close-cropped dark hair and denim dungarees looked up.

‘Hey, I’m Rachel. This is Evie. Everything okay?’ Rachel went barrelling over to her, curly perm bouncing and arms waving. ‘You looked a bit lost, so we thought we’d come over and say hi.’

The girl didn’t answer, she just blinked a couple of times and then gave Rachel a shy smile. As she did, I noticed the scar that ran down the left side of her face; it made her grin slightly lopsided.

‘It’s all a bit much to take in, isn’t it?’ I said, gently. ‘We were just talking about the reading lists for our courses. We’ve got tons to do.’

‘Yes, it is a lot. I’m… I’m… doing History and English Literature too, so…’

‘We’re both doing English Lit as well!’ exclaimed Rachel. ‘That’s amazing, we can all sit together. Is that where we should be going next?’ Rachel peered over at the timetable the girl was clutching; she still hadn’t told us her name.

‘Er… yes, I think it is,’ she said.

‘We’d better get going, then,’ I said, stepping between the two of them and linking my arms through theirs. ‘I hear Mr McDermott can be a bit of a fascist about timekeeping, even on the first day.’ We headed down the hallway to the English department, arm in arm.

‘I’m Olivia, by the way, but you can call me Liv if you like,’ our new friend finally announced.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Liv,’ I said.

‘You too,’ she replied, giving us both an enthusiastic smile. And that was it; from that moment on we were best friends, inseparable. We told each other everything, shared our deepest fears and our greatest joys, and Olivia told us about the car accident that left her face scarred and killed her family.

‘I don’t remember many details about what happened. I know it was raining and Dad was driving. We were on our way home from a party, some drinks thing for Mum’s work.’ The three of us were sitting in the canteen, sharing a plate of chips; Olivia kept her eyes on the table the whole time she was talking. As she started to talk I noticed the tears dropping onto her lap and I took her hand.

‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

She shook her head, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s been almost two years now. I can talk about it. The police said it was a lorry that jumped the lights at a crossroads. He didn’t see us in the rain, thought he could make it across. He ploughed straight into the side of us. I was lucky, they said. Mum and James, my little brother, died instantly but Dad hung on. He was in a coma for a few weeks but never recovered. I don’t know how I managed to survive it.’

‘Well, we’re glad you did,’ said Rachel, pulling her in for one of her all-enveloping hugs. They truly did have a magical way of making you feel better.

We stayed close all through college and beyond, despite the fact that life took us all in different directions. We tried to get together at least once a month, sometimes twice if one of us was having an emotional crisis or had good news to share. But then Olivia met Lewis, and everything changed. She stopped seeing us as often. She’d cancel one invitation after another, not turn up for coffee, or if she ever did join us for drinks or dinner, she would always have to leave early for some random reason or another. On more than one occasion, Lewis turned up unannounced at the bar or restaurant we were in, claiming that he’d ‘just been passing’. He’d sit there glowering moodily at Olivia until she would eventually announce she had a headache, or she needed to be up early in the morning, and then they would leave. Rachel and I had spent many a long hour discussing our doubts and fears about Lewis. Rachel had never liked him – right from the very first moment that Olivia had introduced us – but I’d always tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Liv doesn’t seem bothered by it – maybe we’re overreacting.’ Rachel and I were having coffee in the Crypt Café at St Martin-in-the-Fields one day, when the subject of Olivia and Lewis’s dysfunctional relationship had once again come up. At the time, Rachel was working for a theatrical agent in Soho, whilst I was working full time in a bookshop in Trafalgar Square. What had started as temporary positions for both of us had subsequently turned into permanent jobs that we both loathed but that paid us a decent wage. After two years as penniless students, we’d both jumped at the chance to earn some real cash. My job had the added perk of cheap books, the occasional book launch party with free booze, and the chance to mingle with publishing types. At the time, I was working on my first novel and fancied myself as the next big literary sensation. I was just waiting for someone to recognise my talents and give me a six figure publishing contract. My chances were somewhat scuppered by the fact that I hadn’t actually managed to finish writing anything, not even a short story, let alone a novel, and I also refused to show anyone anything I’d written.

‘He gives me the creeps, a bit like this place. Did we have to have coffee in a crypt?’ Rachel shuddered dramatically.

‘I like it here. It’s very atmospheric,’ I said, looking around at carved tombstones set into the walls and the floors of the café.

‘It smells like death and damp.’ Rachel wrinkled her nose. ‘Like Lewis.’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Rach.’

‘He’s just so overbearing. The way he turns up out of the blue, pretending like it’s some great coincidence, when you know for a fact that he’s done it on purpose. And then she just goes along with it and does as she’s told!’

‘What pisses you off more – him or the fact that she doesn’t seem to be able to stand up to him?’

‘Probably the last one. She turns into a spineless girl without a mind of her own whenever he snaps his fingers. She reverts back to the meek little girl we met that first day at college. And that isn’t who she is any more.’ Rachel carried her tray over to a table by the far wall of the café and sat down.

‘Perhaps she still is, underneath it all,’ I tried to suggest. ‘Perhaps she gets something from being with Lewis that she feels she needs.’

‘Like what? An inferiority complex and probably really crappy sex?’

‘Like family. She lost hers the night of that accident and then again when her nan died last year.’

‘We’re her family,’ said Rachel. ‘She doesn’t need someone like Lewis. He just wants to control her. I think we should say something.’

‘No, we can’t. You know what Liv’s like. One whiff of conflict and she’ll be off. We’ll never hear from her again. She hates all that kind of stuff, just wants everyone to get along.’ I loved Rachel but sometimes her tendency to be overly forthright with her opinions could get a bit tricky. ‘At least we’ll get her to ourselves for the week when we go to New York next month.’

‘Oh, God, I cannot wait. Seriously, that old fart I work for is driving me nuts. He refuses to let me modernise the office in any way. You know, he still uses index cards to store all his client information. And he makes me use a typewriter! A typewriter, Evie, can you imagine?’

And just like that we were off the topic of Olivia and Lewis. I smiled and nodded; to be fair, this was not the first time I’d sat through this particular rant about the eccentricities of Edgar, her boss. He’d been a very successful theatre agent in his day, and he still liked to give the impression of being in demand, despite the fact that most of his more high profile clients had either died or moved to other agencies.

‘This trip to New York will be just what we need,’ I said. ‘Time away from the day-to-day boredom, a chance to really have some fun.’

That was why, when Olivia suddenly announced that she might not be coming after all and had even gone so far as to find out about getting a refund on her ticket, Rachel and I were so disappointed. We knew it probably had something to do with Lewis, but we simply refused to take no for an answer. We practically frogmarched her to the departure gate, sure in the hope that, if we could just get her to New York, away from him, everything would be better. And for the first few days of the trip it was. We visited the sights, laughed and reminisced about our times together at college; but all that changed the night she disappeared. By the time we reached the bar that night, it had become obvious that Olivia couldn’t pretend any more. Whilst Rachel and I took full advantage of happy hour, downing two drinks in a row before despatching our sexy waiter off to the bar for another round, she sipped her one cocktail painfully slowly. We knew what was wrong with her: before we’d left the hotel, she’d had a row on the phone with Lewis. I never got the full story but from my end it had sounded as though he wasn’t happy about her getting glammed up for a night on the town with us. We were a bad influence, in Lewis’s opinion, that much I did hear. And sitting in that packed Manhattan bar that night, when we should have been getting drunk and having fun, I broke all my own rules about not getting involved in Olivia’s relationship; I couldn’t stand it any more and I was filled with a sudden urge to finally say something. I blame the Cosmopolitans.

‘Are you okay, honey? You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.’ I was probably slurring my words a bit by then.

‘I’m fine, just got a bit of a headache, that’s all,’ Olivia replied.

‘Were you and Lewis arguing before we came out? Sorry, I wasn’t earwigging but it was a bit obvious. You looked upset,’ I said, draining my glass as our waiter arrived at the table with another round. Rachel eyed his very pleasing bottom as he walked away from our table; obviously feeling brave after all the booze, she hopped down off her stool and followed him back to the bar.

‘Where’s she going?’ said Olivia.

I snorted into my drink. ‘She thinks he’s been giving her the eye, so she’s off to try her luck, I imagine.’

‘Oh, God, no. Really? Shouldn’t we go after her before she embarrasses herself?’

‘She’ll be fine, she’s a big girl,’ I said, raising my glass in a silent toast. ‘And don’t change the subject. We were talking about you and Lewis.’ I gestured towards her. Olivia just looked down at the table. With hindsight, I wish I hadn’t pushed her, I wish I’d just left it, but I didn’t. In truth I think I was angry with her for letting him ruin what should have been our dream trip.

‘Liv, I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,’ I said. I had to lean right into her ear – someone behind the bar had turned up the music and I could barely hear myself.

Olivia put down her drink and started gathering her things.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘It’s too loud for me in here. I think I’m going to go back to the hotel.’

I couldn’t help it – I was so mad. I was mad that Lewis’s phone call had made her so sad, but I was even angrier at Olivia for letting him do this to her again. Even though we were on the other side of an ocean, he still had control.

‘I can’t believe you’re letting him spoil this for you, Liv. It’s bad enough you let him run your life when we’re back home, but this was supposed to be a trip for all of us to enjoy together and he’s managed to fuck that up too!’ I yelled. Olivia just looked sad and shook her head.

‘You don’t understand, you couldn’t. Lewis is all I’ve got, and he takes care of me. None of you would understand – you all have everything figured out.’

Rachel was still MIA with the waiter and his good teeth, getting up to God knew what, and I was feeling decidedly wobbly after too much alcohol. What on earth made Olivia think that we had our shit together any more than she did?

‘How can you say that? We’re your family. You don’t need Lewis crapping all over your life. You could have so much more, Olivia, you deserve so much more.’

Olivia just nodded and then came and hugged me so tight. It’s one of my clearest memories of that night. She squeezed me so hard, and when she pulled away she had tears in her eyes.

‘Thanks, Evie. I love you – I love you both. And you don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.’

‘If you’re going to leave then we’re coming with you. Rach will be back in a minute. Just wait and then we can all go together,’ I said, reaching for my bag and jacket, but Olivia stopped me.

‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be fine. The hotel is literally two streets away. I’ll be all right on my own.’

‘No way, ‘I insisted. ‘I don’t care how far it is, you’re not—’

‘Oh, my God!’ Rachel’s voice cut through the crowd as she made her way back to our table. ‘Gimme a drink, I’m parched. You’re never going to believe what just happened!’ She grabbed her glass and downed the contents in one. She looked a bit dishevelled and I noticed her blouse was buttoned up wrong.

‘You didn’t?’ I shouted.

‘I bloody well did!’ she screeched. ‘He had me up against the wall out in the alley and it was so-o-o-o good! I couldn’t stop myself, he was just so fit!’

‘Bloody hell, Rachel, you’re crazy! Cheers to you though!’ I raised my glass and clinked it against hers. She proceeded to share her barman’s ‘sexpertise’ and when I turned around, Olivia had gone. I ran over to the door and out onto the street, but I couldn’t see her and, to my everlasting shame, I just went back into the bar. I should have gone after her; I should never have let her leave by herself.

It was midnight when we came back to the hotel, only an hour or so after Olivia had left us, to discover that she wasn’t there. We reported her missing immediately and when the police came and checked the hotel security footage, there was no sign of Olivia. She never made it back to the hotel and for the last twenty-two years I’ve lived with the fact that it was my fault. I drove her out of the bar that night, with my questions about Lewis and what she saw in him, and I was the one that let her leave on her own.

Two

London, December 2017

‘Do you really think it could be her? After all this time?’ Rachel’s voice sounded shaken. It mirrored my own.

‘I don’t know. I read the whole story but all it said was that eight bodies had been found in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t give any more information as to why they might think it’s her.’ I took a large mouthful of my wine and looked at the clock on the cooker – it was almost seven. I was expecting Grace and Sam home at any moment.

‘I can’t talk about this now – the kids are due back any minute.’

‘They’re back from uni already? It’s not Christmas holidays yet, is it?’

‘No, they’re only here for the weekend. Grace is catching up with some old school friends and Sam has tickets to see some band or other.’

‘So they’re just using you as a B & B, then?’ Rachel chuckled.

‘Yep, that’s about the size of it.’

In truth, I didn’t really mind; I was just happy to have them home, even if I’d probably only get to see them for a couple of hours. ‘They’ve promised to at least sit down for dinner with me tonight. That’ll be nice. All three of us together around the table again. I know Grace has been gone for a few months, but it still feels weird being here in the house on my own.’

‘Think yourself lucky. I don’t think Sean is ever going to leave home. The boy spends all day in his room with the curtains shut, playing games on his computer.’

‘I thought he went for a job interview the other day?’

Rachel snorted down the phone. ‘Ha! He did but he decided it wasn’t quite for him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Apparently he’s holding out for a management position,’ said Rachel, with more than a tiny note of sarcasm. I nearly spat out the mouthful of wine I’d just taken. ‘What?’

‘I know. He’s my son and I love him but he’s such a lazy little shit at times.’

‘Sounds sensible to me. Management is always going to be a better option, career wise,’ I replied, tongue firmly in my cheek. Thankfully Rachel and I had been friends long enough to be able to take the piss out of each other occasionally.

‘I’ll tell him you said that. Maybe you’d like him as a lodger for a bit, you know, to keep you company.’

‘Er, no, thanks. I’m fine just as I am.’ I heard the key in the front door followed by the sounds of my two children squabbling in the hallway. ‘Rach, I’ve got to go. Shall we meet up tomorrow for a coffee? We can talk about this properly.’

‘Yes, sounds good. Morgan’s, about one-ish?’

‘Great. See you then.’ I ended the call.

‘I don’t know why you couldn’t park on the road. You’ve blocked me in. Mum, tell her she’ll have to move her car, will you?’

‘I’ll move it later. I had a lot of bags, you moron. Mum, where shall I put these?’ asked Grace.

As I came down the hallway to greet my darling children I saw the bags of what I assumed was my daughter’s laundry, piled at her feet. Three of them.

‘Grace, have you not done any washing since you left in September?’

Grace looked down at the bags. ‘Yeah, of course. I’ve only brought the big stuff. Bed linen, towels, that sort of thing. There’s only a few bits of clothing in there. I just figured if you had the washing machine going, I could chuck these bits in.’

I shook my head and then turned my attention to Sam. I had to look up though. Sam was six feet four and he towered over me. He got his height from his father. Tom had also been tall. That was what had caught my attention on the night we met. That, and he had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen; something else that my son inherited from his father’s gene pool. I didn’t give his dad all the credit though; from me he’d got his dark hair and dark eyes, in fact both of them had. I knew I was undoubtedly biased, but my children were gorgeous. I picked up the bags of dirty sheets and towels and God knew what else and walked back into the kitchen. Sam slammed the front door and then followed me with his younger sister trailing behind. I looked at them both, standing together in my kitchen, Grace scrolling through her Instabook or Facegram or whatever it was, and Sam texting his friends. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude to have them both here with me.

‘I’ve made arrabbiata sauce for dinner. Your favourite.’

‘No pasta for me. I think I have an intolerance,’ said Grace, without looking up from her phone. She wandered through into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa.

‘You mean you’re intolerable, Grace. Totally different thing,’ shouted Sam. His sister flicked him her middle finger by way of a reply.

‘I can make courgetti instead of pasta if you’d rather,’ I called to her. I’d bought a spiraliser thingy on a whim a few months back in an effort to eat healthy and get fit. It was still in the box.

‘Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever.’

‘You pander to her too much, Mum,’ said Sam, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. ‘I’m going to dump my stuff upstairs. I’ll be back in a minute and I’ll set the table.’

‘You’re such a good boy, Sam.’

‘I know. I’m your favourite. You can say it, Grace won’t mind.’

I laughed. I didn’t have favourites; the three of us were a team. Sam was only eleven when his father died, and Grace was just eight. Tom had been killed in a car accident on his way home from work, almost ten years before. Ten years – had it really been that long? To me it still felt like only yesterday; the late-night knock on the front door from the police, the drive to the hospital to see Tom’s body. Overnight we became the three Musketeers; one for all and all for one. Without them I would have fallen to pieces. In my darkest moments, when I couldn’t see a way forward through all the pain, the thought of them dragged me back from the edge and kept me going. I didn’t have a choice; losing one parent was more than enough for any child to deal with.

‘How long’s dinner going to be? I’m starving,’ shouted Grace, from her prone position on the sofa.

‘About twenty minutes. Do you want to take your bag upstairs?’

Grace huffed. She knew this was my code for, ‘Get your bag out of the hallway before I fling it on the compost heap at the end of the garden.’ I heard her huffing and stomping her way out of the living room and up the stairs.

*

‘I’m so stuffed,’ said Sam, pushing his plate away from him and leaning back in his chair. ‘That was awesome, Mum.’ He’d had two helpings of pasta and most of the garlic bread. He ate like a horse, not that you could tell. As well as being tall, he was also