Guy says, ‘No. That’s not fair, Natasha. I can see why, you’re right. But she suffered every day for it. She gave up the one thing that made her happy, her painting. That was her penance, her punishment.’ He puts his hands in his pockets. ‘She was like Icarus, you know. She thought she could get away with what she was doing, and she flew too close to the sun. She didn’t kil Cecily, you know.’

‘No, but she was happy enough to let everyone think Mum did, in some way,’ I say coldly. ‘She didn’t care about her other daughter, about screwing her life up, about carrying on screwing it up. Not at al .’

‘You’re right,’ he says, bowing his head. ‘You’re right. But stil – I don’t think she was evil.’ He stops. ‘Just – she was a great artist. That’s what they’re like, I suppose. And she saw in you something special. I think, if it’s any consolation, you gave her real pleasure, something to live for. And I think she knew I was your father.’

‘Real y?’ I say.

He nods. ‘Oh, I think it now. Didn’t before. But the way she organised this whole foundation, the fact that you, your mother and I were on the committee – I’m sure she was trying to make amends, as soon as she died. So that when she’d gone we’d be thrown together, start afresh, as it were.’ Guy nods. ‘Start afresh, yes. Al three of us, in fact.’ He puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘She was proud of you. And I am too. And so is your mother.’

‘Hah,’ I say. ‘Wel .’

‘She is,’ Guy persists. ‘She’s just never been able to say it. Give her time.’

There’s another pause. ‘Look, Guy,’ I say. ‘I am going to go now – just want to be on my own for a bit. Think this al through.’ I squeeze his hand.

‘Are you around this weekend? Maybe we could have a coffee?’

‘Sure, either’s good for me,’ he says. He holds my hand. ‘I’d love to meet Oli too, if that’s OK?’ He reads my face and says, ‘Oh. Oh, no, Natasha. I’m sorry. Have I put my foot in it?’

‘No, not at al .’ I am impressed by his intuition, and then I think, Wel , he is my father, I’ve got half his genes, and my mind is blown again by how strange this is, and yet how total y, almost unremarkably right it feels. I swing his hand in mine. ‘It’s over with me and Oli, it real y is this time.’ His face fal s. ‘But honestly, it’s for the best. I think I was looking for something, a family of my own, and it was a mistake.’

‘You don’t need to look any more,’ Guy says. ‘You’ve got me.’ He puts his arm on my shoulder. ‘I’m your family, Natasha. And soon Roseanna and Cecily wil be too. We can take it slowly, you don’t have to see me at al if you want. But from this moment on, for the rest of your life, that’s a fact. I’m your family. OK?’

‘OK,’ I say. He nods firmly. ‘Shake on it? Wil you trust me?’

I give him my hand again and we shake hands, smiling at each other in the sunny kitchen.

Epilogue

‘Hey, someone’s looking for you,’ Sara, the girl at the next stal , says to me when I come back from a coffee run. ‘Said he’d come back.’

I am vaguely apprehensive today, and I don’t know why. Something at the back of my mind is worrying me, which normal y means I’ve been spending too much time on my own and I need to go down the corridor of the studio and find Lily or even Les, the leader of the writers’ col ective, if I’m feeling real y desperate. Ben has been away in Turkey for ages for work, doing an upscale holiday brochure, so I can’t even cal on him. I keep going to knock on his door, or thinking of something funny to tel him, and he’s never there. I text him, but he hardly ever replies. I miss him, I realise that now. He’s always been there, and I thought it was great to have someone, anyone, next door. Now I know it was the fact that it was him next door that was great. I wish he’d come today. I’m sel ing some new pieces on the stal , and I’ve emailed a whole bunch of people, friends, contacts, asking them to drop by. It’s my new range. Perhaps that’s why I’m nervous.

I sit back on my stool by the stal , stroking the dul pink velvet cushions I have put the new bracelets I’ve made on.

They are silver bangles each with a single charm, a fat enamel ed star with an initial, and the pre-orders are already fantastic. I’ve taken Maya on part-time, I’m paying her a wage, and I’m actual y going in to meet someone from Liberty next week. I can hardly believe it.

Down here on Brick Lane, my stal inside at the Sunday Upmarket is busier than ever these days, since I sorted myself out, since spring came, and since I got Cecily’s ring to inspire me. It turns out that Granny left me and Jay money in her wil , £20,000 each, to be exact, and I need to spend it wisely. I can pay Oli everything back that I owed him, and clear my debts. I’ve bought some more stock, and I’ve spent some money tarting up the stal , having some business cards printed.

It’s over two months since I turned up on Guy’s doorstep. Three months since I kissed Ben. Nearly four months since Granny died and Oli moved out. It is starting to feel as if at some point these things might one day be part of the past, an archaeological layer of my life I can look back on. But of course the roots are deeper than that. I was with Oli for five years, and though he and Chloe aren’t top of my dinner party list at the moment, I can see a time when we wil meet, at Jason’s birthday drinks, for example, and it’l be fine. More than fine. I like him. I always did. We just shouldn’t have been married. It’s not an escape from the real problems in your life. It doesn’t wipe the slate clean.

I sip my coffee, looking round the sunny room, swinging my legs.

‘Hey,’ a voice says. ‘You’re here.’

I look up. ‘Ben,’ I say. I leap up and smile at him. ‘You’re back!’

It seems like ages since I saw him. It’s nearly a month, but it seems longer. His hair has grown back a little, not back to where it was when he was shaggy and comfortable-looking, like an old jumper, but it’s not quite as skul -grazing as it was.

He is tanned and lean, and there are red apples on his cheeks. His teeth are very white – I’ve always liked that about him.

Ah, it’s good to see him, after so long. We’ve been funny with each other these past few months, and I wish we hadn’t. And now he’s here, and it’s lovely. He’s smiling widely and holding out his arms. I walk towards him and he hugs me.

‘It’s great to see you, Nat,’ he says. I look up and smile, and realise I am staring right at Jamie, who has been standing behind him. I step back.

‘Hey, Jamie,’ I say. ‘It’s great to see you too. Two of you, too. Both of you! Hah!’ I finish lamely, sounding insane. ‘Come on over! Check out my

. . . stuff.’ I trail off, and they look at me politely.

Over at the next stal , Sara shakes her head at me, and then her attention is diverted. ‘Natasha?’ I hear her say. ‘She’s right here.’

‘Hel o, darling,’ says a low voice in my ear. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’

‘Mum?’ I turn in surprise. ‘Hi – I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘You invited me, didn’t you?’ She leans forward and kisses me, and I smel her familiar scent, sandalwood and something spicy. My mother is channel ing her favourite era today, in a beautiful cerise and turquoise silk maxi-dress and cardigan, and gold sandals. She looks younger than I do.

I run my hands through my hair, awkwardly.

‘Mum, you know Ben and –’ I begin, but she interrupts. ‘Ben! Hel o, darling!’ she says, throwing her arms round him, and I cannot help but rol my eyes at Jamie, who is standing off to the side, slightly self-conscious. I beckon her forward, and she shakes her head, smiling.

‘How are you?’ my mother is asking Ben. ‘I’m wel , how are you? You look amazing, Miranda.’

At this point my mother actual y nudges him. I expect her to say, ‘Oh, get away!’ and lightly tap his hand. ‘I can’t stay long,’ she says, smiling broadly. ‘Jean-Luc’s taking me to lunch! At Galvin!’

‘Jean-Luc?’

‘Oh, you remember, darling, he’s a special friend of mine. Poor chap’s had a terrible time, but he’s left his wife for good now, and it’s going marvel ously.’

I look at her and she does seem to be glowing, but perhaps that’s just the bronzer and the new diamond earrings she appears to be sporting.

Whatever it is, the coat of armour is firmly back on my mother, for better or worse. ‘Where is he?’ I ask.

‘Oh,’ she says, with devastating candour. ‘He hates this kind of thing. He’s in a cheese shop somewhere.’

‘Charming,’ I hear Ben murmur, and I want to laugh, and I realise laughing is the only way to deal with it, because it real y is kind of funny.

My mother leans forward. ‘These are pretty,’ she says, her gaze sliding over my pieces. She strokes one of the necklaces with two fingers.

‘Cecily’s ring, darling, it looks beautiful.’ She looks up. ‘These must be sel ing wel , hm?’

‘I’ve sold a hundred and fifty so far.’

‘Gosh.’ She nods. ‘And these are nice,’ she says, picking up the bangles. I forget how good she was at her job, with her eye for beautiful things and a sense of business that came from God knows where, and I think again about al the things she could have been if she hadn’t been screwed up – or screwed herself up. She slips a bangle onto her slim wrist. The blue enamel glints in the sunny hal . ‘I love it,’ she says. ‘I’l take one.’ She pauses. ‘And the necklace too.’

As I reach for some tissue paper to wrap them, Jamie taps me on the arm. ‘I just wanted to say hi,’ she says. Her blonde hair glows in the bright sun.

‘Hi,’ I say, slightly confused, and I look around for Ben. ‘I’m going, I mean, sorry. It al looks gorgeous, Natasha, I real y love your stuff. I’m going to come by the studio tomorrow if that’s OK and buy some things for my sisters.’