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She pointed to one wrapped in gold paper, and Jack handed it over.

Emma took a breath. ‘Now. I meant to do one of these for each of you, but, well, it’s taken me a little longer than I would have liked, what with . . . everything. So you can share this for now, and then decide on whose is whose when I’ve done the other one.’ She held the present out in the space between Holly and Jack.

Holly looked at Jack, who nodded, encouraged her to take it. She felt her fingers tremble unexpectedly as she opened it. It was a painting. A Mirabelle Landor painting. It was like the rainforest in the café, the one that Holly had been staring at when she’d bumped into Jack. The one that Emma had been looking at when she’d written the letter that had found its way to Holly. But it had differences. There were parts that were a deeper green, and some of the plants, to Holly’s limited knowledge, looked like they didn’t belong in a rainforest. There was a section of orange and gold, the warmth of the sun beating over the landscape.

‘This is a Mirabelle Landor painting,’ she said, processing what she was holding with what Emma had said.

‘Well spotted, my girl.’

‘But you just said you made . . .’ Holly trailed off as the pieces started to come together.

She felt Jack shift closer to her, glanced at him to see him frowning down at the painting. ‘Those are ghost orchids.’ He was looking at the plants that Holly had clocked. ‘They don’t really belong in a—’

‘I know that,’ Emma said briskly. ‘But they’re your favourite flowers, aren’t they?’ She turned to Holly. ‘And this is your bit.’ She gestured to the orange and gold shades. ‘Because you are a bit chaotic, but you bring warmth and hope – or at least you did to me.’

Holly felt a lump form in her throat, and her vision blurred. But despite that, she saw it, confirming what she thought she’d heard Emma say. The signature, in the bottom right-hand corner – where the name Mirabelle Landor was usually written.

Emma Tooley.

The handwriting was the same. She knew that, without having to check – because she’d studied her Mirabelle Landor card enough to know.

She looked at Emma, her heart doing a funny little thump. ‘Emma . . . What does this . . .?’

Jack was looking between them, his brow furrowed.

Holly pointed to the signature.

He read it. Stared. Then looked at Emma. ‘What?’

His voice was a bit too loud, and it made Holly let out a small little laugh.

‘Tone it down a bit, my boy, otherwise Pam’ll be round in a flash, and we’re already spending all day with her tomorrow.’

‘But you . . . Is this . . .?’

‘Yes.’ Emma shifted on her seat. Uncomfortable, Holly realised. She was uncomfortable, letting them in on this secret.

‘You’re Mirabelle Landor?’ she demanded.

‘I am,’ Emma said, her voice calm, despite her posture. ‘Or she’s me; I’m not really sure which way round it should be.’

‘You painted the card that you gave me?’ Jack demanded. ‘When I was a kid?’ The card he’d been carrying around on the day they’d met, Holly remembered.

‘Yes.’

‘And you painted the rainforest? In the café?’ Holly said, staring at Emma’s face.

‘Yes!’ Emma huffed impatiently. ‘Not very quick on the uptake you two, are you?’

‘But . . .’ Holly exchanged a glance with Jack and was sure her expression mirrored his – a particular kind of bafflement. ‘Why? Why did you never tell us? Why did you never tell anyone? Or did you? Did you tell Pam? Because if you told her and neither of you—’

‘Holly,’ Emma said firmly, and Holly wrinkled her nose. Right. She was overreacting – and Emma didn’t deserve that.

‘I’m sorry,’ she began again, trying not to speak as quickly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Jack shoot her a small smile.

‘I just—’