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“I think things would have been very different if I could have read your mind,” she scoffs.

As prepared as I thought I was for comments like that, it still hits deeply.

“Last chance to back out,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not some timid eighteen-year-old who’s afraid of my own shadow. You wanted to talk, so take me to yours and we’ll talk.”

“You think my place is better because you don’t trust me enough to let me know where you live?” I tease.

“Nope,” she says, elongating each letter so it sounds like several syllables. Then she grins at me. “I live above the shop, but I got home late last night with Felix, was late starting this morning, and went straight out from work with my family. The flat is a mess. No way am I letting you see that. It’s almost worse than the house I grew up in.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” I laugh along with her. Then I put my car in gear and pull out onto the road, heading in the direction of home.

“Okay, it’s probably cleaner than that, but still. Unless you’re reluctant because your house is a disaster zone.”

“I’m driving, aren’t I?” I deflect. “Besides, I cleaned up today. A lot. Needed to get rid of some nervous energy,” I admit.

“Would have thought you’d have some fancy cleaning company that comes in and fluffs your pillows for you,” she prods. When I glance over at her as I pull up to the red traffic light at the end of her road, I can see the amusement on her face.

“No, I promise that I’m still down-to-earth. Though, even if I did have a cleaner, I’d probably still have done some cleaning myself today. I felt restless all day. Since yesterday, actually.”

“I maybe had a restless afternoon. It was easier in the day as I was busy teaching,” she explains.

“How was the class?” I ask.

The traffic light changes, so I carry on driving, keeping my attention on the road ahead. I know she’s usually more comfortable when people aren’t looking at her when she’s speaking. Even with her new-found confidence, if it makes it easier for her to open up, that’s something I’ll do for her.

“It was really good. Everybody finished their project, which is always a good sign. A few people have booked in for another class already.”

“I always wondered what you were getting up to, but I’m glad you seem so happy. You light up when you’re talking about the classes.”

“I enjoy it. I prefer the dressmaking aspects, but the classes are fun. I just promised Maddie that I’ll make her a pretty dress, so that’ll be fun too,” she says, but then her little chuckle disappears. She clams up.

“Maddie?”

“Verity’s daughter. My half-sister,” she clarifies.

“I didn’t know you had a half-sister.” I rifle through all my memories of her.

“We have a massive age gap, but Verity and Dad didn’t get together until I was sixteen, and they took a while to have a baby. That’s who I had dinner with this afternoon. Verity and Maddie.” She clears her throat.

I frown. “Not your dad?”

“He died.”

“Oh, Delilah, I’m so sorry,” I murmur. I curse myself for bringing up the topic.

“It’s okay. Well, not… okay. You know what I mean,” she stammers. “I mean, it was a few years ago now. He died trying to save a young woman who got into difficulty in a river. His death devastated me, but knowing he saved somebody gives me a little bit of comfort.”

“I’m still sorry,” I repeat, then clear my throat. “What about your mother?”

“I don’t know. I assume she’s still alive, but I’m not sure how anybody would ever find me to tell me if she died. We didn’t have much of a family, nor do I stay in touch with any of her friends.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” I ask.

“Before my nineteenth birthday,” she states.

I feel all my limbs stiffen. Her nineteenth birthday wasn’t long after I walked out of her life. There’s something that’s almost comforting in that knowledge, that maybe there were only limited opportunities for her mother and her mother’s boyfriends to ruin her nights.