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“And I went to school with a girl who was afraid of butterflies,” Romana chips in. “We didn’t know anything about it until we were learning about the life cycle in science, and the teacher brought one of those nets you hatch caterpillars in. We watched them grow and make their chrysalises, and then one day they turned into butterflies, and the girl was hysterical. She ran from the room crying with her jumper pulled up over her head, saying they were in her hair when they were nowhere near her.” Romana’s eyes widen at the memory.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Darcy says.

“Me neither,” Dana adds.

“I beg to differ, girls,” Smithy says, spooning chilli into a floppy wrap. “What about the dentist?”

“We just don’t like the dentist,” Darcy jumps in.

“Yeah, we aren’t afraid of her,” Dana says.

“What are you scared of?” Darcy asks, and everyone looks at me.

The question pins me to my seat.

What am I afraid of?

I know I’m afraid of spending the rest of my life alone, having never been in love. I’m afraid I’ll never belong anywhere, just like those dogs in the shelter, but I can’t tell a seven-and-a-half-year-old this, so instead I say, “Heights. And small spaces. And maybe cheerleaders.”

“Cheerleaders?” Owen says.

“Yeah, I find them very unnerving. Dressed in those little outfits, all chanting and moving at the same time, and standing on one another in pyramids. And they’re so full of energy, and their smiles are so wide. It’s not normal.”

Everyone laughs.

“Good job we don’t live in America, then,” Romana says.

“What about you, Uncle Owen? What are you afraid of?” Darcy asks, and we all look at him.

27

Owen

I’m still thinking about cheerleaders and how if anyone can find them scary, it would be Alice when Darcy hits me with the question.

“What about you, Uncle Owen? What are you afraid of?”

How do I tell her I’ve already been faced with my biggest fear, and I’ve had to learn to live with it? I’ve had to accept that this is my lot, and I can’t do anything to change it.

“This isn’t what I signed up for.”

Pippa’s words are ingrained in my brain, and I always think, You and me both, but she got to walk away, whereas I didn’t.

Aware of the five pairs of eyes all staring at me and waiting for an answer, I cough up, “When I was younger, I was always a bit spooked by people dressed up in costumes.”

“Me too,” Romana says. “I once freaked out at a garden centre because they had a guy dressed up as a gnome. He was handing out balloons to the kids, who were all loving it, and I was crying and clinging to my mum.”

“Gnomes, huh?” Smithy says between mouthfuls of chilli. “Is that why you won’t let me get one for the garden?”

“I don’t have a problem with actual gnomes, just people dressed up as them,” Romana points out.

“I have a problem with actual gnomes,” I say, and everyone looks at me. “They don’t belong in a garden, or anywhere for that matter.”

“Well, that’s your next birthday present ruined,” Smithy declares, whipping the tea towel from off his shoulder and placing it on the table.

Thankfully, the conversation goes on to safer territory, and as we eat and chat, I watch Alice, how she relaxes, how easily she seems to blend in with the people I care about, ones she met less than an hour ago.

It’s taken me years to settle into the role of Uncle Owen, yet Alice manages to be herself, be welcomed and accepted. I envy the ease with which she adapts to her environment, and I bet she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.