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“After today, I may be gone a while,” he said.

“Why? Where?”

“I can’t tell you. Go to sleep, Emily,” he whispered, and his scent lingered between us, calming, reassuring, and I drifted off.

When I woke the following morning, Tristan had gone. His absence left me feeling despondent beyond my now normal underlying sorrow. He’d said he’d be gone for a while. Where? And how long was a while?

I rose, trying to shake off my bleak mood. It was early, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, it was raining. I showered, dressed quickly, plaited my hair, and made my way downstairs.

Lulu and Dylan were in the kitchen and there was music on the HomePod.

Taylor Swift. Folklore.

Taylor.

I halted in the hallway as the music played. Dylan had bought tickets for my mother’s birthday, and she’d taken me, not Dad, to see the concert at Wembley. It had been one of the best nights ever.

My throat constricted as I remembered and I was tempted to rush back upstairs to check out the photos of the evening on my phone.

This album was a favorite of my parents. It got them through lockdown.

I was more of a 1989 (Taylor’s Version) and Tortured Poets Department fan. But I hadn’t listened since… since before.

“But we haven’t been out for ages, Dylan.” Lulu was complaining. “Please.”

Oh dear. They sounded like they were arguing. I stood paralyzed in the hall, uncertain what to do. I didn’t want to interrupt them, but I didn’t want to listen to them either.

“I don’t feel like going out, Lu.”

“Emily will be fine.”

“It’s not just Emily.” Dylan sounded angry. “She’s lost her family, and I lost my sister, my godson, and my brother-in-law. That doesn’t really put me in a party mood.”

Lulu was silent, and I imagined them glowering at each other. I didn’t want to hear this. I should move. But I couldn’t.

The white noise buzzed. And I was catapulted back to listening to my parents row. It was rare, but when it happened, they would scream at each other, and I would sit and listen, immobilized, silently begging them to stop, covering my ears and trying to pretend it wasn’t real. Billy would be much more proactive. Rushing in, fists on his hips, usually wearing his Batman costume or his football strip.

Stop fighting. You’re upsetting Emmy!

He always stopped them in their tracks. Billy was so strong.

My mind returned to the present, not wanting to deal with thoughts of Billy… Baby, baby Billy.

“But why does she have to live with you, Dyl? You’re too young to be looking after her. She needs a woman, a grown-up. And I can’t remember the last time you stayed with me!”

“I’m her guardian. She has no one else, and she’s still a child.”

“She doesn’t look like a child. She’s seventeen, for heaven’s sake.”

“Tallulah, we are not having this conversation. She lives here now, and until she’s able to make her own way in the world, I’m responsible for her. She’s part of the package; just deal with it.” His voice was cold and harsh.

“Okay! Keep your voice down. I’m sorry. But I have never seen you so stressed out,” she said gently, more conciliatory. “I hate seeing you like this.”

Standing in the hall, immobilized, listening like some horrible eavesdropping spy, I felt desolate.

They were kissing.

“Lu, please,” Dylan breathed. “Stop.”