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My parents would have been ecstatic with these results. Even the eight in Latin. My mother would have baked me her special chocolate cake and probably let me have a glass of champagne.

“Would you like to celebrate?” Dylan asked.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. The serenity I’d felt since waking was gone, and my anguish swelled in my chest. I swallowed, trying to fight the grief lodged in my throat. The letter in front of me blurred.

“Hey,” Dylan said. “It’s okay.”

“I’d like to assemble the bedroom furniture,” I whispered, knowing that keeping busy was one way to ignore my grief.

And I didn’t want to break down in front of Dylan and Lulu.

Dylan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

I rose to place my plate in the dishwasher and began clearing up.

“I’ll do that,” Lulu volunteered as she moved toward me. “You go upstairs,” she added, not unkindly.

“Thank you,” I mumbled and practically ran out of the kitchen.

Lulu could be kind. This was a revelation.

My tears started to fall in earnest as I bolted up the stairs, and I let them.

I wanted to see my family, and not just their static faces caught in one beautiful moment. I wanted to hear them. As the tears rolled down my face, I reached for my phone and turned it over.

I had texts.

From Philippa, my best friend in Bekesbourne. We’d known each other since we were five. She had red hair, too, and loved books even more than I did, so that was saying something.

Ems, how are you?

Ems, thinking about you.

Ems, miss you. Let me know you’re okay.

Ems—can I say happy birthday?

Did you ace your results? I bet you did.

I did okay. Enough to go to Agri College.

I read Philippa’s texts through my tears and quickly typed out my response.

Pips. Miss you too. Did okay in my results. Congrats on yours. I’ve been decorating. London OK. Still heartbroken.

What more could I say? I didn’t want to burden her with my grief. I hadn’t since the accident. But it was nice that she texted. I must make more of an effort. I had avoided my phone because it reminded me of my loss.

I opened my photos and scrolled through them to Billy’s birthday. I played a video I’d taken as we all sang happy birthday to him with his Manchester City Football cake. I lay back in bed and watched my family. Heard their voices, their laughter, and my tears receded.

A little later, Dylan and I were unpacking the flat-pack furniture from IKEA. We’d carried it into my new bedroom, and Dylan was attempting to assemble the bed with a cordless power drill and a little angular key that had been provided in the packaging.

“I thought I ordered a single bed?” I said as we struggled to put it together.

“This room needs a double, Emily. A single bed would be lost. I changed your order,” he grumbled. “I told you in IKEA. Don’t you remember?”

I had no recollection, but I didn’t dare challenge him. Doctor Dyl was not in a good mood. I’d never seen him this frustrated and grumpy. He sat back on his heels and rubbed his fingers on his forehead then through his hair, making it spikier than usual and trying, I suspected, not to swear.

Lulu made a timely entrance, distracting us both. “Hi, Dyl. I’m off to work now.” She was dressed in chic navy-blue trousers and a sleeveless white shirt with an expensive-looking navy scarf tied around her neck. She wasn’t wearing these clothes yesterday, and she hadn’t brought a suitcase with her.