I crash into Lila and Priya. “I can’t believe you came!”
“Of course we came.” Priya looks up at me seriously. “We’re your friends. That’s what friends do.”
“You’re right. That is what friends do.” Another tear slips down my smiling face.
I can’t help it. I’m brimming over.
“Does that little girl have a violin strapped to her bag?” I hear someone whisper behind us, and smile again.
“Too right she does,” I say with pride. “Priya here is a prodigy, you know. Our very own wunderkind. First violin of the National Youth Orchestra.”
“Mum!” Priya is covering her face with her hands. “Make it stop! You promised!”
“I promised thatIwould stop calling you a wunderkind. I have no responsibility for anyone else.” Lila catches my eye over the top of Priya’s head. “You’ll have to take it up with Rowan.”
Lila and Priya had a rough few months on their return. Lila sat her husband down and told him that she wasn’t in love with him anymore. He took it as well as anyone could, she said, but it still blew their lives apart.
The aftermath wasn’t easy. We texted most days, called every week, visited each other every month. But Lila is strong, sturdy in herself. And slowly but surely, she made it through.
“You okay?” I mouth.
She nods. There’s still a hint of sadness in her sparkling eyes. But there is a sparkle there too. “Ready for a walk!” Then she squeezes Priya’s shoulders. “Do you want to tell Rowan the good news, kiddo?”
“I’m in the final.”
After she aced her audition, Priya doubled down on her playing, spending every waking hour practicing her violin. We encouraged her to enter a major European talent-finding competition, and she flew through the first two rounds with ease. There was only one left.
“Priya! That’s amazing! Why didn't you say?”
“Heard this morning.”
Behind them, Joan and Bolly have finished storing their bags and are marching up the aisle.
“Any room for a couple of bags of old bones?”
I hug them both. “Thank you for coming. Both of you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“Oh, hush. Of course we’re here,” Bolly says. “Not that either of us have a clue what we’re doing. But we’re always game to try something new!”
“Besides,” Joan adds, “your mother would have had kittens if we let you do this alone.”
“But I’ve done plenty of walking alone,” I protest.
“That was before she learned how to follow you on Instagram. God bless your sister, but she doesn’t know what she’s done by teaching her. She’s been messaging me hourly ever since she saw your post.”
“Not that you’ll find her lacing up her hiking boots,” Bolly remarks.
“Oh, Bolly. You know she’s a sensitive soul.”
“Sensitive’s not quite the word I’d use— Oh! Is that a lemon drizzle?” A cake tin appears in Bolly’s hands. She brandishes it at Heather like a weapon. “Has it got ground almond in the flour?”
“What do you take me for? An amateur?” Heather draws herself up to her full height. “Of course it does. Always nice to have a fellow baker on board. And what have you brought?”
“Banana and marmite bread.”
“Banana and—”
Joan cuts me off with a hand on my arm. I close my mouth. She’s right. I can keep my opinions to myself.
