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Michael shook his head. “You’re talented, sweetheart. I’ve always known it. You just need to believe in yourself. Once you get out of that flat, away from that horrible girl, I think you’ll see things more clearly.”

He finished writing and tore the cheque from the booklet.

“Please, Alex—promise me you’ll give it another couple of months? If things haven’t improved, if you still want to go back to Florida, I’ll buy your plane ticket myself.”

He placed the piece of paper beside her. She blinked several times to get a better look at it. His offer was so generous, but wasn’t it just delaying the inevitable—at his expense?

“I can’t promise you that. I wish I could. But I promise that I’ll think about it…”

“What are you two talking about, then?” Joan strolled into the room. “I was going to ask for a lift to the garage, but you seem to be in the middle of something.” Her gaze shifted from Michael to Alex.

“More motorbike magazines, Mum?” said Michael.

“You’ve been crying…” Joan sank into the couch next to her granddaughter.

Michael eased back down on his recliner. “She’s thinking of calling it a day, Mum, going back to Florida.”

“Quit writing? Oh, Alex, no.” Joan clasped her hand. “I’m so proud of you, my love. It’s like you’re following in my footsteps. I had to stop chasing my dream at your age, but you’ve got the chance to go further than I ever did. It’s your calling. It’s a chance to be yourself.”

Alex wiped away lingering tears with her free hand. There was no point explaining her plan to leave to Joan. She was hell bent on Alex staying the course.

“If I could go back in time and talk to myself at age nineteen or twenty, I would’ve said ‘Joan, you silly cow—life’s too bloody short. Follow your dreams and don’t let a man or bullies or anyone tell you to stop.’”

She pulled Alex into a tight hug.

“Don’t take the road I took. Don’t have regrets. Don’t become resentful. You can’t give up, love. Get back to your writing.” She pulled away and grinned at Alex. “Give me something new to brag about on Instagram. I’ve got 800 followers and they can only put up with so many photos of motorbikes and dodgy pottery.”

Twenty-Two

“This place was made for you, Lex,” said Freddie.

Lucy and Freddie linked arms with Alex and guided her towards Northern Soul Grilled Cheese.

“We found it a few hours ago, wandering around.” Lucy looked at her phone. “Half two was our cut-off. If we didn’t see you by then, screw it. We were going in without you.”

“It’s quite new. It definitely wasn’t around when I went to uni here,” said Freddie. “I would’ve known—I survived on food from the Church Street Market.”

Alex dragged her feet. First her dad and Joan, and now Freddie and Lucy: everyone figured they knew what was best for her. “I’m not that hungry.”

“Bloody hell. We waited for this?” Lucy scowled.

They passed a pretty strawberry blonde in a flowery dress and biker boots tearing her way through an overstuffed cheesy sandwich. Alex’s eyes popped. “Good God, is that mac ‘n’ cheese in there?”

She hadn’t eaten mac ‘n’ cheese since she left Florida. “Forget what I just said. I need that— now.”

“Atta girl. I always knew you were a cheese-whore,” said Freddie.

The trio joined the queue snaking around the small shop.

“How did the rent money talk go? Any joy?” asked Lucy.

“He wrote me a cheque. A big one.”

“Thank fuck! You had me going there for a moment. You arrived in such a strop. I thought he said no.” Lucy flattened Alex’s inside-out hood. “You’re quids in now.”

“Operation Ditch The Bitch is go,” said Freddie. “You’ll be free, and Olivia can go back to storing her ugly designer clothes in that poxy box room.”

Both friends looked at Alex, searching for a sliver of a smile. “Aren’t you relieved?” asked Freddie, moving forward in line.