9. Casey, London

Iwalk at double speed to South Kensington tube station, the desperate need for space propelling me forward. The cool change yesterday didn't last long – today is warm and sticky, but it doesn't prevent a cold clamminess creeping over my skin. I duck into Waitrose to pick up a Victoria sponge for Mum before descending underground.

As the train zips along the dark tunnel, I gaze at my reflection in the window and imagine that person isn't me – it's Jazzy or my sister. What would I say to them in my situation? I'd tell them to end it; I know I would. The carriage rocks as we round a bend and I close my weary eyes. I can't shake Holly from my mind. Apart from some internet and social media searches over the years, I haven't done much to try and find her. Stale regret swells in my chest and the same old questions swirl in my mind. What if I hadn't run away? What if I'd answered her calls or responded to her messages? What if I'd told her more about myself? What if I'd listened properly that first day we met when she told me her last name? Am I just obsessing about her because my current relationship is feeling too permanent?

The train stops and I open my eyes to see we're at Holborn. I jump up and make it through the doors just as they slide closed. I walk the long corridors to the Central Line, where I take the tube to Stratford, ride the steep escalator to the street and begin the twenty-minute walk to my parents' house. Already I'm calmer, being back where I grew up makes me feel more like me.

The area around the train station has changed since I was a kid, gentrification for the Olympics starting when I was in my late teens. Mum and Dad's shop was far enough away from the Olympic village and train station not to be pushed out, and the regeneration of the area has been good for their business and their house value.

Soon, I'm letting myself in with my spare key. Loud cackles drift from the kitchen, where Mum and Jaz are at the table, cradling mugs.

‘Here she is,' Mum says, standing and opening her arms. ‘Hello, darlin'.' Her blonde hair is pulled back off her face and she's wearing her favourite tatty old apron that says, ‘Love thy butcher'.

I place the cake on the side and pull Mum's short frame into a tight embrace. ‘All right, Ma.' Then I ruffle Jaz's thick curls, transformed from glossy and textured last night to frizzy today. ‘You look rough, mate.'

‘Get off,' Jaz says, brushing my hand away. ‘That's your fault. Making me go out all night.' She squints at me, make-up smudged under her eyes.

‘Sure it is.'

‘Want a brew?' Mum asks.

‘Yeah, ta.' I give an upward nod towards the shopping bag. ‘Got you one of those cakes you like.'

Mum pours boiling water over a teabag, then peers into the bag. She tuts. ‘Almost six quid, those cakes. Don't be spending your money on that.'

I collapse onto a chair and twist behind me to open the window. ‘I can afford to buy you a cake, Mum.'

‘That's not the point.' She grabs the milk from the fridge and splashes some into the brewing tea. ‘I can afford to buy me a cake too, but I can get the exact same thing at Asda for a pound eighty-five.'

‘It's different quality,' I say.

‘All made in the same factory.' Mum places the mug in front of me.

‘They're not, Wendy.' Jaz gets up and pulls the cake from the bag. ‘Ooh, I love a Waitrose sponge. We having this now?'

Mum slaps her hand away.

‘That's a no, then.' Jaz grins and joins me back at the table.

I sip Mum's magic tonic tea and the remaining tension inside me loosens. ‘Ah. You make the best tea, Mum.' I stick my feet up on a chair. ‘Where's my sis?'

The thunk of the front door opening and closing echoes through the house and Mum gestures to the hallway. ‘That's her home from work now.'

My sister shuffles in, frown in place. ‘What you two doing here?' she says to Jaz and me, plonking a package wrapped in white paper on the bench. ‘There's your black pud, Mum.'

‘Nice to see you too,' I say.

‘Yeah, hiya,' Chandice says, then focuses on Jaz. ‘Fucking hell, mate, you look like you've been dragged under a train.'

‘Cheers,' Jaz says. ‘You're looking good, too, with your butcher get-up and bags under your eyes.'

‘And you've got a face like a wet kipper,' I say to Chandice. ‘What's up with you?'

She drops onto a chair. ‘Shut it, you two.'

At twenty-eight, my sister decided she was going to do a second degree in creative and professional writing and move back home so she could be close to the University of East London campus. The downside for her is that if she wants free rent, she has to do shifts in the butcher, which she hates. The downside for our parents is that Chandice being at home again has regressed her to a fifteen-year-old state.

Mum puts a mug of tea in front of Chandice. ‘You want a fry-up, love?'

Chandice screws up her face like Mum has offered her a plate of human body parts. ‘A meat fry-up? I'm vegetarian, Mum.'

‘Just have eggs, then,' Mum says.

‘Did you get any vegetarian black pudding the other day when I asked?' Chandice says.

Mum gives her a look. ‘What's that? The blood of a mushroom? Don't be daft.'

Chandice rolls her eyes. ‘I'm starving.'

‘There's some leftover veg in the fridge – grab it out, I'll do you a bubble-n-squeak,' Mum says.

I shake my head and mutter, ‘Spoilt brat.'

Chandice hops up and opens the fridge. ‘Spoilt? I've been hacking up meat since 6 am.'

‘For free rent,' I remind her.

She ignores me and nudges Jaz. ‘Go on, then. What you get up to last night?' She points to Jaz's short, black dress. ‘That's obviously last night's outfit.'

‘It's too steamy for you,' Jaz says. ‘You couldn't handle it.'

‘Oh, I can handle it. I'm writing steamy romances now.'

I laugh. ‘Is that so?'

‘Too right,' Chandice says. ‘I need some material.'

‘I've got plenty of material,' Jaz says. ‘But I'm not telling you about it. Do your own research.'

‘I will,' Chandice says defiantly.

‘Don't think you're doing it here,' Mum says, lighting the hob.

‘As if. I'll go to their place.'

‘Good. Give me and your dad a night to ourselves. We like to do our own research sometimes too, you know.'

Jaz and I laugh, but Chandice makes a gagging motion. ‘Mum! No need. Oldies having sex ain't right.'

Mum's eyes widen. ‘Oldies? We're mid-fifties! People still have sex in their eighties. Put that in your steamy romance.'

‘I don't reckon it'll be that steamy,' I say. ‘You're a bigger geek than Dad.'

‘Mum, Casey called me a geek,' Chandice says.

I roll my eyes. The inner fifteen-year-old's out and proud today.

‘Well, she's got a point, love. I can't see you out doing much' – Mum does air quotes – ‘research.'

Chandice purses her lips. ‘Well, excuse me for not being a cool, tattooed lesbian like your favourite daughter over there, or not sleeping with a different bird every night like this one.' Chandice jabs her finger in Jaz's direction.

‘We are pretty cool,' I say, laughing.

‘Totally,' Jaz says.

Mum points the spatula at Jaz and me. ‘Stop winding her up, you two.' The afternoon sunlight filtering through the kitchen window highlights the fine lines on her face and makes her blue eyes shine. She steps behind Chandice and wraps her arms around her in a hug, pale skin and blonde hair pressed against Chandice's brown skin and black hair. There's something about the contrast of them together that always makes my chest swell, and I love that Chandice and I are such a solid mix of both our parents, despite external appearances. ‘Don't you go changing,' Mum says to her. ‘We love you exactly the way you are. You write whatever you want.' Mum kisses her temple and turns back to the hob, tossing bacon and black pudding into the frying pan, filling the kitchen with the delicious smell of sweet fat and cooking meat.

Chandice gives me a smarmy smile. ‘Where's your fancy piece, then?'

Mum swats her across the arm with a tea towel. ‘She's got a name.'

‘Eva is at her parents',' I say.

‘Our place not good enough for her?' Chandice says.

Jaz smirks and I suck in my cheeks, trying not to bite. I can say it, but I don't like it when others do. ‘I didn't invite her because she's busy with her parents.' I cradle my mug and gaze out the window to the back garden where purple dahlias bloom along the fence. ‘But I'm glad to be here.'

‘I'm not liking the sound of all this wedding stuff, Casey,' Mum says, raising her voice over the sizzle. ‘Jazzy's filled me in.'

I raise my eyebrows at Jaz.

‘What?' Jaz says. ‘You were struggling to breathe. I was worried about you getting into that overwhelmed state you get into sometimes.'

I push my fingers against my temple, the throb from earlier returning. ‘I don't know what to do, or even how to have the conversation with her.'

Mum turns to me. ‘You just say, "I'm sorry, Eva, I can't marry you. I love you and we were good in the beginning"' – she's waving the spatula to match the cadence of her words, like she's a conductor – ‘"but we've grown apart and getting married isn't going to fix that".'

Jaz angles her head towards Mum. ‘See. Easy.'

Chandice's brows shoot up. ‘Oh, hello, wedding of the year's off, is it?'

I groan and drag my hands over my face. ‘I don't know.'

Mum scoops vegetables into a separate frying pan. ‘Well, you're going to have to tell her something soon, Casey. You don't want to break it to her on the bleedin' wedding day.'

‘I just … I feel bad.' I pause. ‘And stupid for letting it go on this long.'

Mum cracks the eggs into the pan, tossing the shells into the empty carton. ‘No break-up is easy, love. But if she's not the one for you, it's best she knows that sooner rather than later.'

‘I'm not sure I want to break up. I just don't want to get married. We're kind of settled in a way, with the flat and all.'

‘It's just a flat,' Mum says. ‘I know you love Notting Hill, but you can always stay here.'

‘Where?' Chandice says. ‘On the floor in your office? I'm not sharing a room.'

I jump up and wrap my arms around her, tickling her ribs. ‘Oh, go on. It'll be like we're kids again.'

‘Get off,' she squeals with laughter.

I go to pull away, but she grips my arms and holds me there, pressing the side of her face against mine. She smells like raw meat.

‘I'll let you stay tonight if you want,' she says. ‘You can tell me what's gone wrong with your fancy piece.'

I kiss her cheek. ‘Maybe.' I step over to Mum and lean against the kitchen counter. ‘I know you and Dad aren't keen on Eva.'

‘That's not true, darlin'. We like her enough; she's just different from your other partners, is all.' She tweaks my chin. ‘You're a beautiful person and you deserve to be happy, yeah?'

‘What she said,' Jaz says.

Mum pushes me towards the toaster. ‘Now, you're on toast. Jazzy, you sort the table. Chandice, you make more tea.'

We all do as we're told and then tuck into the fry-up, chatting about the week. It's loud and chaotic and joyous. After the meal, Chandice disappears upstairs for a shower, Mum goes to do some invoices and Jaz and I tidy up before moving into the front room.

‘So, Berlin, hey?' Jaz says, switching on a pedestal fan and slumping next to me on the sofa.

I nod. ‘Yep. Kind of couldn't say no, even though Josanne pretended I had a choice.'

A grin spreads across Jaz's face. ‘Uh-huh. The date's coming up, isn't it?' She nudges my knee with her foot. ‘The date.'

‘Yeah, but … I don't think it's a good idea to go to that spot.'

‘But the park is right there, innit? Right near the gallery? I mean, you could just stop by. No harm done.'

‘Not sure I want to, because…' I shrug. ‘Hurts.'

Jaz picks up her phone. ‘We have to look for Holly again. She was from Melbourne, yeah?' She taps her phone screen. ‘I'll check Instagram first.'

‘I've looked,' I say. ‘Plus all the other social media sites.'

‘But people are always on and off socials, changing their usernames and pics and stuff. And you've not looked for ages, right?' She scoots closer and shares her phone screen. ‘Recognise any of these?'

I squint. ‘There are a lot of Hollys right there.'

‘What about TikTok?' Jaz opens the app and navigates to the search function.

We search different social media platforms, but who are we kidding that searching ‘Holly Melbourne' will find her?

Chandice walks in, fresh from the shower, flops on the single recliner and flips up the leg rest.

‘What would I say if I found her, anyway? "Remember me? The one who followed you around an art gallery because you were so beautiful and shagged you for two weeks, told you fuck all about myself because I was trying to be mysterious and thought I was too cool for all that stuff. I knew you were completely in love with me and I was completely in love with you, but I felt overwhelmed and homesick, so I ran away, and by the time I got my head together and contacted you, your German phone number was dead."'

Jaz grimaces and pulls her legs up onto the sofa. ‘Yeah, mate. I see your point. That's tragic.'

‘Tragic, all right,' Chandice says. ‘You're a total saddo.'

I throw a cushion at her. ‘Shut it. You don't even know what we're talking about.'

‘I bleedin' do. That one from Berlin you never got over.'

My phone buzzes with a message. I stretch to grab it off the coffee table. It's Eva.

Going for dinner with Leila. Meet us?

Before I have a chance to reply, my phone rings.

‘Hiya,' I say.

‘Hi, babe. Are you on your way back yet?'

‘No. I've not long been here, and…' I take a deep breath. ‘I'm going to stay the night.'

Eva's silent for a moment. ‘I'm sorry about the chef, okay? I should've talked to you.'

I soften, but I don't want her to be nice to me because it thickens my guilt. ‘It's not that. I'm tired from last night. I'm full from the huge meal we just ate, and I'd like to spend time with my family since I won't be around next weekend for Dad's birthday.'

‘But I'll be all alone.'

‘Leila can stay with you, can't she?'

‘She's not my fiancée, and I wanted to post some content of us together. You never let me post about you, and no one can follow you with your account on private.'

‘I don't want people to follow me,' I snap.

‘Okay, no need to bite my head off!'

I sigh. ‘Sorry. I'm just really exhausted, yeah?'

‘Fine,' Eva sniffs. ‘Well, we're going out, so I can't promise I'll be home if you change your mind.'

‘Go out. Have a good time. I'll see you tomorrow.'

Once I've hung up, Jaz gives me a slow clap. ‘I am dead impressed with you. Although I totally would've come with you so I could get off with Leila.'

‘Didn't you get enough last night?' I ask.

Jaz shrugs. ‘I'm just looking for my soul mate. Because I want to feel for someone the way you feel about her.'

I shake my head. ‘I don't feel?—'

‘She's the only person I've ever seen you cry over,' Jaz says.

‘What we talking about?' Mum says, walking in with the sponge cake. She places it on the coffee table and sits in the other recliner.

‘Holly,' Jaz says.

Mum raises her brows at me. ‘Holly? The one from Berlin? You still pining over her?'

‘I'm not pining,' I say, a little pine-y.

‘You are,' Jaz says.

‘I just…' I shrug. ‘I'm curious about what happened to her, is all. How her life turned out.'

Mum shakes her head and switches on the telly with the remote. ‘You're going to get yourself in so much trouble one day.'

‘She's already in trouble, Wendy,' Jaz says.

Mum points the remote at me. ‘I didn't raise you to sleep with two people at once. Sort things with Eva before you go chasing after more minge.'

Jaz cackles and Chandice yells, ‘Mum!'

‘Oh my God,' I say. ‘For a start, don't say "minge" to me, please. And I'm not sleeping with two people at once. I've just been thinking about Holly and where she might be now. Am I not allowed to wonder about someone?'

‘I'm just saying, you've done this sort of thing before,' Mum says.

‘Then don't say. I'm having a night off from Eva so I can work out some shit in my head. Okay?'

Mum clicks her tongue and flicks over to the Coronation Street omnibus.

‘Why don't you just look her up online?' Chandice says.

I give an exasperated huff. ‘Do you really think I haven't done that?'

‘Well, no, but you're not that clued-up when it comes to online stalking, are you?'

‘I can't be arsed with it, that's why.'

‘Have you looked up where she went to university?' Chandice asks. ‘Like her degree, year of graduation, that sort of thing?'

Mum throws a cushion Chandice's way. ‘Oi, you, stop bloody encouraging her.'

‘She's not going to stop wondering until she has answers,' Chandice says. ‘She's got a bloody tattoo reminder, for God's sake. I'm just trying to speed up the process.'

‘I looked up her university a few times, like the year after we were in Berlin and again a few years later, but I couldn't find anything. I've tried to remember her last name, but it won't come to me. All I remember is that it was different, not a common name.'

It was the first day we met that Holly told me her last name. After spending hours wandering the gallery, we went for a walk along the river. She was telling me a story about one of her lecturers who always used the students' full names when he was frustrated, then she mimicked him, using her own name as an example. As she talked my eyes drifted to her lips, and all I could think about was how magical she looked with the sinking sun behind her and how much I wanted to kiss that mouth.

‘What was the Melbourne university?' Chandice asks. ‘And what degree?'

‘Um, it was a tech. Melbourne technology or something? Creative arts. It had a lot of photography in it, though. She was always taking photos and studying photography for her course.'

Jaz and Chandice both tap their phone screens.

‘Hmm,' Chandice says. ‘There's a stack of universities in Melbourne.'

‘Melbourne University of Technology?' Jaz asks.

I nod. ‘Maybe, yeah.'

‘There's a University of Melbourne, too,' Chandice says.

‘Mmm, no, it definitely had technology in its name.'

They keep tapping and scrolling.

‘I found a Holly Morris, did arts and law at a Monash University,' Chandice says.

‘No, she definitely didn't do law. And I'm sure her last name wasn't Morris. I would've remembered that.'

Chandice keeps scrolling. ‘Here's a Holly Craddock. She's a project manager at Melbourne University of Technology.'

‘Hmm, Craddock … that's vaguely familiar. Maybe it's just a name I've heard somewhere else.'

Chandice taps some more. ‘Her work bio says she did creative arts at the same university, followed by a master's. Graduated from the undergraduate degree ten years ago.'

My heart rate picks up and Jaz looks at me, wide-eyed.

Chandice scrolls some more. ‘This page isn't that old. You looked for her in the past year and a half?'

I shake my head. ‘Not since I've been with Eva.'

Chandice turns her phone screen to me. ‘That her?'

A tiny image stares back at me from across the room. I can't see the facial features clearly, but the long, honey-coloured hair is achingly familiar. I jump up and snatch Chandice's phone, zooming in on the tiny image. ‘Holy fucking shit. It's her.'

‘No way!' Chandice and Jaz both say.

‘It's totally her.' I fall back onto the couch, my legs weak.

‘My phone, please,' Chandice says. ‘God knows what you'll do with it.'

‘Give me a look at her first,' Mum says.

I throw the phone to Mum and snatch up mine, typing ‘Holly Craddock' into Instagram. Jaz squishes up beside me.

Mum lets out a heavy sigh. ‘You're a goner if you ever meet up with her again.'

Chandice grabs her phone from Mum and squeezes in on the other side of me.

An account called Holly Craddock Photography shows up in the search; the profile pic looks like street art of some kind. My finger hovers over the username.

‘What you waiting for?' Jaz says.

I glance at her. ‘Photography … it's got to be her, yeah?'

‘I'd say so, mate. Want me to do it?'

I nod and pass Jaz the phone.

Chandice rests her chin on my shoulder and watches as Jaz clicks the username. The bio doesn't say much – just that photography is her passion – and it's a personal account, so there's no business contact information.

I retrieve my phone and scroll. The grid is full of incredible, arty shots. I click into the first image and start scrolling. ‘It's all Melbourne,' I say, skimming the captions. ‘She's still there.' I keep going until I find a photo of Holly and the shock of seeing her up close sucks the air out of me. She's laughing into the camera, eyes crinkled, sunny smile, and my body aches with the memory of her.

‘Ooh, she's well pretty, mate,' Jaz says. ‘No wonder you've never forgotten her.'

I reach for my water and take a huge gulp. She was so much more than that. She was smart and fun and kind and natural. But most of all, she made my heart thump every time I looked at her, in a way I never knew was possible. ‘I was such a fucking idiot.'

‘You have to message her,' Jaz says.

‘What did I just tell you?' Mum says. ‘You are not doing that until you sort things with Eva.'

I let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I won't, Mum. Don't fret.' I look at the profile again, but the message icon isn't there. ‘She's got her messages on private anyway.'

‘Good,' Mum says, leaning forward to slice up the sponge cake. ‘Now pipe down, you lot, and let me catch up on Corrie and enjoy my overpriced cake.'

Jaz shuffles back to the other end of the sofa and I scroll through image after image of arty street shots, heritage buildings, random people, until I come across a photo of Holly all cosy with a good-looking lad called Tom and my stomach plummets.