“I’m fine, Dad, really.” Celeste, headset on, stands at the living-room window, watching the road. Her father rang unexpectedly. Besides his birthday and Christmas visits (when Tylor and “that man” have to stay in a hotel, and only her father is allowed to come near the house), Tylor is allowed weekly phone calls on the landline at a designated time when Lilah’s at home. Lilah doesn’t know that, urged on by Sorrel, Celeste has been texting and talking to her father on her phone in secret for years. These calls, of course, are usually planned in advance. Which is why Celeste is watching the road; her mother is due back soon. “I’m doing good.”

“So you keep saying,” says Tylor, “but I’m still worried about you. So is Jake. A death like this isn’t something you get over in a couple of days.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I promise. I really am good.”

Celeste blames herself for the accident. She was meant to go to a party with Sorrel that Sunday night, but Lilah wanted her to spend the evening with her. Celeste was always doing something with Sorrel. How about a little quality time with her parent for a change? After all, Celeste would always have another friend, but she’d never have another mother. Celeste couldn’t say no. And so Celeste bailed on Sorrel and stayed home and watched a series about remodelling houses with Lilah. Sorrel stayed home and had a fight with her mother, and then walked into a car.

“I still think you should spend the Summer with me and Jake,” says her father. “I’m sure the change would do you good. Get you away from all the things that remind you of Sorrel.”

“You know I’d like to.” She’d love to. There are no memories of Sorrel in Brooklyn. “But I really can’t. I have a Summer job—”

“You could have a Summer job with us. You could help out in the shop. And the band has some gigs coming up. You could join in. It could only help to have a pretty young girl with us. People get tired of looking at balding old farts.”

“I’m really sorry,” says Celeste, “but I just can’t.”

“Is this because of your mother?”

Of course it is. Lilah has made it clear that visiting Tylor and “that man” is not in the script. Astra, says Lilah, is far too young and sensitive to be put through that, and if Astra can’t go, then Celeste can’t either. Fair is fair. If Celeste defied her mother and spent the Summer with Tylor, Lilah would take it as a betrayal. Choosing her father over her mother. Siding with the enemy. Celeste might as well stab Lilah in the heart, and then stand on her cold, dead body and play her guitar.

“You know how busy Mom is in the Summer,” says Celeste. “She can’t really deal with the house and Astra and everything else by herself.”

“I’m sure they could survive for a few weeks without you. Astra’s nearly fourteen. She doesn’t need a babysitter any more.”

That’s what he thinks.

“It’s complicated, Dad. Astra can be a little flaky sometimes. You know.”

In fact, Tylor doesn’t know, because no one has told him, about all the things Astra loses, or all the times Astra has forgotten to turn off the stove, or lock the front door, or even come home.

“Well, what about coming for a long weekend, then? Just a few days. Surely your mother could manage on her own for just a few days.”

As if she knows they’re talking about her, Lilah’s car pulls into the driveway.

Celeste steps slightly to one side, making her presence at the window less noticeable to anyone on the drive. “I have to go.”

“Just say you’ll think about it,” says her father. “Sleep on it.”

“I…” The car doors open. Lilah gets out from the front, and Astra and her best friend Winnie climb out of the back, and go round to the boot. Astra and Winnie have been swimming, and stand together, lifting out their bags and towels. Celeste’s heart stumbles. Sorrel is standing behind her sister and Winnie, looking right at her. “I have to go.” She looks down for a second, to end the call, and when she looks up her mother and the girls are coming up the front path, but there is no one else by the car.

Of course not, thinks Celeste. I was seeing things.

And doesn’t know if that is a good thing or not.