When she’d finished in the garden, Romy walked into the kitchen, dropped her basket onto the wooden bench. She popped two tiny red tomatoes into her mouth; they were still warm from the autumn sun, and the sweet juice and seeds exploded, filling her cheeks.

She had mountains of coriander, so she put the leaves and stems into the blender with a glug of olive oil, a handful of almonds, three cloves of garlic and the juice of half a lemon to make pesto for today’s lunch. Alexandra certainly looked like she could do with a good feed, and the coriander would be a bit of a wake-up call for her system—helping to fight any lurgies still lurking from the flight. Any leftover paste could go in the freezer.

Romy found she was eating less and less these days, so she pulled the curly green leaves of bok choy out of the basket and gave them a rinse, leaving them in the colander to dry. Just before it was time to eat, she’d steam the leaves and make a dressing of basil oil, chilli, Sichuan pepper and a dash of maple syrup. She’d have a small bowl of greens, instead of the pumpkin and water chestnut risotto left over from the night before.

Nina had joined them for dinner after they’d arrived home from the airport, helping herself to a second serve of the risotto. Some things never changed.

‘Is this pumpkin from your garden, Oma?’ Alexandra had asked, clearly trying to be bright and cheery as she divided her meal into neat piles on her plate.

‘Yes. It’ll strengthen your spleen and rebuild your qi. The thyme is good for your lungs.’

Nina rolled her eyes at Alexandra in solidarity.

‘Well,’ Nina exclaimed in her cutting Austrian accent, ‘you’re fortunate you missed the sautéed lamb kidneys your grandmother forced on me last week. Dished up with orchid stems and shiitake mushrooms.’ She winked.

‘It’s good for your lower back and knee pains,’ Romy protested. ‘Good for longevity. Look at you—strong as an ox.’ She marvelled at her friend’s golden skin, full blonde bob and one of her endless parade of sequinned kaftans.

‘Ach,’ said Nina, ‘Perhaps it gave me more energy. It certainly gave me more—’ she paused as she hunted for the right word ‘—vigour? Ardour? Old Mr Thompson from my book club certainly appreciated it. I gave him my best Anaïs Nina.’

Nina shimmied her broad shoulders and chuckled as Romy narrowed her eyes and shook her head, exasperated.

Alexandra choked on a piece of pumpkin.

‘They’re going to throw you out of your apartment in the retirement village if you keep up that sort of carry-on,’ Romy said sternly. ‘What about the warning letter last week?’

‘Psscht. We’re old. Not dead.’

The women fell silent. For some minutes, the only sound was the clatter of forks against blue china bowls.

Then Nina reached out and took a hand of each of the other women. She lifted them both to her mouth and kissed first Romy’s then Alexandra’s. ‘Sorry. It was thoughtless of me to make such a joke. I’m here. Lean on me, okay?’

She sighed and looked at Romy, her serious brown eyes pleading. ‘It’s my turn.’

Romy ran her hands over the fresh mint leaves and raised them to her face to take the scent deep into her lungs. She’d brew up some to help with her granddaughter’s sore throat.

She was worried about Alexandra. The minute she set eyes on her in the arrivals hall—the dark rings under her eyes, gaunt cheeks, hunched shoulders—Romy thought of her own mother standing at Brenner station, icy winds stinging her cheeks. Fleeing Austria to begin a new life in Shanghai.

Bereft.

What was Alexandra fleeing? There was the break-up of course. She’d always felt Hugo and Alexandra were two lonely souls who had lashed themselves together like a hastily constructed life raft. Romy always wondered if Alexandra chose Hugo not so much for his mathematical wizardry and companionship, but because she was simply tired of being alone.

Nina, bless her, had noticed too, raising her eyebrows behind the girl’s back as they’d loaded her bags into the taxi the night before.

There was pressure, of course, being the only child. Romy’s time in Shanghai weighed heavily on her. The need to be enough for both parents. It was a burden Romy had always tried to hide.

But here she was—their only grandchild—home in time to watch her cherished grandfather die. Wilhelm and Alexandra had always been quite the twosome over the years, playing tennis, poring over spreadsheets, swapping share market tips.

Romy had made a point of loosening the ties of their circle of three and was accepting when Alexandra chose to pursue study, career and then love overseas. Yet it was hard to watch her move so far away.

But time had a way of pulling back the past. The family—the life Romy and Wilhelm had created in this vast, baking, lucky country—was about to end.

Romy wiped the tears from her eyes, raised her arms and stretched her back, taking in the smell of herbs filling the kitchen.

What was going on with Alexandra? Her usually glossy hair was limp, dull, and there was a tinny optimism, a false bravado, to her smile. Her brown eyes flickered to one side when she spoke, and there was a constant twitch to her legs. She had a cold, yes, but this was something else. A dangerous energy was flooding her robust body.

A lifetime of burying her own uncertainties had taught Romy to recognise the signs.