That someone was Ellie.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, following her into my living room.

I watched her take in my work, her expression pensive.

“Ellie?”

She frowned at me. “You missed Sunday lunch. Again.”

I gestured to my work. “I told Mum I had loads of marking to do.”

Despite the evidence staring her in the face, my sister didn’t seem to buy it. She knew me too well. “Are you sure that’s it? Cole seemed worried you weren’t there.”

Ellie would dig until she found the truth, so I outmaneuvered her by opting for a version of the truth. I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine. When Cole and I were at Anisha’s wedding reception last night, I bumped into a blast from the past. Marco D’Alessandro.”

My sister’s blue eyes grew round with surprise. “My God. How did that go?”

Any attempt to keep the bitterness from my face clearly failed as I curled my lip in disdain. “I found out he’s been back in Edinburgh for four years and didn’t bother to get in touch.”

“Not good.” Ellie winced sympathetically.

“What do I care, right?” I flopped down on my couch. “It’s just…” I shook my head in pained bemusement, watching Ellie lower herself into my armchair. “I found a photo of him last week and it was the first time in a long time I’d thought about him… and then poof! Suddenly he’s right in front of me. It knocked me off balance. But I’m okay now.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes on me, scrutinizing me. “I hope you’re telling the truth.”

I made a face. “I am.”

“Hannah, I’m your sister and I love you. You have an entire family who loves you. Five years ago you started shutting us out, putting on this front, determined to take care of yourself without our help. You need to stop that. Not just for you but for us. We’re here if you need us, and frankly we need you to need us.”

Feeling guilty, I glanced away from her, staring at my work. “I’m not shutting you out, Els. I promise I’m okay.”

“I don’t believe you,” she replied quietly. “I haven’t forgotten our talks back then. I haven’t forgotten how much you felt for him. Marco is your Adam. You were devastated when he left. I know you’re not okay.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say or if it was possible to force words out of the burning, painful ball of tears clogging my throat. At my prolonged silence, Ellie sighed unhappily and promptly left. The fact that she didn’t say good-bye told me she was hurt and annoyed at me.

I went right back to being pissed off at Marco.

I stewed for a while, until my phone rang and jerked me out of my daze. With a sigh, I reached for it, not recognizing the number. Hoping it wasn’t a salesman, not just for my sake but for theirs, I answered.

“Hannah, it’s me.” Marco’s familiar deep voice hit me with the force of a cannonball.

My whole body shuddered away from the phone in shock and I stared at it for a second, fury quickly building in me at his audacity.

I heard him say my name in question.

Putting the phone back to my ear, I snapped, “How did you get this number?”

“From Anisha. I explained we were old friends. I just want to talk. I need a chance to explain.”

Over the past few years I had imagined this moment, and every single time I hung up on him immediately or I walked away. In actuality I found myself hesitating because the reality was that he didn’t sound like the boy I’d once known. It wasn’t easy to describe, but even with me, someone whom he’d considered his best friend, he’d kept a guard up around his words all the time.

There wasn’t a guard up now. I couldn’t say how I knew. I just… felt it.

And it stunned me for a few seconds. A few seconds filled with curiosity and indecision.

But following those seconds were the memories of what I’d been through.

“Hannah?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I answered. “I’m over it.”

Before Marco could say another word, I hung up and switched my phone off.

“It looks like I need to get a new number,” I said flippantly, but I wasn’t fooling myself. My hands shook and my heart pounded as I placed the phone back on my table.

Probationary year was often difficult – the days were sometimes stressful and I was busy all the time. For once I was thankful for that over the next few days. I was also thankful for the adult literacy course and for the book group I’d joined that gathered every Wednesday evening at St. Stephen’s Centre. If it kept me active and focused on anything but Marco, it was a godsend.

I had my fourth-year class that afternoon, and they were definitely helping to keep me busy. It would seem that not all of them were happy to be reading the play Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw.

Throughout the period, Jack Ryan, the little pain in the arse that Tabitha Bell had been so upset over, had repeatedly sighed heavily as we read scenes and discussed the play. Five times I’d asked him to sit properly at his desk after he pushed his chair up onto its back legs, balancing it precariously. I had visions of the chair tipping him and his head cracking off the corner of the desk behind him and me being blamed for his stupidity.

He was driving me nuts, but I was doing my best to ignore him and teach.

“Aw come on, man, whit the f**k is this shite?” he grumbled, loud enough for me to hear him.

Before I could reprimand him, Jarrod got there. “Why don’t you shut the f**k up, you whining wee bastard?”