The Dare Collection December 2019. Clare Connelly

      ‘So, your grandmother sounds pretty wise.’ Imogen blinks up at me from the book she’s reading. She likes to read. And I like watching her read. About five dates ago, she found her way to my library upstairs and has been working her way through the classics, just for fun.

      ‘She was.’ Imogen’s smile is full of affection.

      ‘Did she really used to say that? About the dolphin?’

      ‘Yeah! Why? You thought I made it up?’

      ‘I just haven’t heard it before.’

      ‘Oh, she had all these really neat sayings. Like, “It don’t matter how scratched up you are, you get back on the bike.”’

      I laugh. ‘I could have used that advice.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Oh, I came off my bike a long time ago and never rode again.’

      She looks surprised. ‘That doesn’t sound like you. Quitting?’

      ‘I wasn’t afraid to ride again,’ I clarify. ‘I just didn’t particularly like the feeling of crashing off it.’

      ‘I can’t say I blame you. Still, Meemaw would have insisted you keep riding.’

      I smile. ‘What else would she say?’

      ‘Hmm… “If you’re careful, you only have to light a fire once.” Lots of them didn’t make much sense, but she’d say them and Pa would look at me and roll his eyes. I miss them.’

      ‘They’re both gone?’

      ‘Yeah.’ She blinks away the memories.

      ‘You were close?’

      ‘Yeah.’ Her eyes shift, as if she’s running over memories. ‘I started spending a fair bit of time with them, once I was a teenager. I used to go down there most summers. It was nice to get away from my parents, from Hollywood.’ She lifts her shoulders. ‘It was Meemaw who gave me the idea for Chance. She used to say to me, “There’s a lot of bridges need building in this world—someone’s always gotta place the first stone.”’

      I smile. ‘Meemaw sounds pretty smart.’

      Imogen nods. ‘The smartest. And you? Do you have grandparents?’

      ‘No. My parents were in their forties when they had me. My father’s parents were both gone, and my mother’s only lived until I was maybe four or five. I never really knew them.’

      ‘Was it a second marriage?’

      I frown, not following.

      ‘It seems kind of late in life to start a family?’

      ‘Right. Actually, on the contrary, they were married quite young.’ I reach over and brush some of her hair back, as if I can’t help myself. ‘They had fertility problems. A lot of miscarriages. A stillbirth. Then years of not being able to conceive. I think that’s got a lot to do with why they’re so damned keen for me to settle down and start a family of my own.’ I wiggle my brows to downplay my frustrations. I do understand why my parents feel the way they do but that doesn’t mean they don’t drive me crazy.

      ‘God, they must have doted on you,’ she murmurs, watching me from narrowed eyes.

      It’s such an amusing observation that I laugh. ‘Not at all. I mean, yes, my mother often describes my birth as some kind of miracle, but they’re both by-products of their environment. They were glad to have me, grateful to have been able to produce an heir at last, but doting wasn’t really in their vocabulary. I went to boarding school when I was seven years old. I only saw my mother and father on holidays, and, even then, they were frequently abroad.’ I frown, because I don’t often think back on that time. ‘I liked school, though.’

      Imogen’s eyes crease with the sympathy that comes so quickly to her. She puts the book down and crosses the room, her eyes huge in her delicate face.

      ‘You were too young to be sent away.’

      I stare down at her, something moving in my gut. ‘Was I?’

      ‘Yes.’

      I don’t say anything; she’s probably right.

      ‘Promise me something.’

      I nod slowly. I know that I would promise her just about anything.

      ‘When you get married and have your little lords and ladies, don’t send them away.’

      I wonder why that thought fills me with a strange sense of acidity.

      ‘I see it again and again in the kids I work with at Chance—all they really want is parents who are there, who love them.’

      I imagine she’s right about that. It seems to me that children have a universal set of needs and yet a lot of parents probably fail to meet them.

      ‘Promise me,’ she insists.

      And I nod, because Imogen is asking something of me and it’s within my power to give it to her. ‘I promise.’

      She smiles, and it’s as though the world is catching fire. My lungs snatch air deep inside them. Everything is frozen still inside me. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and out.

      And in a matter of days I’ll leave her for ever.