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Prologue

“Ho emotion that, once you’ve felt it, you can’t live without”

“A bit like love, then?” Grace asked

I nodded “So”

Going Home, by Nathaniel Drury (1980)

I like to think that there’s a book for any feeling, any emotion, any problem In my world, the cure for what ails you is always a new story, or, soht say it’s a distraction, a diversion fro with your reality But for es of a book – or at least by the ti to end, I have a new perspective on my own problems

I think I read more books in the two years after I left Rosewood than ever before in my life Or since

Sometimes I’d read romances, to remind myself that love could end happily Soh quest and ical solutions Sometih another’s kaleidoscope Sometimes I read children’s books, to escape to a simpler time

And whenever I felt hoined I could hear hi the words to me

I was ho in May, when the first phone call came

Dressed in own, I’d decided to laze aroundblack coffee and nibbling on endless pieces of toast, until I felt better But instead, I foundHoe or two at a time before my own memories overtook me

Nathaniel always claimed that the house in the story wasn’t Rosewood, the sarandmother, Isabelle But as with all his books, every time I reread them, I found another hint, another clue, that led me towards the truth Like a treasure hunt Nathaniel had laid out for me, he hid patches of his own history, his own life, in his fiction, waiting for me to find them

Like the house However much he denied it, the description of Honeysuckle House in Going Home matched Rosewood to the letter Not just the honey-coloured brick, syn, or the twelve chi up to the front door There was so about the feel of the place – the way he described the sun on the terrace when the gin and tonics were being poured, or the coolness of the middle room when the rain came down outside – that made it feel like home to me

I flipped a few pages through the book again, pausing at a description of Honeysuckle House

When the afternoon sun alighted on the s, the whole house lit up, as if it were night and every light inside had been left on Inside, the house could be cold – Grace’s mother had decorated it in the latest styles, with lots of white and sharp edges But she couldn’t cool the natural warmth of the house as I looked upon it, or sharpen the corners of the worn golden brick exterior And when the house filled with people… Ah, that hen Honeysuckle House came alive And so did Grace

I put the book aside I didn’t need Agnes’s descriptions of Grace’s house – not when I had ery, the sweeping staircase that dominated the main hallway Of Nathaniel’s study, every inch crammed with books and papers

And of Nathaniel, most of all The way his voice boomed and echoed around Rosewood, or how he poured his drinks too strong, or how every meal became story

time, someho every little event of his day beca it And how he knew to listen, so presence I’d relied on my whole life

I’d always havewhen I’d next be there in person When I’d see ain

The phone rang, and I putpast my empty coffee cup to answer it

“Saskia? It’s your grandfather” As if I couldn’t tell from his voice “Now, tell rand? You have to coh it”

I frowned “Golden Wedding?”

“Fifty years of wedded bliss and she wants another damned party” Nathaniel’s voice dropped low, as if he were afraid so in mind to fire up the festivities You really don’t want to miss it, Kia”

It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to go ho Anniversary Isabelle and Nathaniel Drury kne to throw a party, after all, and this was sure to be a big one The sort of shindig people talked about for decades to come In fact, people still told stories about the first ever party they held at Rosewood, back in 1966 There were reports in the society pages Couples nant But they weren’t the sort of parties I iht of the sixties – I’d seen photos Isabelle’s parties required full evening wear, chaossiping for weeks afterwards

There hadn’t been a party at Rosewood since Ellie’s wedding, as far as I knew I didn’t want to miss it – and I really didn’t want to be the person at the hypothetical future dinner table saying, “I don’t knoasn’t there,” when someone asked, “And do you remember the bit when…”

I just didn’t knoelcoot to Rosewood

“I didn’t get an invitation,” I said, as lightly as I could e “But I take your word for it that they’re awful”

“Hideous,” Nathaniel said, with an audible shudder He paused, then asked, “Did you really not get one?”

“Nope” I ranHome Apparently, I wasn’t Isabelle knew every minute detail of party etiquette, and obeyed it all, when it suited her If she’d wanted me there, I’d have received an invitation The fact that I hadn’t – or even any notice that the party was happening at all – told me exactly hoelcome I’d be

“Well, that’s stupid,” Nathaniel said “You should have done Consider this call your invite”

I gave a sh “I’m not sure that’s quite hoorks”

“It is now It’s my party too, isn’t it?”

“Not really” I was pretty sure that, in Isabelle’s head, the man sheto celebrate that aforee

“Then I’ it And you’re invited” There was a rustle of paper on the other end of the line, and I leapt on the noise as a way to change the subject

“What are you working on?” I asked, trying to be interested in his answer It had to be better than thinking about how randmother didn’t want me there for a family party

“I’ve been thinking about the nature of truth in fiction,” he replied, instantly distracted, as I’d known he would be