"No," she said in such a whisper I had to lean my head closer to the door to hear her. "She cries about my mummy going to heaven. I don't want her to be sad."

How does she know I cry about Adele dying? I never did it in front of her, only in the dead of night, when I was alone. I'd bury my face in a pillow to muffle any sounds and cry. Never loudly. Maybe I wasn't as discreet as I thought. Maybe, like Luke, she picked up on the emptiness in my eyes after I'd cried.

"I know Ryn is sad, but she'd be sadder to know that you're not telling her something that upsets you. If you want to talk about your mummy, then tell her. She won't mind. She loves you. Promise me you'll talk to her?"

Tegan said nothing for a moment, then nodded. A short, decisive nod.

"Really and truly?" he asked.

"Yes, Luke," she said.

"Good girl."

Tegan spun the globe, stopped it with her finger. "Have you been there?" She pointed to another green bit on the globe.

"Australia," Luke read. "No, but I was planning on going there one day. Maybe the three of us could go together."

"You and me and Mummy Ryn?" Tegan gasped. "On a plane and everything?"

"Yes, if Ryn's up for it."

Tegan visibly sagged at the thought. "No, she won't want to go."

"Why not?"

"Because she can't do her hair."

Luke, the git, laughed.

Luke's six-foot-two body wrapped around my five-foot-six frame was something I'd started to get used to. It felt natural to have his skin pressed up against mine, his long, sculpted limbs curled around me. One of his hands would lazily stroke my forearms as he nuzzled into my neck. That night, he was even more clingy, his face cosseted against my neck. Sex had been different as well. He'd stared down at me the whole way through, his eyes large and sorrowful, as though on the verge of tears. Afterwards, he'd cradled me close in his arms, as though I might evaporate if he didn't hold on tight enough. "Ryn," he began.

"Hmm?" I replied. I steeled myself because his voice, low and hesitant, told me he was about to say something awful. He took my hand in his, kissed each of my knuckles. It was going to be extraordinarily bad news.

"I'm sorry for how I treated you," he blurted out.

"Eh?" I replied. That was the last thing I expected to hear. I'd been preparing myself for terminal illness or being transferred abroad or even that I was going to be sacked, not "I'm sorry."

"The things I said to you, how I used to look at you, the things I thought..." He paused, wincing as though replaying them in his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was so wrong. You're beautiful. Inside and out. I don't know why I couldn't see it before. You're beautiful. I look at what you've done for Tegan and how you treat me despite what I was like...I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry."

"Ah, it's over with. And you were probably right. I mean, I am a bit of a-"

"Don't," he cut in sternly, putting his fingers over my lips to stop me talking. "Don't make a joke of it. I couldn't bear it. I hate myself for how I was."

"It's all right," I hushed. "You weren't the first, I doubt you'll be the last."

"How do you bear it?"

"It's been the same all my life, I don't let it bother me." Luke's arms tightened around me. "Seriously, it's not a problem. I've developed a thick skin where I don't believe anything that anyone says. That way, I know that no one can get to me because if it's not true, it can't hurt me."

"Does that apply to good things too?"

I thought about it. About how it took me ages to accept anything that Nate said-and he always said the loveliest things. From day one he called me beautiful. Said he could feel the warmth from my smile. More than once he'd told me I was his dream woman. But it was years before I believed him, before it sunk in that he meant it, and when I accepted he genuinely loved me, I started to rely on hearing his compliments, which made it all the more painful when they were gone. "I suppose."

"That means you don't let yourself feel anything."

"No, I feel plenty. I just don't let other people's beliefs and attitudes upset me."

"So you don't believe that other people like you?" he asked.

"I didn't say that, I said I don't let it affect me. If people like me, that's fab, but it doesn't stop me from existing. If they don't, that's fab too cos I don't care and still I'm existing."

"That's such a sad way to live."

"Luke, if you grew up being told every day that you're ugly, fat, stupid, you can either grow a second skin and not rely on anyone else for your happiness and self-definition, or you can let it bury you. Guess which I did? I had to. It was a survival instinct."

"But you don't need that survival instinct anymore."

"Yeah, you say that, but I met this bloke not too long ago who took against me because I'm not very pretty and I'm not thin. Now if I'd discarded my survival instinct I'd have been a mess at a time when I needed to be strong."

"I'm sorry. And you are pretty. You're gorgeous. And your body is divine. You're divine."

"You don't have to say that. It's all right. It doesn't bother me." Much. It doesn't bother me much. I never said that out loud because I never wanted that modifier to be real. And if I said it out loud it became real. It would bother me more, a whole lot more.

"I grew up in a children's home," Luke said.

That was one of the many reasons why Luke and Tegan got on so well-they had a talent for the random. On the nights when I put her to bed, her chat before and after the story would flit from what she did at school to what ingredients I should put in fairy cream pie should I decide to make it one day to how I should brush my teeth twice a day. Now Luke was doing it.

"Really?"

"That's why I know that living with a survival instinct is a sad way to live." That's why you were so keen to help out.

"Oh."

"Both my parents are alive, you know? They just put me in a home. You see, my mum's English and comes from a very rich family. She met my dad, who's Spanish, when she was sixteen. Thirty-six years ago that wasn't the done thing, so when she got pregnant her family threw her out. My dad was only eighteen but they tried to make a go of it. It was too hard though and when I was about two my mum left, went back to her parents. My dad tried, but he was only young himself. I remember he'd take me to the zoo. And we'd go see some of his relatives who lived near us, have these brilliant Spanish meals. It was amazing, you know, all the language, the laughter, the smell of the food. I felt like I belonged somewhere. He'd always pretend to his family that he was doing OK, but a lot of the time we were just getting by. I'd go to school sometimes, other times I'd stay at home and wait for Dad to get out of bed. He wouldn't get out of bed for days, wouldn't get washed or dressed. Of course, now I know he was depressed but at that age, I didn't.

"When I was seven, social services took me away because I hadn't been to school for weeks. I'll never forget that day. I was crying and calling for my dad but he didn't do anything. He sat there and watched them take me away."

A sudden need to protect Luke, the little boy taken from his family, rose in me. I rolled over and slipped my arms around him, held him close, stroked his cheek as he continued his story.

"When they took me to the home, I was terrified. I'd stopped crying but I couldn't speak. They found me foster homes, lots of them. Some were good; some were awful-how they let kids stay in those places, I don't know. But it didn't matter either way because I always behaved badly so I could get sent back to the home. It's stupid, but I thought that if I was at the home, my dad would come get me. He'd know where I was.

"When I got to ten, no one would foster me. No one wanted a troublemaker mixed-race boy of ten. And because of that, I stayed at the home. That's when I realized my dad wasn't coming for me. So I calmed down. Became a good boy. Not because I wanted someone to adopt me but because I knew it was the only way to get myself through it. I decided not to rely on anyone, just to focus on doing well. And when I left the home at sixteen, I was in a good way: I'd done well in school. I left there, got a part-time job, and managed to get into a university.

"I'd also learned a few other lessons in that time. Like, that my mum didn't want me." He paused, inhaled a couple of times to control himself. "I found out who she was and that she'd moved to Perth in Australia years earlier. I wrote to her, telling her about myself, and she wrote back saying she'd moved on. She'd put all that stuff-she actually called me 'stuff'-behind her, and told me not to contact her again."

I gasped at her cruelty.

"I took that pretty hard. I couldn't work out what was wrong with me. Why she didn't want me. It took me another two years to get up the courage to call my dad. He agreed to see me, which I took as a good sign. But he wasn't interested either. He'd remarried, had two young kids and he didn't need or want me in his life. That was worse, you know, Ryn. I'd spent so much time with him, I could remember the good times we had. And he barely raised an eyebrow when I said I was going to university."

"Have you seen him since?"

"Yeah, I go see him whenever I can. It's got worse over the years, not better. I think he feels guilty that he didn't get to know his son when he had the chance and now he's too proud to try."

"You've got to keep trying though."

"Ah, Ryn, you don't understand-he won't even tell his children that I'm their half brother. He told them that I'm the son of a man he knew years ago."

I gasped again.

"I'm scared that if I say something to them, he'll cut me off completely, and I couldn't bear that. At least now he sees me. Something is better than nothing..." Luke's voice cracked.

"Oh, babe..." I said, holding him close. This explained so much about Luke. His arrogance, his constant striving for perfection, why he'd moved so much-Luke never felt wanted. I understood now why he was so angry with me when he thought I'd halfheartedly fostered Tegan-he knew what it was like to have someone do a botch job on bringing up a child.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry, I understand."

"No, you don't. I'm so in awe of what you're doing. Despite everything you've told me about how Tegan came about, you're still looking after her."

"Thanks."

Luke's fingers took hold of my face and his translucent orange-hazel eyes stared straight into mine. "I mean it. I want you to believe me. You're awesome. You've stopped Tegan becoming me."

"You're not so bad," I replied. Luke was a damaged man, I realized. He'd never had a home, never thought he was wanted by anyone. He'd never felt he belonged anywhere, so work and being successful had become his reason for living.

I pressed a comforting kiss on Luke's mouth and he kissed me back, hard. His desperation and sadness came through in his kiss and then in the way he gently rolled me onto my back, climbed on top of me and started to make love.

Afterward, I was tempted to ask him to stay. He shouldn't be alone when he'd revealed so much of himself, had shown me a part of him very few people had seen. But Tegan...I couldn't risk her finding us together. Luke took the decision out of my hands by getting up, getting dressed. "I'll see you," he mumbled over his shoulder as he walked out the door. That was the type of disposable goodbye you'd say to a stranger you never expected to see again; the type of goodbye I feared I'd thrown at Adele the last time I'd seen her. If Luke left like this, we might lose him. He would feel so vulnerable that in this time alone he might decide to put us at a distance to protect himself.

From my bedroom window, I watched Luke leave my building. He opened the door to his black car and got in. Instead of reaching for the ignition, he leaned over the steering wheel, cradled his head in his hands and started to cry.

As I watched his broad shoulders shaking, I was slowly tugged back a few months. Back to the hotel room, holding Tegan as she screamed her heart out because her mother had left her and she was suddenly faced with the stark reality that she had no one else in the world. I'd been overwhelmed then by a need to protect her, to prove that someone did love her by adopting her. That feeling was back. I wanted to protect Luke, to put my arms around him and hush away his tears. I wanted him to know someone did want him. Someones-Tegan and I-would be lost without him. I picked up my mobile and dialed his number. He picked up after the fourth ring. Snuffling back tears he mumbled, "Hello?"

"Come back," I said.

"But Tegan..." he protested.

"You can leave before she gets up. Just come back."

He came back and fell asleep in my arms. I stayed awake, stroking his face and making sure we didn't oversleep.

chapter 26.

Is Luke your boyfriend?"

I was putting Tegan to bed. I'd bathed her, got her into her PJs then, in a rather controversial moment, she'd gone into the living room/kitchen, said "Na-night, Luke" and put her head forward to receive a kiss. Controversial in that Luke always had to see her off into the land of nod if he was there. After saying goodnight and receiving her kiss, though, she took my hand and led me to her room. Now, as she lay tucked up under her covers, I understood why-she wanted to ask me grown-up questions.

"Why do you ask that?" I replied, laying aside the novel we were reading. She was tucked up under her rainbow duvet, her clean hair hidden under a pink, silk headscarf. Like most black women, I wore a scarf at night to protect my hair from the ravages of sleep, and when Tegan saw mine she had wanted one too. She wouldn't believe me when I told her she didn't need one, and when I'd realized to deter her I'd need to go into a long discussion about the structure of different types of hair, I decided a scarf was the easiest option.

"Because Regina Matheson said that if a man and a woman see each other all the time they're boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Does she, now," I replied. There was no way of getting out of it now. I had to tell Tegan the truth. But how? The other reason I'd been delaying, had let six weeks pass without telling her, was that I didn't know how to explain it to her. "Would you mind if Luke was my boyfriend?" I asked.

"No!" she screeched, hiding her face behind her hands.

"OK...but if you did, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

She took her hands away from her face and giggled in an almost musical way. "Do you kiss him?" she asked. "Like on TV?"

"Sometimes," I replied cautiously, unsure if I should be having this kind of conversation with a child.

"Do you like kissing him?"

I really shouldn't be having this discussion with a five-year-old. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't like it." I moved to switch off the light. "Goodnight now, Tiga."

"Is he still my friend?" she asked. I stopped midmove and sat back.

"Of course Luke's still your friend," I stated. "He'll always be your friend."

"Are you still my new mummy?"

"Yes, sweetie."

"But you're not my real mummy, are you?"

"Why do you ask me that?" I replied, terrified of what she might say next. Would she accuse me of trying to replace her mother? Would she tell me that I was failing in my new role? Or would she ask why her mum wasn't coming back?

"Because Regina Matheson said you can't be my real mummy because we aren't the same color."

"Did she."

"Yes. You're black, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And I'm white, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Regina Matheson said you couldn't be my real mummy."