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Ariana looked at Grace like she was stupid. ‘It wasn’t just alcohol, you idiot.’

‘Oh, I see. That wasn’t very sensible.’

‘You don’t see anything at all, Miss Goody-two-shoes,’ she sniffed. ‘This is all your fault.’

‘What has this got to do with me?’

‘Christian …’ Ariana started to cry. Big hot tears splashed down into her tea. ‘He … he …’ she hiccupped, ‘he doesn’t want me.’

Grace took the tea off her and put it on the side. She reached for a packet of tissues and handed Ariana one.

‘He wants you, not me,’ Ariana sobbed, dabbed at her eyes and blowing her nose noisily.’

‘Did he say that?’

‘No … but I saw you get off the boat, you’d been together.’ Ariana pouted, sticking her bottom lip out.

‘We had a day at the beach, that’s all. We’re friends, nothing else.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not … well, not really.’

Ariana’s tears started again.

‘Look, we kissed, that’s all. It was hardly anything. Just a nice day out.’ She shrugged, but Ariana didn’t look convinced. ‘Besides, even if I did like him and he liked me, it couldn’t go anywhere, I’ll be going back to England soon.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I love Ithos, but I can’t stay here forever … You see, I came here looking for something, but I didn’t find it and, well, there isn’t anything here for me now.’

‘What were you looking for?’ Ariana asked. ‘Not that I care.’

‘I’m adopted. Which has never bothered me in the slightest – I love my parents, they’ve given me the best life anyone could have been given. And I’ve always known I was adopted, so it didn’t come as a big shock or anything. For a long time, I wasn’t interested in knowing who my birth parents were, but then I found out that once an adopted person turns eighteen they have the right to apply for information.’ She paused. ‘When I look at myself, I know I’m not a typical English Rose and it has always intrigued me, like a piece of the puzzle that’s missing. So, last year, when I turned eighteen, I contacted the adoption agency.’

‘What happened?’ Ariana looked as though the effects of whatever she had taken earlier were wearing off, and there was a flicker of interest that she couldn’t hide.

‘They forwarded an envelope …’ Grace recalled her parents handing over the envelope from the agency and then leaving the room so she could open it in private. ‘We’ll be downstairs if you need us. And if you don’t want to open it, that’s OK too.’ They had hugged each other tightly and Grace remembered feeling so lucky that these people had taken her as their own.

Her emotions had been in turmoil as she sat with the letter on her lap. The envelope could have contained the information that her mother didn’t want to be contacted, or that she was dead. It took a while for Grace to find the courage to open it. Inside was a letter from her birth mother:

Dear Grace,

Happy eighteenth birthday to you. On the dawn of your adulthood, I wanted you to know that you were born in love. I have never forgotten those precious few days we spent together, and not a single day passes when I don’t think of you and say a prayer for you. The mother and father you were placed with would never have made you feel like you were a guilty secret.

I hope that your life is full of kindness, laughter and opportunity, and that the years to come bring you joy and love. Live a happy and fulfilling life, Grace – you deserve it. I will never, ever forget you, and if one day you want to find me, I’ll be waiting.

Xxx

Grace remembered sitting there, barely able to catch her breath, her mind fizzing with the thought that her birth mother had loved her and not wanted to give her away. She shook the envelope and was surprised when something else fell out. It was a postcard. It had been ripped in two and put back together, a bit of yellowed Sellotape holding the two pieces together. On the front was a picture of a place called Ithos, somewhere that Grace had never heard of. There was a picture of the harbour with all the little fishing boats, and you could just make out Níko’s taverna and the central square. She read the words on the back:

My dear Beauty

Always have hope. We have our dreams. Remember our souls will always burn brighter.

Don’t wait for me.

Who was the postcard from? It wasn’t in the same handwriting as her birth mother’s. In fact, it was very distinctively different. Once she had found out that Ithos was in Greece, she’d started to wonder if that was why she had olive skin and hair that was almost black. The letter and the postcard had thrown up more questions than answers and she’d found it too much to take in. She felt glad that her birth mother had loved her, but she couldn’t find any real feelings to connect her to the woman who hadn’t felt able to keep her. She wasn’t sure she felt brave or curious enough to start the process of finding her.