Epilogue
The box was heavier than it looked. Iona had packed it herself, so she only had herself to blame, but she was fairly sure that books bred in the dark. There was no other explanation for why a box labeled "Mo's school stuff" weighed approximately the same as a small car.
"Mum." Mo appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, face arranged into an expression of studied misery. "I can't find my charger."
"Which charger?"
"My phone charger."
"Have you checked the box labeled 'Mo's cables and things she'll die without'?"
Mo's eyes narrowed. "That's not a real box."
"It absolutely is. I made it specially." Iona set down the book box and stretched her aching back. "It's got a picture of a skull on it and everything."
"You drew a skull on a moving box."
"I thought it would help you find it."
Mo stared at her for a long moment, then rolled her eyes, and turned and disappeared back down the hall. Iona allowed herself a small smile. Two years and the teenage sulks were just as bad as ever, if slightly less common than they used to be.
Maeve emerged from the bedroom carrying another box, this one labeled "guitar stuff (do not drop or Maeve will cry)." She raised an eyebrow at Iona. "What's the verdict?"
"She's looking for her charger."
"Hmm."
Iona frowned. "Yeah, she seemed… calmer than I’d expected. I mean, given how vociferously she’s been against this move and all."
"Maybe she’s mellowing out," Maeve said, twirling her red hair up into a messy bun in a way that still made Iona’s heart beat too hard.
"MUM."
The shriek from Mo's room could have shattered glass. Iona and Maeve exchanged a look.
"You jinxed it," Iona said accusingly.
Mo stormed back into the living room. Her face was blotchy. Her eyes were red. In one hand she clutched her phone like a weapon. "Half my stuff is gone."
"The movers have already been once this morning," Iona said. "You were upstairs at Oliver’s."
"Well, you’d better tell them to bring my stuff back," Mo said, folding her arms.
Iona sighed. "And why would I do that?"
"Because I'm not actually going," Mo said.
Iona looked at Maeve again, who shrugged. "Mo—"
"I'm not. I'm staying here."
"You can’t stay here," Iona said with very thin patience.
"I absolutely can," said Mo. "And I’m going to."
"Just because your boyfriend lives here," Iona began.
"He’s not my boyfriend."
Iona stopped. "Wait. What?"
"He’s not my boyfriend," Mo said, a look of satisfaction on her face. "We’re getting married."
Iona opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Married," she said faintly.
"Yes. Married." Mo lifted her chin in defiance. "We've been dating for two years and we're in love and I don't see why I have to move to some stupid house in some stupid neighborhood just because you're famous now."
"You're sixteen."
"So? You were only twenty when you married Dad."
"That's not the same thing."
"Why not?"
Because I was an idiot, Iona thought but didn't say. Because I was young and scared and pregnant and thought marriage would fix everything, which it very much did not. Because Shepherd was kind and patient and I loved him, just not the way you're supposed to love the person you marry.
"Mo," she started, but Maeve stepped forward.
"I've got this," Maeve said.
Iona stared at her. "You've got this?"
"Trust me."
Mo's eyes darted between them, suspicious. "What are you going to do?"
"Have a conversation." Maeve gestured toward Mo's room. "Come on. You can show me where the charger isn't."
They disappeared down the hall. Iona stood alone among the boxes, heart hammering, trying to figure out if she should follow or wait or possibly have a small breakdown.
Mo wanted to get married. Mo, who still couldn't remember to put her dishes in the dishwasher, who thought laundry was something that happened by magic, who had once cried for an hour because a TikTok video made her sad.
The front door opened and one of the removal men poked his head in. "Ready for the next load, love?"
"Yes," Iona said, though she wasn't sure she was ready for anything. "Give me five minutes."
???
The new house was supposed to be empty.
Maeve had very specifically confirmed this with the estate agent, who had promised that the keys would be left under a pot by the back door and the house would be clean, aired, and devoid of anyone who might startle Maeve into cardiac arrest.
The estate agent had lied.
"SURPRISE!"
Maeve stood in the doorway of their new home, a box of kitchen supplies in her arms, Iona peering over her shoulder, staring at what appeared to be every single person she had ever met in her life.
They were all crammed into the entrance hall, grinning like maniacs, surrounded by balloons and streamers and a banner that said "WELCOME HOME" in letters large enough to be visible from space.
And obviously, Cam was front and center, wearing a silver sequined jacket that would have been excessive at a disco and was frankly alarming at three in the afternoon. She was bouncing on her heels. "Surprise!" she cried again.
Maeve blinked. She was developing a headache.
"Come on, every house deserves a house-warming," Cam said, hands on her hips.
"We don't even have furniture yet," Iona pointed out.
"Best time for a party," Cam said with a grin. "No furniture means more room for dancing. Plus, it doesn’t matter who barfs where, does it?"
"No barfing," Maeve and Iona said immediately.
Maeve looked at Iona. "Sorry," she mouthed.
Iona grinned, shrugged, and said, "She makes a fair point about the furniture, though. We can christen the place without damaging anything important."
Maeve sighed, then relented. "Alright, alright," she said, turning back to the over-full hallway. "Party time it is then."
There was a cheer, then Cam informed everyone that drinks were in the kitchen, and Iona trailed after her, asking if she’d thought to bring snacks too, and then Maeve could see Glinna working her way through the crowd, Neil trailing behind with their youngest, Charity, on his hip.
Presumably, the other five children were already dispersing around the house with the efficiency of a well-trained invasion force.
"Maeve!" Charity reached out, making grabby hands. She was almost three now, all wild curls, shining pearl-like teeth, and big eyes. "Up! Up!"
"I'm holding a box," Maeve said.
"Best put it down then," advised Glinna.
Maeve put the box down just as Charity launched herself from Neil's arms, Maeve catching her deftly. "Heavier than last time," she said.
"Biscuits," Charity said gravely.
"That would do it."
Neil went off to find himself a beer, and Glinna beamed. "Nice place," she said. "I would have brought Eejit, but she doesn't like trains. She’d have bitten the conductor and got us all thrown off."
"Right," Maeve said, weirdly missing the sheep. Not that she wanted a sheep in her house.
"So I got you this instead." Glinna produced something from behind her back. It was a framed photograph, printed on canvas, approximately two feet tall. It was Eejit. Glaring directly at the camera with an expression of pure malevolence.
"You got me a portrait of your sheep."
"She's your sheep too, really. Spiritually speaking."
"She bit me last month when I came up to write in peace for a week."
"That's how she shows love."
Maeve looked at the portrait. Eejit looked back, frozen in perpetual judgment. "Where am I supposed to hang this?"
"Somewhere prominent. Living room, maybe. Or the bedroom, if you want her watching over you while you sleep."
"That's horrifying."
Glinna grinned. "I know. Isn't it perfect?"
Charity wriggled and Maeve put her down. She promptly ran off toward the kitchen.
"Knows where the biscuits are," said Glinna with a grin. She looked Maeve up and down. "You look well."
"I look exhausted. We've been moving boxes since six."
"You look well and exhausted." Glinna tilted her head. "Happy too, I think. Are you happy?"
Maeve considered lying. Decided against it. "Terrified, mostly."
"Good. Terror means you've got something to lose." Glinna reached out and squeezed her arm. "I'm proud of you, you know. For all of this. The albums, the tour, the moving to London to be with a woman you've loved since you were fourteen. The whole terrifying mess of it."
"Glinna…"
"No, hush, let me say this." Glinna's voice was firm but warm. "You spent fifteen years hiding in my cottage, convincing yourself that safe and small was the same as happy. And now look at you. Actually living. It's about time."
Maeve tried to deflect. "You just want the cottage back."
"I do. I'm converting it into a chicken coop." Glinna's eyes sparkled. "Let yourself be proud, Maeve. You've earned it."
Before Maeve could respond, there was a crash from somewhere deeper in the house, followed by a child's shriek and Cam's voice yelling, "That's fine! That's completely fine! No one panic!"
"Speaking of terrifying messes," Glinna said, and went to investigate.
???
Iona found Ellie in what would eventually be the kitchen, once they had things like a table and chairs.
At the moment it was mostly empty floor space and a folding camping table covered with plastic cups alongside coolers of drinks.
Ellie was navigating carefully around one of the coolers in her wheelchair. She'd decorated it with stickers.
"Tough day?" Iona asked. Ellie wasn’t always in her chair.
Ellie groaned. "Not even. Jake insisted. Said if I was coming to this party and expected to drink like a rock and roll star all night and play on The Late Show with you lot this weekend, then I had to take things easy." She sniffed. "Plus, it means I can sit down on the Tube."
Iona laughed.
"Watch this." Ellie pressed a button and the arms of the wheelchair folded down, smooth as anything. "Custom modification. Lets me play my bass even when I’m sitting down. Not bad, eh?"
"Pretty cool," Iona agreed. "Also makes it easier to somersault out if you need a quick escape."