After living for over ten years in this house, it was weird to ring the bell and wait at the front door. A stranger in my own home, even though I was well aware this was no longer home.
“Liv!” Rebecca greeted me with the same casualty as she greeted all her friends. Except I wasn’t just a friend, I was her ex-wife, but she seemed to conveniently forget that when it suited her.
“Hey. I’m here to pick Tilly up,” I said.
“Of course. Come in, come in.”
I grimaced at being welcomed in my own house, but I bit my tongue. Instead, I followed Rebecca through the hallway, trying not to notice all the difference. The bookcase was gone, the coat rack had moved. There was a new painting, which clashed with the colour of the curtains.
I gestured to the oil painting of a rooster. “Bette’s?”
“Yes. I
