I shut myself away, headphones in, listening to sad songs. Drowning myself.

Joe...

Something had shifted. Not just between us, but inside me. It felt so good when I was in control. Now I realised how much power he had over me. How sensitive I was to his moods, his changes. The day his parents came home, something was different. He tried to hide it, but I saw. I sat and waited, hating the limbo but terrified of what came afterwards. Two weeks wasn't enough. I wasn't ready for him to slip away.

Not after the way he'd looked at me by the marshes on the first night.

That look.

It was there again on his boat. It was there in the mornings when we first woke up together. It was there in the corner of my eye when he thought I couldn't see. I trusted that look. Let it learn everything about me. I laid myself in the palm of its hand. I believed it when it promised it would stay.

I tried to keep the panic down. It fought its way towards the surface, trying to break through. I couldn't cry. I couldn't scream. I was frozen, spinning in my head.

Then the text came.

'Come for dinner with my parents.'

A simple invitation with seismic implications.

I wanted to say no. I was afraid. I could sense something coming and wanted to run away.

But I didn't.

I replied straight away to say yes and then went digging through my wardrobe, looking for my best outfit. A white summer dress I'd once worn to a wedding. It was knee length and high collared, tailored in at the waist with an A-line skirt. A dress for meeting your boyfriends' parents.

Boyfriend...

The word slipped into my thoughts without me noticing.

I tried it on. It felt scary but good. Another skin. 'Billie, Joe Eliot's girlfriend'. The one he wanted. The one who knew her worth and never question it.

The person I wanted to be.

I spun in front of the mirror, my brain ticking over, imagining what the night would bring.

I was about to meet the people who created Joe. The two most important people in his life. He was letting me in on it. All I had to do was not mess it up.

I picked at my nails on the bus ride to Joe's, suddenly conscious of my bright white dress. I was surrounded by tracksuits and toddlers and people in casual jeans, milling about in their day-to-day life, oblivious to the story I was in. I looked out of place, too dressy, too bridal, no groom in sight.

The Miss Havisham of the number four bus route.

After what felt like hours, I stepped off the bus into the warm evening air, thanking the driver with red cheeks. Away from the eyes of the other passengers, I felt less exposed. My dress, my bare legs, hair done up, make-up on. All of it was back in place. I walked down the dirt track that led to The Chapel, resuming the romantic narrative in my head. I was surrounded by golden fields. The sun was sinking, setting them on fire, throwing its colours in the sky. Beautiful.

A rush of understanding passed over me. I could see it, then, through the gaze of the tired commuters on the number four bus. This was magic. Not to be taken for granted. I was young and free, experiencing the first great romance of my life. The world was not ordinary to me in that moment. It was enchanted. Malleable. It would bend to my will, creating whatever fairy-tale scene I asked of it. The wilting trees, the balmy air, the grasshoppers singing. It was all for me. The backdrop for the most important experience of my life.

I never wanted it to stop. I would never stop wanting to walk this road. Never want to stop finding him at the end of it. The Chapel. The steeple I could see now peeping out from between the trees. Happiness. A second home.

I walked to the front door and paused before knocking, smoothing down my dress, adjusting my sandal straps. It was the first time in weeks I had used the door instead of slipping through the garden gate. A sudden surge of nerves passed through me. This wasn't Joe's house anymore, it was his parents'. The familiarity I had with the place was temporarily gone. Everything looked the same but felt different. I wondered if seeing Joe would be the same.

When he answered the door, I looked into his eyes, searching. I saw tiredness in them. Stress. A bit less of a shimmer. But the warmth was still there. The feelings were there. He smiled at me, kissing me before letting me in.

Inside, I looked at the house like it was the first time again, craning my neck to see the original stain glass windows at the top of the stairs. I took them in, memorising the details I'd never noticed before. Blue, white, and violet, figures on their knees, worshipping. They made me feel suddenly emotional.

Joe slipped his hand into mine and brought me out of my head. He was wearing a dinner jacket and a white shirt with beige trousers. There was a sadness in his smile, like he was taking me to a funeral. All dressed up, prettiest clothes on, leading me to the service. I braced myself. I could smell cologne on him. Expensive. Different. His usually floppy hair was gelled into place, his back stiff as he walked me to a door I'd never seen open.

He let go of my hand and twisted the handle, revealing a dining room I never knew existed.

Like the rest of the house, it was impressive. A mahogany table lined the centre of the room, candles placed in bursts along the middle. Flowers took up the space where candles were not, vases bursting with lilies and freesias in arrangements of white, purple, and pink. A matching dresser sat behind it, barely standing out from the wood panel walls. It boasted collectors ornaments and plates, all in various shades of blue. The walls were decorated with large paintings of ships, golden, gilded frames slinking around their edges. It reminded me of a captain's cabin, transported from a different world. I planted my feet on the floorboards, half-expecting the room to start swaying beneath me.

Mr and Mrs Eliot stood up and walked around the table, their appearance as remarkable as their house. Mrs Eliot had dark hair, tanned skin, and a paper-white smile. Her eyes, a faded version of Joe's, were sharp and full of life. She wore a tight green cocktail dress that left no questions about the tight shape of her body. Mr Eliot was middle-aged and handsome. He'd let his hair turn grey, giving him a silver-fox George Clooney sort of look. I could see Joe in his nose and cheekbones, but, most of all in his smile. It invited me in like Joe's, encouraging me to find the secrets that pulled at its edges. Mr Eliot wore a captain's jacket with gold cufflinks in the shape of tiny boats. Of course he did. All at once I understood why Joe always looked for him in the sea. He looked as though he'd be more at home there than on the land.

"Billie. How wonderful to meet you," Mrs Eliot said, taking my hand. "I'm Jackie. Welcome to our home."

"Steven," his dad nodded by way of introduction. "Welcome, welcome."

Their sun-kissed, easy movement boasted of the months they'd spent abroad, but their speech was strange and taut. Rippled with tension. I felt like I was playing a game but no one had explained the rules. I tried to keep up, mirroring their smiles with my own.

"It's great to meet you. I've heard lots about you both."

Joe bowed his head and squeezed my shoulder, giving me no indication as to whether I'd said the right thing. It seemed to please his mother. She looked at her husband with happy surprise, seemingly delighted that their son had talked about them.

Gracie stood up at the far end of the table revealing her short, black dress. It was out of place with the colour and light of the rest of her family's clothes, but I suspected that was why she chose it. Her blonde hair was tamed into ringlets, her face drawn with stress in a way I'd never seen on her.

"Hey, Billie," she said through a lump in her throat. "Nice to see you."

It was her formal greeting that bothered me the most. There were no quips. No laughter dancing in her eyes. No over-the-top animated gestures. Something was wrong. I knew it. This wasn't just an introductory dinner. This was a chance for Joe's parents to break some horrible news. Maybe they were moving abroad permanently and Joe and Gracie suspected it. They'd be left behind, Gracie to finish Uni and Joe to do his exams at school. But why would they invite me if that was the case? Why would they want a witness to their family despair?

Joe gestured for me to take a seat opposite his mother. I did as I was told, hiding my relief when he sat down beside me. I half-listened as Jackie explained that Joe's old Au Pair, Laurel, was going to be preparing and serving us the meal. Joe sat down next to me, his eyes fixed on the table.

"Laurel does bits and pieces for us still," Jackie said, glancing at her son. I smiled and nodded, pretending to listen as she launched into a detailed story about how she found and hired Laurel and how she became part of the family. I felt Joe stiffen beside me. Under the table, I brushed his hand with my fingers, trying to reassure him. He squeezed my hand, his palm damp. He pulled at his collar, still not looking me in the eye. I held onto his hand for dear life, wondering how long it would be until I was forced to let go.

"So, Billie," Steven said, clearing his throat. "What do your parents do for a living?"

Joe's grip on my hand grew tighter.

"Well, my mum is a doctor," I said, leading with what I knew would impress.. Joe's father nodded his head with approval. His mum took a long sip from her wine. They stared at me, waiting for me to go on.

"My dad is a University professor. But he moved away after the divorce."

"Oh." Steven topped up his glass, his cheeks redder than the wine he poured. "Oh, I see."

Like a blessing from heaven, a woman I assumed was Laurel brought out the starter, putting an end to the unfortunate conversation. I stared at the plate of smoked salmon, prawns, and horseradish as she put it down in front of me, the smell of lime hitting me on the way down.

"Thank you," I said, looking up into Laurel's face. She was soft and round and pretty, her child-like smile not dulled by age. The smell of lavender exuded from her when she leant towards me, taking me back to my grandmother's garden. She took the open wine from the middle of the table and poured me a glass, shaking her head when I thanked her again.

"You don't need to thank me," she said, keeping her eyes on her task. "It's what I'm here for." She winked at me and then walked away, Steven's eyes followed her out of the room.

"It looks delicious," I said, directing the compliment at Jackie. She smiled at me with hollow eyes.

"I had nothing to do with it, dear. It's all Laurel."

Laurel returned to serve the rest of the starters in silence, each trip from the kitchen causing a deeper and more uncomfortable silence. I wasn't sure if the Eliot family was embarrassed that they had hired help, or if this was part of the greater darkness that hung over our heads. Jackie kept her eyes on her son, watching as his expression turned from discomfort to pain. I watched him too, desperate to understand.

"You used to be so attached to her," Jackie said, gesturing to the closed door behind Laurel. "It'll be a shame when-"

"Don't."

Joe's voice was quiet but powerful. The heat of it added several degrees to the room. Jackie looked around with wild eyes, the Eliots communicating in a language I didn't understand. Gracie smiled, picking up her fork with an awkward gesture.

"Shall we eat?"

"Yes," Steven said, making a similar show of picking up his cutlery. "Let's eat!"

The relief in the room was tangible. Jackie, Steven, Gracie, and Joe fell into an easy routine, sharing stories of holidays and childhood adventures. Joe lightened up with reluctance, smiling as he talked about biking accidents and dance performances, and failed treehouse-building attempts with his father. Every now and then, one of them would pull me into the conversation, asking me what I thought or questioning me about my own childhood. I answered as best I could, trying to keep up with the fast pace of their words. I was surprised to see how fast all was forgiven. How quickly Joe could tear his mother down with a glare and then wrap her up in adoration. This was a safe space. A place where emotions could rise and insults could fly and then be retracted. This was a place where teasing and arguing went hand in hand, where affection and irritation existed as one. This was family. I could feel myself falling in.

The candles burned and with them, the tension from the beginning of the night melted. Laurel floated in and out, taking away plates and bringing in new ones, joining in with anecdotes then sitting down with us for dessert. I sat in the middle of it all, taking it all in. The people that made Joe. I felt I could make more sense of him. See him from different angles. I had been let in and was trusted with what I found. It was hard to stay anxious when all I could focus on was my own good luck.

When dinner was over and Laurel had cleaned the plates and said goodbye, we moved into the living room where Joe's parents pushed him into playing a song.

"So embarrassing," he sighed, though he was already on the stall.

I waited, expecting another rendition of a modern song, but the piece Joe chose was classical. Mozart, according to Steven's murmurs. Piano sonata no. 17 in B flat major. Joe's hands danced over the keys, the music pouring through him and into the room. It sent me back, connecting me to every person, dead or alive, who had ever heard and appreciated the music. He had a gift. A way with the keys. Nothing moved while he played. Even my thoughts were quiet. I forgot it was him playing. Forgot myself. Forgot the house around us. Everything was simple.

And then it had to end.

The room went quiet. I felt Jackie's hand on my arm.

"You'll stay over tonight, dear. It's getting late."

"You can borrow my stuff in the morning," Gracie said. Then she flounced away, unable to look me in the eye.

It wasn't late, but Joe yawned, wishing his parents goodnight and following Gracie upstairs. I excused myself, tracing his steps through the hallway. His parents called goodnight after me, and I was caught with a sudden wave of embarrassment, knowing I was going upstairs to share a bed with their son. But when I turned back at the foot of the stairs, they had already looked away and were lost in conversation.

They trusted me. Like I had always been there.

I opened the door to Joe's room. The smell of his aftershave lingered in the air, but the room was unchanged. Faint washing powder, old wood, a tinge of sweat. Happiness. A second home.

Joe was waiting by the window. When he heard the door close, he turned around, moving to me in the darkness. He stood in front of me, looking at me without speaking, tracing my cheek with his thumb.

"Your playing was really beautiful," I said quietly.

"Mmmm...."

"I'm glad I got to be here tonight..."

Before I could say anything else, he kissed me, his urgency palpable. He led me to the bed and lay me down, impatience burning through us both.

A while later, I lay with my head on his chest, the way I often did, with no need to speak. It was enough to be together. I looked up at his ceiling in the darkness, listening to the steady thump of his heart. All I needed was what lay between these sheets. Me and him together. No layers between us.

"Billie..."

I'd given more of myself than I'd ever intended.

But it was too late to back out.

"Billie..."

I snapped back to attention, trying to read Joe's face in the dark.

"Yeah?" I said, my voice a whisper.

"I need to talk to you..."

Too late, too late, too late.