Stella stares at the painting on the therapist’s wall. A road winds along a mountainside above an azure sea. The slopes of the mountain are covered in olive trees. Small white boats bob on the shimmering water at the foot of cliffs. Stella is lost in the painting. She can smell the herbs in the bush, wild thyme and something sweeter. She is running down a steep path to a cove below. On holiday in Greece. Thirteen. Awkward, in between everything ... Ivor Woodall is dead. And, somehow, it’s all Stella’s fault. Because in Stella’s life the past is still very much alive. Her holiday in Greece. The young art student who charmed his way into her mother’s bed. What she saw that morning on the beach. It all adds up to Ivor’s death. And Timothy being lost. And Francoise and Luke. Luke being more lost than anyone ...