Norah came back upstairs with concern. He was taking way too long and was wondering if he'd fallen asleep in the shower or passed out in his own vomit. She entered the room and saw him lying down on the bed, his face in his hands. At least his wet hair showed that he showered. His clothes were a pile of mess in the corner of the room. Was he asleep?

She crept closer, and sure enough, she could hear his light breathing. His cheeks were flushed. His hair was wet and sleeked back. She touched his forehead; his skin was smooth and warm. Benny's clothes were a bit small around his shoulders, but perfect in height. He looked so peaceful and adorable. His eyelashes were unfairly long and thick. His tall frame barely fit the bed.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, making her jump. "I'm embarrassed in front of your gran. This is not the best first impression. She'll probably have second thoughts next time you leave to tutor me."

Norah sat on the bed. "Nah, she's seen worse. Trust me."

"You mean you bring home piss-drunk guys in the middle of the day all the time? I thought I was special."

"Oh you definitely are special," she said sarcastically. But she'd seen episodes like this before with Benny. Not only alcohol, but self harm too. Her nana never judged anyone and always told off Norah for being too self-centred. She always encouraged her to help others. "Let's go get food. You should eat first, then you can rest."

He made a face and shook his head. "I feel like shit. I will throw it back up if I eat."

"You'll have a headache if you don't," she said. She grabbed the towel and ran it over his head to dry his hair.

"Oww," he grumbled.

"You see, it's starting already."

"It's starting because you're close to ripping my head off."

"Let's go. It's Sunday roast. You can't miss it."

"Okay, but if I chunder, it'll be your fault."

"If you chunder you're buying me a new house."

"Can I go back to sleep after I eat?"

"Maybe."

After stumbling down the stairs and getting some food in his system, Rafe was looking better. Colour returned to his face. He wolfed down his food as if he'd never eaten before. Joyce stared at him with concealed amusement as she topped up his plate.

"This is delicious. Thank you so much. I'm sorry again—," Rafe said after swallowing a large mouthful.

"Eat up dear and stop apologising. Besides this is all Norah," Joyce said gesturing at the generous spread of food.

Norah smiled sheepishly. "Each week we pick a particular recipe to try... so this week I wanted to perfect a Sunday roast... my grandfather loved those."

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said to Joyce.

"It gets easier, you know. Time heals. And I'll see him one day. There's a lot of things I still have to say to him," she said, shaking her finger at the ceiling again.

Norah watched as Rafe looked at all the photos in the frames neatly lined up on the small fireplace. He saw Norah hugging her parents. Photos of her grandparents, and a few travel photos from Japan, Spain, and the US.

"Whenever my gran was down or struggled, she'd always look at the photos of my grandfather," Rafe began.

"That's lovely," Joyce said softly.

"She said if she could get through life with that psycho, she could get through anything."

There was an awkward silence in the kitchen. Norah and Joyce exchanged an amused and slightly worried glance. Norah was beginning to wonder just what kind of environment he was raised in. His father banished him. His mother was dead. There was no love lost between him and his stepmother. His grandmother didn't sound very nice at all. The only figure of his family he spoke well of was his half-brother, who was a ruthless lawyer and hadn't visited him once in all this time.

"So, how's the tutoring going? I hope our little goody two-shoes is not letting you down," grandma asked.

"No, he isn't," Norah said with a grin before Rafe could reply.

Rafe flashed her back a smile that could melt a girl on the spot. Joyce looked a little smitten herself.

"She's been great. I don't know what I would do without her," he said, his eyes locking with hers. Norah's heart did that silly pacing again, and she looked away.

"We're submitting our university applications next week. Then we'll see the real results of our hard work," Norah said, steadying her voice that went higher than it was supposed to.

"Rafe, did you know that Norah went to St Claires in London? She told me you used to go to Westminster Prep. You were practically neighbours! Surely you've crossed paths at one point."

This piece of information caught him off guard so much that he sat up in his seat. He almost choked on his food. "Seriously? I did not know that," he said, looking pointedly at Norah. She took a sip of her water and avoided his gaze.

"It doesn't matter. It was a shitty school and a shitty time. Who wants dessert?"

Rafe sat back and watched as Norah rushed to the kitchen to fiddle with homemade sticky toffee pudding. As he watched her saunter away, something in his mind clicked.

From the first day he knew she looked familiar. And he was beginning to realise why.

"Sorry Joyce, did Norah used to go by the surname Brandwell by any chance?"

"Yes," she replied, surprised lighting up her face. "Brandwell is our surname. Well, mine and my son's. But she changed it to her mother's surname when she moved here."