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“Shall we go?” says Mum.

“Let me get a piccie first!” says Janice. “All line up in front of the fountains!”

OK, we have majorly digressed from Ocean’s Eleven at this point. I can’t imagine Brad Pitt accosting a random tourist and asking him to take a quick “snap of the gang.”

Then Mum wants a photo of her and Dad, and then they want one with Janice, and I’m just wondering whether I should ask Suze to take one of Luke and me, when I notice a stocky man nearby, watching us. I wouldn’t even have noticed him, except he’s staring quite fixedly at Dad, and as he turns his head, the light catches his face and—

I gasp so loud, Luke whips round in alarm.

“Look!” I flail my arms. “Is that him? Is it Brent?”

The man takes a step backward and from his caught-out expression I just know it’s him. He looks like the photo, only craggier and sadder. He also looks as though he’s having second thoughts about being here.

“Don’t go!” I add hastily. “Please.” I hurry over to Dad and tug his sleeve. “Dad, look who’s here!”

He turns, and I can see the light of surprise in his eyes.

“Brent! You made it! I didn’t think you’d—”

“I got a voicemail from Rebecca,” says Brent. “She told me…” He rubs his brow. “Told me you’d be here. Told me some other stuff. Not sure what to believe.”

Slowly, Suze, Tarkie, and the others are gathering round, peering at Brent, almost in disbelief. We’ve been chasing, discussing, focusing on this guy for all this time. And, finally, here he is.

He’s not a well-looking man. He’s still got the square brow of his youth, but his gray hair is going, and the rest of his face is jowly, with sunken, defeated eyes. He looks like he’s had a hard life. He’s wearing an old, cheap-looking jacket, and a backpack is slung over his shoulder.

Now his eyes are moving suspiciously over all of us, as though expecting a trick.

“Did Rebecca tell you—” Dad breaks off. “Did she mention a settlement at all?” he says carefully. “Did she mention the money?”

Brent’s expression immediately becomes more defensive. His glower deepens and his shoulders tense. Which I can understand. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to believe it either. I wouldn’t want the hope till I had the proof.

“Makes no sense,” he says. “Why would Corey suddenly cave in? I tried in 2002.”

“I know,” says Dad quickly. “Brent, like I tried to tell you before, I had no idea you were approaching Corey then. None. I would never— You have to know…” As he gazes at Brent, he seems a bit overcome. “Here. Read this.” He takes out of his pocket a copy of the settlement agreement. “It’s what you’re morally owed. No more.”

Tourists are pressing backward and forward, trying to get a view of the fountains, but the ten of us are totally engrossed in Brent’s face as he reads the words of the document.

I’m pretty sure he reads the whole thing three times before he reacts. Then he looks up, gives a brief nod, and says, “I see. Yes. Can I keep this?”

And you might think he was totally callous and ungrateful, if you couldn’t see his hands, shaking and shaking—and a sudden tear plop onto the paper, which we all pretend we didn’t notice.

“Of course.” Dad nods. “We have copies.”

Brent carefully folds the paper up small and puts it in his backpack, then surveys the group of us again.

“I guess I need to thank…you, Graham?”

“All of us,” says Dad quickly. “We all pulled together.”

“But who are you?” Brent looks around at the faces, as though totally confused.

“Friends of Graham’s,” says Janice.

“And Becky’s,” says Danny, as Ulla nods.

“I am Rebecca’s mother-in-law,” says Elinor.

“It was Bex who made the plan to get Corey,” puts in Suze.

“We called it Becky’s Eleven,” explains Mum brightly. “Have you seen the film?”

“Which one’s Becky?” demands Brent, and, nervously, I step toward him.

“Hi. I’m Becky. I met your daughter, Becca. I came to the trailer—I don’t know if she mentioned it—and I told my dad you’d been evicted….That’s how it all began, really.”

“We wanted to get justice for you,” chimes in Janice. “That Corey is a low-down snake, pardon my French!”

“You’re from Britain.” Brent looks more and more bewildered.

“Oxshott. But I flew over to help,” continues Janice cheerily. “Well, anything for Jane and Graham.”

“And anything for Becky,” adds Suze. “She got us all going.”

“It was a group effort,” I say quickly. “Everyone was brilliant.”

“But…” Brent rubs his face again. “Why? Why help me? You’re strangers, most of you. You don’t know me.”

“We were helping Becky’s dad,” says Danny simply.

“You need to thank my daughter,” puts in Dad. “She’s the powerhouse behind all this.”

“Oh, and by the way, Brent, thanks for the C.B. and M.M.M. tip,” I exclaim, suddenly remembering. “That’s, like, my motto for life!”

But Brent doesn’t respond. He’s looking around at the ten of us, a sort of wonder in his face. Then, at last, he turns to me.

“Young lady, you must be very lucky in your friends,” he says. “Or maybe they’re lucky in you.”

“I’m very lucky in my friends,” I say at once. “That’s what it is. Definitely. They’re amazing.”

“It goes both ways,” says Ulla, and we all peer at her in surprise. (She’s not the most talkative, Ulla, although she was brilliant at distracting Cyndi.)

“Hear, hear,” confirms Suze.

“Well, anyway,” I say a bit awkwardly. “The main thing is, we did it. And now you’re here! You must come for supper….” I swing back round to take up the conversation with Brent. But I can’t see him anymore. What happened? Where is he?

We all scan the crowd in confusion, and Luke searches around the area a bit—but it’s soon obvious he’s not coming back.

Brent’s gone.

The steak house that was recommended to Luke is amazing. We all order steaks and fries and pretty much every side dish on the menu. The waiter pours out a delicious red wine, and as we toast one another I can sense everyone breathing out. Properly. Finally. We made it.

As I look around the table, I feel a little wash of happiness. We’re all in such a better place than we were. Mum and Dad are sitting side by side across the table from me with Janice. They’re all looking at photos on Dad’s phone of the red-rock canyons and making plans for their vineyard trips. All of Mum’s hysteria has evaporated; all of her tension has gone. She keeps stroking Dad’s arm, and he squeezes her back as though he’s never going to leave her again.

Elinor is looking pretty relaxed too. She and Luke are chatting away about the holiday we might all take in the Hamptons, with Danny chipping in every now and again with local gossip that makes even Elinor snort with laughter.

If you were brutally honest, you might say that Danny has mostly become best friends with Elinor because she’s planning to spend a small fortune on his clothes and help him launch a whole new older women’s market, which will do great things for his profits….But there’s more to it than that. There’s a genuine bond between them. I really do believe that. Like, they’ve already discussed how they’ll give Cyndi a wonderful time at the Met Ball because none of this was her fault. (I’m going to try and go too.)

As for Suze and Tarkie, they’re completely different people. Suze has relaxed. She’s the old Suze. She laughs at silly things. Her frown has eased. And Tarkie is a revelation! I keep watching him, trying to work out what’s different—but I don’t think it’s one thing. It’s lots of little things. Apparently one of the pieces of advice Dad gave him on the road was, “Fake it till you make it.” Well, I don’t know what’s fake and what’s real, or whether he even knows himself—but it’s working. He’s going to make a kick-ass lord of the manor when he gets back to England.