Evie’s Ghost by Helen Peters
“Can I have a large hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows, please?” I said to the man at the counter. “And one of those doughnuts too.” I rummaged in my bag for my purse and took out one of the crumpled notes Mum had shoved at me in the back of the taxi. “For emergencies,” she’d said. Well. At this very moment, my mother was on her way to Heathrow Airport with her shiny new husband, who was sweeping her off for a romantic honeymoon on the Grand Canal in Venice.