"Aunt Margaret!" Sabrina bounded into the house with a newly opened, rain-damp letter in her hand.

Margaret looked up from her newspaper crossword. "What on earth are you wearing, love?"

Sabrina took stock of her glitter-embedded Lucite wellies, pleather leggings, denim overall shorts, neon nautical-striped tee, translucent yellow rain jacket, and blue velvet scrunchie (for her wrist, not her hair). "What?"

"Did you come out the loser in a scuffle with MTV?"

Sabrina laughed. She'd been doing that more often. Margaret was glad.

"No, Nicola was convinced I needed help dressing 'proper.' She got Aunt June to take us shopping."

"And this is your style now, is it?"

"Just for the day. Listen, Aunt Margaret: the Manchester Evening News wants to hire me as an event photographer!"

"Well?"

"Yes, I applied with some of the festival photos I've taken since I came here, and they've offered me a position," she straightened the paper so she could read the pertinent line, "'covering cultural events around greater Manchester.' I'll be paired with a society journalist for most of my assignments. I take the pictures, he writes the stories." She beamed.

Aunt Margaret fiddled with her pencil and tried to look pleased. "Bit far to commute, I imagine," she said resignedly.

"Yes, I'm afraid."

"Still come on the weekends?"

"Yes, of course! Well — as much as I can. So many events happen on weekends. But I will visit."

Her aunt nodded and got up to congratulate her. "Well, give us a hug, love." Sabrina happily obliged. "Don't let Nicola choose your whole kit, or they'll never let you in to photograph the symphony."

They both laughed.

"And I'm sorry to lose my housemate, but I'm proud you aren't just sitting around spending your inheritance."

Sabrina pulled back, startled. "Who told you?"

"Well, I was at a loss to fathom out how you were paying your own expenses with no visible income. Your father told me he'd built up a nest egg for you."

"Mm, yes. A nest egg. For a triceratops."

"I see Matty's been tutoring you in your dinosaur species," Margaret remarked drily as they went into the kitchen to start dinner.

Dear Dad,

Even though we've been keeping up by phone, I wanted to sit down and write to you, to let you know what to expect and to help me sort out my thoughts.

I've taken a job in Manchester as a photojournalist for the Evening News. I can't tell yet if this will affect our calls. For now, I suppose we can keep our usual time. If I don't call, you'll know I'm out on assignment.

Aunt June is helping me look out for a flat in Manchester, but under protest. I hadn't truly realized how cramped and pinched things can be here before we started our search. I thought Aunt Margaret's house was small when I arrived, but the last flat I saw with Aunt June could almost fit inside her sitting room. But, how much space does one girl need to sleep at night, I suppose. We're going to widen our net and try again tomorrow.

Both she and Aunt Margaret are sad that I'm going away. I'll miss them too — I already do — but it feels wonderful to be doing this on my own. You and Mrs. Larrabee set up all my arrangements in Paris, and before I went there, I'd never known any other home but our rooms over the garage. Now I'm about to be earning my own money and paying my own way in my own city. It's grand.

I'm not taking back what I said about Paris being my hometown. I still feel that way. Since I'm writing instead of calling, I'll go ahead and answer your question: I haven't gone back yet.

It's not that I don't want to. I just know I'm not ready. Maybe I'll set a deadline. If I haven't made it to Paris by my next birthday, that will be my gift to myself.

[I wonder if Linus ever got that life he was talking about. Don't tell me. I just hope that in some way, he can be happy. Then maybe he'll stop making other people so miserable firmly crossed out]

Please give my love to Joanna and Rosa and everyone in our kitchen club. I'm getting a PO Box in Manchester. You can give them my address when I send it, if any of them want to write to me.

I even have enough love for you to pass on to any of the Larrabees who want it. I really am indebted to Mrs. Larrabee. I haven't forgotten that.

I suppose that's it for now. Mr. Peters should be by any moment for the mail.

All my love,

Sabrina