This is the book that made me a Claire Calman fan. It's not perfect but it's stayed with me for years, and I love it as much for its flaws as in spite of them.
There's a lot going on here: grief, memory, found family, a troubled mother-daughter relationship. Starting over and letting go. Bella is a complex heroine who's so stubborn and relatable I just don't know whether I want to give her a hug or shake some sense into her.
Calman switches to present tense to recount Bella's memories, which makes them feel intimate and immediate, the way a stray thought or a smell can put you right back into a moment in time. The whole book is written like that: moments in time stitched together, sometimes in scenes only a few lines long. It's like how you remember a really great holiday as a highlight reel, and automatically edit out the boring bits like the bum-numbingly long flight and the airport queues in favour of the funny little man at the cafe or the cat that used to sleep on your balcony chair. It's a fragmentary style rather than a flowing narrative, which won't suit every reader, but I felt it worked well with the theme of memory.
Sharp, funny, painfully raw in places and peopled with an acutely-observed cast of characters (even the dead one has, er, life), there's a lot to love here, and that's why I keep coming back to it.