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Chapters (86)
  1. Title Page
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Love
  4. Before
  5. One
  6. ONE
  7. Two
  8. TWO
  9. Three
  10. THREE
  11. Four
  12. FOUR
  13. Five
  14. FIVE
  15. Six
  16. SIX
  17. Seven
  18. SEVEN
  19. Eight
  20. EIGHT
  21. Nine
  22. NINE
  23. Ten
  24. TEN
  25. Eleven
  26. ELEVEN
  27. After
  28. One
  29. ONE
  30. Two
  31. TWO
  32. Three
  33. THREE
  34. Four
  35. FOUR
  36. Five
  37. FIVE
  38. Six
  39. SIX
  40. Seven
  41. SEVEN
  42. Eight
  43. EIGHT
  44. Nine
  45. NINE
  46. Ten
  47. TEN
  48. Eleven
  49. ELEVEN
  50. Twelve
  51. TWELVE
  52. Thirteen
  53. THIRTEEN
  54. Fourteen
  55. FOURTEEN
  56. Fifteen
  57. FIFTEEN
  58. Sixteen
  59. SIXTEEN
  60. Seventeen
  61. SEVENTEEN
  62. Eighteen
  63. EIGHTEEN
  64. Nineteen
  65. NINETEEN
  66. Twenty
  67. TWENTY
  68. Twenty-One
  69. TWENTY-ONE
  70. Twenty-Two
  71. TWENTY-TWO
  72. Twenty-Three
  73. TWENTY-THREE
  74. Twenty-Four
  75. TWENTY-FOUR
  76. Twenty-Five
  77. TWENTY-FIVE
  78. Twenty-Six
  79. TWENTY-SIX
  80. Twenty-Seven
  81. TWENTY-SEVEN
  82. Twenty-Eight
  83. TWENTY-EIGHT
  84. Eleven Months Later
  85. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  86. Copyright

My second reap – after Kitty Lawrence – is Jennifer Craig from Preston Park who kills herself but doesn’t leave a note, which bothers me more than it should. Then there’s Imran Mahmood who was jumped on his way back from a gig at The Haunt but won’t tell us why. Then, this afternoon, there was Charlie Graham, who died at Jubilee Library, of all places. It took us ages to find him because he was at a desk on the second floor, slumped over his books, so we thought he was taking a nap. Or at least his body was there, Charlie was actually sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, which is why we didn’t see him.

It turns out he hit his head playing rugby the day before and didn’t know it was that bad until his brain short-circuited halfway through his essay on the Domesday Book.

As Dev and I are walking back to the bookshop after handing Charlie over to Charon, I can’t help but ask myself what he would have been doing if he’d known today was, you know, the day.

Dev must be thinking the same thing because she asks, ‘Where would you have been? If you’d known that you were going to die on New Year’s Eve?’

‘You mean if I wasn’t outside the mini-mart?’ She nods. ‘I don’t know.’ I don’t. I haven’t even thought about it. ‘I sure as shit wouldn’t have been in the library writing an essay about the Domesday Book.’

She giggles, her nose wrinkling. ‘What a way to go.’

I’m glad she doesn’t push, even though I know where I would have been if I’d known.

Under the bridge at the station, kissing Poppy until there was no breath left in me.

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A few days after Charlie Graham, Dev and I head into town because I can’t keep wearing the same black jeans and hoodie for eternity.

‘Isn’t it weird?’ I say to Dev as we’re in Primark looking at jeans. ‘It’s been, what? Almost two weeks and I haven’t seen anyone I know. Like now. It’s five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. You’d think I’d see someone in town. Even if it’s just someone I went to school with or one of my neighbours.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she mutters, distracted by a pink sequinned dress on the other side of the shop.

‘Have you?’ I ask, trailing after her as she walks over to it.

‘Have I?’

‘Seen anyone from, you know, before?’

‘I saw my old history teacher once.’ She takes the dress off the rail then wanders over to the mirror. ‘He was coming out of the station.’

I follow, standing behind her as she holds the dress to her and tilts her head at her reflection. ‘Did he see you?’

She shakes her head.