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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

That’s what’s so cruel about it. There’s a split second when you’re sure that you got away with it and the relief is dizzying. It’s kind of like that moment right after you kiss someone for the first time and you feel untethered, like you could float up and touch the sky. That’s where I come in, to make sure you don’t.

I give Alice a minute to steady herself, watch as she closes her eyes and sucks in a breath. Her whole body shudders and I wonder if it’s then that she knows that there’s nothing there.

Finally, Alice turns, her blonde curls swirling in the wind, and when she sees me, she takes a step back.

I wait a beat, then another.

‘Alice Anderson?’

The crease between her fair eyebrows deepens. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘I’m Ash.’

She stares at me so I nod at her. It takes her a moment, but when she realises that I’m gesturing at her to look over the cliff, she does, then lets out a wail that sends the seagulls scattering in every direction. She staggers back from the edge and covers her mouth with both hands. When she spins round to face me again, I have to fight the urge to turn and run because what if she wants me to say something?

This is what she’ll want me to say: everything is going to be OK.

This is what I can’t say: everything is going to be OK.

She doesn’t say anything, though, and I’m glad, that she doesn’t ask me how or why or any of those impossible questions I can’t answer. Maybe she’ll want to know when. I can tell her that. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt doing this, it’s that in that moment, when all the years you thought you had ahead of you dissolve into a few seconds, why doesn’t matter. What matters is who you’ll leave behind and I get that more than anyone, believe me.

Like I said, there’s something about that moment. Everything – all those things you did and didn’t do and said and didn’t say – falls away and you see everything with absolute, startling clarity. People go their whole lives waiting for that moment. They climb mountains and swim seas and read books hoping to find it. A lucky few do, but most of us – people like me and Alice Anderson and all the ones who went before us and all the ones that will follow – don’t until it’s too late and, God, it’s cruel, isn’t it? How, when there’s no time left, you suddenly know exactly what you should have done with it.