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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

The book falls open and there’s a postcard between the pages. I don’t even need to see what it is to know, my chin trembling as I reach for it to find that it’s the Rothko painting she said reminds her of me.

‘Pop,’ I breathe, turning it over carefully so I don’t smudge it with my fingers.

Mark Rothko

Red on Maroon

1959

‘Do you like it?’ she asks with an eager smile.

‘Of course I do.’ I press it to my chest and sigh. ‘I love it.’

‘Good,’ she says, kissing me on the mouth. ‘I got one for myself as well.’

She pulls another purple bag from between her feet and holds it up.

‘Did you have a good day, Poppy Morgan?’ I ask as the train finally pulls into the station.

‘I had the best day, Ash Persaud,’ she tells me, kissing me again.

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I check my phone as we’re getting off the train to find nothing from my parents, which is good, and that it’s only three o’clock, which is even better. I told them that I’d be home by seven and I’m about to let Poppy know that we have another four hours together when I’m aware of a commotion behind me. I turn to see what’s going on just as someone shouts, ‘He’s got a knife!’ and a guy barrels into me, knocking me clean off my feet, the shock of it enough to make me see stars as I land on the station concourse with an Ooof.

It hurts so much that my eyes swim out of focus for a second.

Then all I can hear is Poppy screaming.

Eight

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EIGHT

‘I’m OK,’ I hear myself say, but Poppy is hysterical. So hysterical that a man in a suit runs over.

‘Are you guys OK?’ he asks, staring at Poppy, who is sobbing and incoherent, then down at me.

‘I’m OK,’ I say as he takes me by the arm and helps me up. My knees almost buckle when he pulls me to my feet, but I don’t give into it, forcing myself to stand up, saying it again, ‘I’m OK.’

‘Are you hurt?’ he asks. ‘You haven’t broken anything, have you?’

‘Just my arse.’

He chuckles, his nose wrinkling, as I turn to glance at Poppy. She looks distraught, her face wet with tears as she frowns at me so fiercely her eyebrows are almost touching.

‘Pop, I’m OK,’ I tell her, trying to smile, even though every bit of me aches.

‘If you’re sure?’ the guy in the suit says. I nod and he nods back. ‘Better call the police.’

I watch as he takes his phone out of the pocket of his suit jacket then runs back towards the ticket barriers.