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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

I know it’s New Year’s Eve, but I didn’t expect so many people to be on the beach tonight. When Poppy told me to meet her here, I thought she was mad. I mean, it’s freezing. Adara refused to come, saying she’d get pneumonia, so she’s gone to Donna Niven’s party instead. I don’t blame her. Why would she want to sit on the beach when she could be in a nice warm house, dancing with Mark and spilling beer on Donna Niven’s parents’ rug?

Poppy must have known something I didn’t, though, because it feels like the end of world and everyone is here. There are parties happening down the length of the beach, from the Pier to the Marina. Knots of friends, from middle-aged stoners to teenagers ten minutes away from puking up the whisky they stole from their parents’ sideboard. Groups of people who might never have met are laughing and drinking and dancing to whatever music is playing.

By midnight, you’ll no longer be able to tell where one party ends and another begins. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. No one cares. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing or who you’re talking to. No one’s trying to be cool – to fit in – because no one does and everyone does, each of us united in this shared moment of anticipation as we await the turn of the year. Everyone is friends. Everyone is in love. Nothing else matters but midnight because next year will be different. We will be different.

It’s our year.

Tomorrow morning, the beach will be a mess of broken glass and lost shoes. Perhaps it will rain later and cleanse it all away, but for now, it’s like the Kurt Vonnegut quote Poppy wants to get tattooed across her ribs – everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

Above us, the congregation of stars makes the sky look so big that if it fell, it would smother us all. To our right, the Pier stretches out over the sea in all its neon glory, the lights from the sign pooling on the surface of the sea in puddles of pink, yellow and blue. Ahead of us, the red flashing lights from the wind farm line the horizon. It’s a clear night, so you can see each one, all 116 of them, and when Poppy squeezes my hand and turns her cheek to look at me with a slow smile, I know that she’s thinking about that afternoon in late September we met on the boat.

Maybe it isn’t such a bad story to tell our grandkids after all.