BooksBarbecue
Back Contacts Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. CONTACTS
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. PART TWO
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. PART THREE
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. EPILOGUE
  42. AUTHOR NOTE
  43. Keep Reading …
  44. About the Author
  45. Also by Mark Watson
  46. About the Publisher

These plans, though, seemed as absurd to her – after what had happened – as her current texting marathon apparently did to Phillip. It flashed before her that all this happy time with Phillip, this bliss, had been an illusion, or at least had been as flimsy as the happiness she’d had back in London. Because if James had overdosed, or … or hanged himself, Jesus Christ (it was unspeakable even in her head), or whatever the fuck he might have done, none of it would make any sense, it would all be broken.

It was frightening to feel that about someone who was – however important in her biography, however embedded in her heart – not meant to be in her life any more. To feel that he was, after all, still part of what Michaela regarded as herself. She kicked out against the feeling, tried to push it away.

She felt so empty, like an engine trying to grind through on fumes alone. Should have eaten more, should have drunk less. Should have asked if James was all right. At least now and again. Should have seen the signs that must have been there.

And what now? What the fuck now? Michaela stared at her phone. It stared back with nothing.

22

A1(M) SEFTON PARK SERVICES, 04:34

This is not the dream, thought Karl. Gone half four in the morning, services, not even one of the better services in North Yorkshire. It had a two-burger rating for food (out of five), a two-angel rating for how happy customers felt (out of seven); its bathrooms were rated at just four smiling urinals (out of twenty). There was an amusement arcade where even the machines’ jingles sounded tired, like they’d won too many times for it to be fun. There was a café called Secret Eats which, far from being secret, very publicly served lacklustre sandwiches and machine coffee. It was Karl’s business to know these things; an option on the app allowed all his drivers to access it, too. This was not the dream. As he and James used to say.

It was pretty rough how his brain kept circling back to their little jokes, to the very moments you didn’t want to be thinking about when you were scared for someone’s safety.