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Chapters (61)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Books by Emily Barr
  4. DEDICATION
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgements
  59. Read on for an extract from …
  60. 12 December
  61. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Does that mean he’s the main suspect?

I push him out of my head. He can do nothing but damage in there. I start writing without planning what I’m going to put down. I kind of think I’ll expand on my thoughts about the angry man, but when I look at the page this is what I’ve written:

Why I love Ariel

Kind and beautiful.

Clever.

She’s determined: I told her not to come any more, and she hated me saying it, but she hasn’t come back once, even though she knows where to find me and I wouldn’t be able to stop her.

I trust her.

She’s sad too – we understand each other.

She’s my friend.

The person I trust.

The one.

I met the person I’d want to spend the rest of my life with, twenty years after my death, and then I dumped her.

The worst thing in my universe isn’t the fact that I’m about to be murdered.

It’s the fact that I told the love of my life, the love of my afterlife, that I never wanted to see her again and she believed me.

Way to go, Joe.

I draw squiggles and little pictures round the edge, and savour the fact that, no matter what, I managed to fall in love.

Penguin walking logo

39

5 September 2019

I got up early, knowing that I was too old to be scared on my first day at big school, but feeling absolutely fucking terrified. I had packed up everything I thought I was going to need (A4 paper, folders, lots and lots of different pens) and planned an outfit in what I was trialling as my new sixth-form style (long skirt, vintage trench coat, clumpy boots). I was meeting Izzy at nine because we were due at an orientation session at ten. Yet here I was, sitting downstairs, drinking coffee, at half past six. The baby hadn’t woken me: I’d done it myself.

Starting sixth-form college was another big step away from Joe. I wasn’t at his school any more and I was nearly two years older than him now. It was that thought that had woken me up and kept me awake.

I hadn’t seen him at all for nearly five months, ever since the day he told me not to visit, but I was wondering whether, perhaps, it would be OK if I went today. We hadn’t really ended things, and my anger and confusion had faded. I really wanted to see how he was. Whether he was even still there.