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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

‘Yeah. And then you weren’t there. I went out. I was scared. I thought I might be in 1999, but I wasn’t. Then I wished I had been.’

I lean back on the wall. ‘I don’t remember anyone at the door. Sorry.’

I feel the tears hot in my eyes and try to blink them away out of some stupid idea that you shouldn’t cry in front of a girl. Then I remember how very much it doesn’t matter and let them fall. I reach out to her and she reaches back towards me. We lean on each other and just keep going. I try to laugh, but it’s not funny. I’d give anything in the world to be able to hug her.

I would give anything in the world, but I’m not in the world and I don’t have anything.

Ariel is crying too. I think, again, about her mother.

‘She died a year ago today,’ she says, reading my mind. ‘It’s the anniversary.’

‘Oh shit. I’m really sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Weirdly, this helps. Keep talking to me.’

‘OK.’ I can’t think of anything to say, so in the end I crassly come up with: ‘What was your best memory with your mum?’ I hope she doesn’t mind.

She sniffs and wipes her eyes and nose on her sleeve. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Not very ladylike. But it’s different with you.’

‘Go right ahead,’ I say. ‘No rules in here. Not even the basic rules. The ones about time and space. Life and death. Breathing.’

‘My very earliest memory,’ she says, ‘is of Mum. I was sitting on her lap, looking at a book. I remember the feel of her. She was under me, around me, and her hair was falling on my head. I remember that feeling of security. I knew I’d always be all right because I had her to look after me.’

Her face is red and wet. She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her blazer again, and gulps and gasps. I long to be able to hold her. I reach out to her once more. She reaches for me too, but we can’t touch. I watch her crying, and I cry for myself, and we’re two separate people. We both just sit there and wail, and, just when I am thinking I should pull myself together and talk to her properly, the door swings open, and I look up, and everything goes blank.

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