‘But you will.’ The two Elizas smile, though their smiles are so sad as they squeeze my bad foot, making me cry out, but showing me that the Eliza who is touching me is the real one, and the double by her side is the spectre. ‘Please. Can you roll? You’ll feel such peace. You’ll be with your baby. Can you do it yourself, so I don’t have to? I don’t want to do it, but I will. Please don’t make me. Not again.’

Milly’s talisman, the skimming stone she painted with the miniature portrait of me and my baby, is in my palm. I have kept it close every day, since I ran away. My eyes are on Eliza’s forehead. All in one movement, I throw. Blood snakes down her temple. Her eyes are open, and roll back like a doll’s, so the whites show, and she wobbles, as if in slow motion, before she crashes straight onto her face, lying alongside me.

The only way to get to Alice is to drag myself there. First, I have to climb over Eliza, and my own grunts and pain make it impossible for me to check for any signs that she is breathing. Milly’s stone is on the grass beside her. A part of me wonders if I should throw it off the cliff, but I don’t. I slip it back in my pocket. Somewhere far away, I have the thought that Eliza is probably dead, and I should try to be certain, in case there is something I can do for her, but it is more important to help Alice so I just leave Eliza where she fell.

I don’t know how long it takes, but I need to pause often, because each movement I make jabs me in the head. When I finally reach Alice, I manage to curve an arm around her, and my good leg, because I must somehow hold her where she is, and I don’t think I can keep awake much longer to do that.

The sea is no longer roaring. The sea loves me. It has always loved me. There is the sound of shouts and crunching feet, of my name and Alice’s and Eliza’s. But I am so, so tired, and cannot answer. I haven’t been this tired since my pregnancy, with this special kind of tiredness that is blissful to surrender to. I listen to the song of the sea, inhaling and exhaling, slapping forward at the rocks before it is sucked back, lulling me to sleep.

Now
The Present

Bath, Saturday, 18 May 2019

At first I don’t recognise him. Though I saw him that one time since he stopped shaving his head, my muscle memory defaults to seeking out a bald man. Alice is standing beside him, holding his hand as they wait for me near the entrance to the park.