I wish I could answer your question. Who am I? If only I knew …

What unites you and me is still a mystery. But we’ll work it out. Between us, I’m sure we will.

I wish I could tell you everything I do know. About those flashes I can’t escape. The children. The screaming. The panic. More vivid each time they come, a new detail added every time. I wish I could tell you about the noise, the exploding glass, the strange brightly coloured clothes the children wear. I wish I could tell you how their happiness switches to utter terror in a heartbeat. Perhaps you know what it means.

I wish I could tell you about that other vision, too – the marshes, the tree, the rope. And I wish I could tell you how I could once see weeks ahead, but now it’s just days – how I worry that soon I’ll not know what’s coming at all, that I’ll lose my chance to prevent a tragedy.

So much I wish I could tell you. But – one step at a time. The main thing is that we feel each other now.

There’s a place where you and I can meet. Look hard enough, believe that I’m there, and you will find me waiting. Let me tell you where. Just one simple message, crossing over from my plane to yours.

You understand, don’t you?

You do.

Fireworks

‘You’re always hiding out in the darkroom these days,’ April says, as she leads the way across the beach. ‘What gives?’

‘I’m not there that often,’ Will lies. He jumps ahead of her on to the perimeter wall round the Martello tower.

‘Just fascinated to know what you’re working on in there.’

‘It’s … this and that, this and that.’

Even though the light is failing fast, the two of them are familiar now with the way in. Shoving the plywood boarding away and climbing the steps to the roof, they emerge into the deep-blue evening, puffing steam into the cold air after the climb.

‘I ran a few more prints of our egret photo,’ Will says. It’s one of the many things he’s done to pass the time in the darkroom this past week.

‘Last time we were up here,’ she says. They both grin at a perfect memory.

‘Is it weird that I brought a blanket?’ April asks.

Will opens his own rucksack and pulls out a tartan rug he’s brought from home. ‘Yeah, I was thinking it might look weird.’

‘Perfect,’ April says. ‘One to sit on, one to get cosy under.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Will says, an unexpected swallow breaking the sentence in two.

‘Ebbswick Park display’ll be starting soon,’ she says. It’s still not fully dark but already distant fireworks can be seen and heard from all sides.