I take a deep breath. This day may not be the day I have been dreaming of since I was a young girl. But it is the day I have been dreaming of since I was told I was dying. A lot of work and planning has gone into it. I will enjoy this day, as much as I possibly can. Tomorrow I can fall apart, but today I will be strong.

I hear the first few notes of music drift up to where I am standing. I left the song choice up to Amanda, trusting her taste implicitly, and now I recognize it instantly and smile. Ed Sheeran’s “Photograph.” One of my favorite songs of all time, and oh so very apt, but also so very painful right now. I close my eyes and breathe in and out slowly. My eyes fly open when the singing starts. It’s her, Amanda. She’s singing the song herself and it’s hauntingly beautiful. She will go on to great things; I am more sure of it than ever. Carefully, I make my way down the path, toward the outpouring of love I know awaits me.

I step out of the trees, and into a sea of people. There are my close family and friends, seated, and then, beyond that, standing all around, are so many faces, all smiling at me. I stumble under the weight of their stares.

“Who are these people?” I ask Mum.

“Readers of the magazine, mostly.”

“But why are they here?”

“So many people adore you, Ava, and want to see you happy. It’s a public place and we didn’t have the heart to turn anyone away, but if it’s too much I can ask them to move back and give us some space.”

I scan the crowd, recognizing familiar faces. Ruth from Marmalade Farm. Kelly and Sophie. The mayor. My seventh-form geography teacher. My ex-boyfriend and his wife and children. People I have crossed paths with, both in the past and more recently. They are all here to see me. Old ladies with handkerchiefs at the ready beam at me myopically. There must be a hundred people or more. I should feel intimated. Normally I would. But the love that radiates off these people is palpable and fills me with strength.

“No. It’s OK.” I nod. “They should be a part of this too.”

“Are you sure? There are an awful lot of them.”

“I’m sure. I want them to hear what I have to say.”

“You have a wonderful heart, Ava Green.” My mother smiles.

“You might be slightly biased.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

I pause to close my eyes and breathe in the salty air, capturing the moment, squeezing the life out of it. There is only one thing that would make it more perfect. Well, one person. But he is not here.

Chapter Forty-Three