Chapters (61)
- Cover
- Praise for Patricia Wilson
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- More from Patricia Wilson
- About the Author
- Acknowledgements
- Author’s Note
‘Dear David, Simon came with us on that holiday. You got the tickets really cheap off Teletext, for you, Roger and Simon, but Roger came down with mumps, remember? Please try and remember. Poor Roger! I ended up going in his place. Oh my, as I said, I was only sixteen so it was a real adventure. I’d been so sad, so full of guilt because my mum had been killed going for my Christmas present on Christmas Eve.
‘I was in love with you, desperately, head-over-heels in love, and you pulled my leg about it all the time. But in truth, I knew you were in love with me too.’
She watched his hands for a moment. ‘Do you remember, you got that busker with the guitar at the airport to sing, “She was Only Sixteen”, and you twirled me under your arm. “She was Only Sixteen” became our song.’ She sang the first lines, staring at his face. ‘It’s still our song, my darling David. It always will be.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I wish you could hold me for a moment, just once. One hug. One.’
David picked up a cylindrical brick and tried to push it through the triangular hole.
‘When we landed on the island of Paros, we got a bus from the airport to the town centre. Do you remember the promenade, that gorgeous little white church with the brilliant blue dome? And the big windmill with a thatched roof, David? Oh, those huge sails of white canvas, just next to the ferry port. Someone had painted PAROS CORNER in big blue letters on the wall behind the windmill. We lugged our cases onto another bus which took us to a beautiful little village on the edge of the sea . . . what was it called now?’ She stared at him, her mind begging for him to say the word, or even glance up and acknowledge her. ‘Naoussa, yes, I remember. How amazingly beautiful it was. All the pavements painted like crazy paving. Narrow alleys. Such a magnificent white church that towered above the village.’ She recalled the scenes they’d enjoyed so much. ‘We slept together, all night in the same bed, for the first time . . . for the last time. I remember snuggling up to you and thinking it was the happiest moment of my life, and it was.’
A nurse came in and asked if she would like a cup of tea. Shelly shook her head and returned her attention to David as she left.