‘Okay,’ I said, still not sure what he was saying.

‘It was just—taking stock. Again.’

I wished I’d brought my cigarettes. Food. Something other than a phone that didn’t have any reception. The silence stretched out, long and uncomfortable.

‘And what did you decide?’ I asked eventually.

He glanced at me, a flicker of confusion, like I should already know the answer.

‘I decided to come to Bali.’

We kept walking. Higher, deeper into the rainforest, closer to wherever we were going. It got hotter, but we kept walking.

‘I’m scared, Tom,’ I said suddenly.

‘Of what?’

That question. ‘Of everything. I’m scared of plane crashes and car accidents and tsunamis and falling off cliffs and scaffolding collapsing and—’ I stopped. It seemed like the easiest, most obvious question, with the easiest, most obvious answer. ‘I’m scared of the ending. Of dying.’

But it wasn’t right.

I tried again. ‘I’m scared of this. I’m scared of being happy. I’m scared of wanting things and not getting them.’ I hesitated. ‘Or getting them and then losing them. Or getting them, and having them, and it not being enough. I’m scared of what happens after the happy ending.’

I looked up at the sun, closed my eyes, the insides of my eyelids turning bright blood red.

‘I’m not scared of dying,’ I said. ‘I’m scared of living.’

And that was it.

I exhaled, exhausted. Wrung out.

‘Everybody dies,’ I said slowly, finding a piece of the puzzle that wasn’t a puzzle.

Tom shifted.

‘That’s the end of the story. The bit after the happy ending. That’s the way it always ends. The only way it can end.’ I took a breath, testing out the truth of it. ‘But maybe that doesn’t matter.’

We’d stopped walking at some point, I couldn’t remember when.

‘I kept thinking that the ending was the important part, but maybe the ending is just the ending, and it’s everything before the ending that matters. We’re all going to die. So why …’ I laughed softly. ‘Why be scared of anything? Maybe we should be doing all the scariest, hardest, most terrible things? Jumping out of planes and swimming in huge waves and taking all the drugs we can find and driving the fastest, scariest cars and falling in love so hard it—’

Everything stopped, went still, silent. Even the birds.

And I knew. Finally.

‘Cait?’

I shook my head, swore under my breath at how obvious it all was.

‘I love you, Tom,’ I said. It was a whisper, maybe not even that.

He made a sound. A fraction of a question. I looked up. His lips were twitching, like his whole face was about to break open, but he was trying to stop it, just in case.