My breath catches. It’s beautiful. Just as beautiful as when I first saw it through the eyes of the artist who brought it to life. And – even through my own eyes – it’s just as strong. Just as vibrant and powerful and able as it was before.

I can see the thousand brushstrokes, and the patience and attention to detail he needed to create it. I can see the way the purples slowly melt into blues and greens and yellows, so the light seeping in from the end of the tunnel might be rippling across its body as it bursts out of its cage. And here – in real, beautiful Life – the kraken is not confined to the concrete. It’s not trapped inside the walls. It’s free.

Dad stretches up. ‘You ready?’

‘Yes,’ I say. And I mean it.

70

Alice

And now I have my sunglasses back on as we’re climbing out of the tunnel and walking up a path to the children’s playground. And the sun is hurdling over clouds to keep up, making shadows jump and tangle across flower beds and trees.

It’s beautiful.

Dad walks on and on with me in his arms and I’m not sure his rest did anything to help at all. I want to get down and walk with him for a while – perhaps let him lean on me to get his breath back – but all my body can do is hold on to him, and even that’s becoming harder.

Being outside. Clinging on to consciousness. This is my uphill climb.

We get to the end of the path and I can see the slide and the fireman’s pole now, jutting down from the castle standing tall in the middle of the playground. And I know Rowan is in there and I know that if I can just reach him –

Dad coughs and falters and – for one moment – I slip.

And I can’t do anything about it. He’s dropping me and desperately trying not to, but he’s not quite strong enough and neither am I.

We’re so close. So close. But we’re falling. Together. And it’s over and I’m not going to make it, and the weight of that feels heavier still.

But then, from under me, hands.

‘Okay, there we go, there we go.’

Dad and I both turn at the same time and see her beside us. Sharing the weight.

‘You took your bloody time,’ Dad gasps, rearranging his grip on me.

Mum purses her lips.

‘You came,’ I say.

‘Let’s just get this over with quickly, okay?’

They carry me between them. And the path feels less bumpy and my thoughts can clear for a moment and I can look towards the climbing frame and think about what it is that I’m going to say to him.