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Back When I Lost You Save as PDF
Chapters (81)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Fifty-four
  59. Fifty-five
  60. Fifty-six
  61. Fifty-seven
  62. Fifty-eight
  63. Fifty-nine
  64. Sixty
  65. Sixty-one
  66. Sixty-two
  67. Sixty-three
  68. Sixty-four
  69. Sixty-five
  70. Sixty-six
  71. Sixty-seven
  72. Epilogue
  73. Acknowledgments
  74. Read More
  75. Prologue
  76. One
  77. Two
  78. Three
  79. Four
  80. Follow Merilyn online
  81. Dedication

‘Come on, sit up.’ Aoife has toilet roll in her hand and as I gingerly obey she gently dabs the edge of my mouth. When she’s done, she sits back on the floor and lets out a breath. I see her tights are ripped and her hair has come loose from its bun. Red curls hang around her face, as wild as if the wind had come in and blown them that way.

‘Come on, girl, let’s get the hell out of here.’ She stands and holds out a hand to me.

‘Leave school?’

She rolls her eyes but not in an unkind way. ‘You want to stick around for more of this?’ She holds out the toilet roll stained with my blood.

I shake my head.

‘Thought not,’ she says, and grabs my arm.

We make our way to the sea and as soon as I smell the salt I feel my body relaxing. Wind whips around us, little grains of sand stabbing our faces like needles. Aoife swirls round and laughs, her hair streaming out behind her, face lifted towards the cloudy sky. Her eyes are shut but the expression on her face is still one of freedom.

The waves crash behind us, each one keener to reach the shore than the last, while gulls swoop and try to make themselves heard above the wind. We are alone on the pebbles, or so I think until I glance up towards the promenade and see a man standing, watching us.

He is as solid as the sea: black jacket, black hair around a face I can’t make out, and the way he watches us makes the hair on my arms stand up.

‘What?’ Aoife stops dancing and follows my stare. We stand for a moment, the three of us, watching, before he turns and walks back to the run-down café behind him. I read the battered sign – Alf’s Café – written in red, a large plastic ice-cream cone swaying underneath.

Aoife looks at me and grins. ‘Fancy a Mr Whippy?’

I look back at Alf’s Café, its windows dark, upturned chairs on tables outside.

She grabs my arm. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s go and get this Alf to give us two on the house.’

My stomach rumbles so I follow, skipping over pebbles as we scramble to the top.

The man is standing by the door as we reach the wall. He watches as we climb the steps, sand making us slip, and holds the door open for us.

‘Hello, girls.’ His voice is low and hard. ‘Come inside.’

Fifteen

Terry, owner of the betting shop below O’Brian’s dead body, was sitting ashen-faced in the corner of the room. His hair was curly and lank, his faded black jeans smeared with grime, and he wore a greying band T-shirt. The television remained blank, betting slips untouched by the morning crowd.