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Back Where The Story Starts Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. CONTENTS
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS
  64. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  65. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I suppose I felt much richer than her then. Yes, she’d been to all the places that I was desperate to see, but what was the point of travelling if you didn’t have anything to come home to? If things had been different I let myself think that we might have been friends. We’d got on well, even if the only thing we had in common was having a dead parent. And so, in a moment of tipsy madness, I sent her a Facebook friend request although I very much doubted she’d respond.

She did, though, pretty much by return, but then I didn’t know what to do. I was sure she’d accepted me because she felt obliged to and that was embarrassing, so I’d just logged off rather than getting in touch.

I watched Poppy and Noah. They were building a sandcastle now, piling the sand up and flattening it into shape with the palms of their hands. Buckets are for the tourists. The local kids know how to work the sand without any tools, although Noah always kept his eyes open for any stray bits of brightly coloured plastic that might have been left behind. The beach was getting quiet now, as the sandy day-trippers made their way back to their cars, wiping feet and buckets and shaking out blankets as they went. It was time for us to wander home, too, and start the Sunday evening preparations for the week ahead. I stood up, gathering my jacket and bag, and called down to the kids. They looked up briefly then went back to their work, but then Poppy, who knew the score, stood up, pulling a reluctant Noah to his feet, and pretty soon they were making their way across the sand to where I was sitting.

‘Come on, you two,’ I said warmly as they got close enough to hear. ‘Time for tea and then baths and bed.’

‘Is it pizza?’ asked Noah hopefully.

‘No. It’s shepherd’s pie. With carrots!’ I told him, and he pulled a face. ‘You’ve done all your homework, haven’t you, Poppy?’

My mum never asked me about my school work so I always made a point of checking in with Poppy. She looked down at her feet, scuffing her trainers through the dusty sand at the base of the bench. She nodded. Obviously there was something she hadn’t done but I didn’t press her on it. I trusted that she would.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Let’s go then.’

We headed home, Poppy and me walking side by side whilst Noah ran on ahead, following the winding path with arms stretched out like an aeroplane.

7

7

MELISSA – THEN