as though she is just trying to touch her toes: red coat, red boots and a flash of green.
The ocean lies beneath her; it throws back the cool, green cover and welcomes her into its embrace.
‘Goodbye, Kerry,’ I whisper.
I stare at the water below, picturing her body slowly descending, her hair pulled around her like a halo, as she sinks past the blues and greens, the sunrise flickering light through the seaweed, until finally sinking into the dark, her face peaceful and calm.
The sun is coming up; the wind is cold and fresh against the tears on my skin. I take a deep breath – the smell of the sea and the peat of the earth is rich: I feel alive. My skin is covered in goose bumps, my skin tinged purple beneath them, but I’m smiling.
I turn my back on the sea and the cliff, on the grief and guilt that I’ve been drowning in, and break into a run: my life is about to begin again.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Ed
The path leans around a corner, my calves are burning, why am I even noticing this? I look towards the bend but someone crashes into me, full force. It takes a second to register that it’s Jen, that she’s in my arms as we slip, our bodies a flash of green and denim as we half roll, half slide down the path.
Jen is on top of me, both of us startled, both of us rubbing our heads . . . and she is laughing. She sits up, kissing every part of my face, as I try to talk, my words swallowed by her lips.
‘I thought—’ I begin.
‘I love you.’
‘I thought—’ I try again.
‘So much—’
‘Why were you—’
But the sentence is taken from my mouth with hers, the fear I felt being dismissed by the warmth of her, by the ‘aliveness’ of her. Is that even a word? Eventually, her kisses stop and I manage to speak as we stand, both of us shivering, both of us dazed.
I pull her towards me and hold her face in my hands. ‘What were you thinking?’ I ask, searching her face for answers.
‘I . . .’ She shivers again, and I pull off my jacket and put it around her shoulders. ‘I wanted to see the sunrise.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I needed to say goodbye. I needed to say goodbye to Kerry. Properly.’
‘Is she back?’ I ask; I almost look around.
She shakes her head with a sad smile. ‘No . . . she’s gone.’ Her voice is solid; it doesn’t waver, despite her shivers. ‘But I’m not.’ She leans forward and says this to me as if it’s a revelation, her tone the same as it was when she said ‘I’m pregnant’, when she said ‘Yes’, when she said ‘I do’. An answer beyond dispute, her voice certain and sure.
‘I thought you’d, that you were going to—’
She stops, holds my hands in hers, kisses my knuckles and then stares into my eyes. ‘I know I haven’t been myself; I know I’ve put you through hell, Ed. But I’m getting better, I’m almost there. I can see why now, why I’m still here: Kerry gave me a gift when she died, she gave me the gift of life, and I’m the luckiest woman alive because I get to spend it with you.’ She grimaces. ‘Christ, that was a cheesy line.’
I grin at her. ‘Cheesy lines are my favourite.’
Epilogue
Kerry
The day I was born, it was snowing. It was March, it was unusual, but then again, so was I. A baby born to a couple who thought they were infertile. Two days later and the weather had turned; it was a warm spring day. Mum liked to say that I melted the snow and brought her daffodils.
But I have my own theory.
My sister Jennifer was waiting for me. She looked down into the Moses basket and kissed my forehead.
‘Is she mine?’ she had asked my parents.
‘Yes,’ they had answered, smiling indulgently at each other: our family is complete; aren’t we lucky?
Jen was there if I had a nightmare, my three-year-old mind conjuring shadows in the dark, somehow knowing before my screams erupted from my mouth, climbing into the bed with me, telling me stories and chasing the demons away.
My sister was there, sat at the table, while I struggled to read the letters that were always jumbled up, backwards, jumping over the page, telling me not to panic, to take my time, that I would get there.
My parents used to