fourteen to Kevin Fitzpatrick. A poor choice, I think you’ll agree.”
Bea stares at him, open-mouthed. His grin is like the slash of a knife.
“I know that you cheated on your Maths GCSE, simply to see if you could pull it off. I know that you once let Lottie Granger take the blame for that very naughty thing you—”
“Stop!”
Her father tuts. “Spoilsport. I felt a splash of parental pride at what you did to poor little Lottie. Indeed, I’d hoped . . . Sadly, you made me wait another decade before you fulfilled that potential. But then, you always have been a bit of a tease, haven’t you?” His cat-eyes flash. “Probably why that poor fat pup was drawn to you. Why you were so drawn to him, though, I couldn’t quite understand. Still, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“You haven’t worked that out yet?” Her father smiles, the knife cuts deeper. “I’m surprised, clever girl like you—”
“What have you been doing all these years? Where have you been?” Bea snaps. “I bet you’ve got a wife, other children—”
“Of a fashion. I certainly have a great many daughters.”
“How many?”
“Well, I’ve never taken a precise count, to be true, but somewhere in the region of four to five . . . thousand, I would guess.”
Bea narrows her eyes. “Don’t be—”
“You’re wondering how that’s possible?”
“No, I’m thinking you’re a shit liar—mentiroso de mierda—and a lunatic to boot—just like Mamá.”
“No, you’re not, you’ve seen too much to think that.” Her father tuts. “The bad news is that, sadly, most of my daughters are dead. The good news is you’ll be meeting three of your surviving sisters very soon.”
Bea thinks of the dream, her mamá talking about her sisters. She thinks of the blackbird illustration she found in Fitzbillies. The recognition. The rising memories.
“But we’ll get to that,” her father is saying. “First, let’s talk about how I’m going to take you under my wing, teach you everything—”
“I don’t have a father,” Bea interrupts. “I don’t have one, don’t want one, never needed one. Mamá is quite enough of a handful. Now, piss off and leave me alone like you did before.”
His laughter slices under her fingernails. “You can deny it, my dear, you can fight it all you like, but in a few days . . . Well, you just wait and see.”
And, with that, he vanishes.
For a long time, Bea stares at the chair where her father had sat, at the imprint he’s left on the air. It’s hours before her thoughts and breath begin to slow and calm—though, she thinks, perhaps they never will—and then she starts to shake.
11:56 p.m.—Leo
Leo strides along King’s Parade. Tonight, he doesn’t even bother glancing up into the lit windows, no longer cares who might be there. The light spilling onto the pavements still reminds Leo of cracked egg yolks, but the thought doesn’t slow him, he simply steps through the light and back into the dark.
If he’s going to convince Goldie, Leo needs to do something dramatic. Careful and considered aren’t working. And, with only five days to go, he can’t afford to waste any more time. He knows the one thing he could say that will make her believe. But, if he does that, he’ll lose her. Which means he must choose between keeping her love or saving her life.
Less than a decade ago
Everwhere
You don’t go back. Months pass. Years. Gradually, the memory of Everwhere fades. When you think about it, if you think about it at all, you berate yourself for ever believing it was real. It couldn’t have been. You were foolish to ever imagine otherwise. It must have been nothing but a dream.
A terrific, terrifying, incredible dream.
Goldie
I didn’t want to forget and I didn’t want to die. I wasn’t sure which I feared more. To forget Everwhere would be like forgetting the most essential part of myself: my spirit, my soul. But what could I do?
There was something else. Ever since Bea gave us an end date, a deadline for this life, this experience, it had made me think about things differently. I no longer wanted to compromise, to endure, to suffer through anything I didn’t have to. The sharpest thorn in my sole was my stepfather. And it was up to me to stop him, since Ma was clueless and Teddy couldn’t help.
I kept thinking on something else Bea had said. About life and death, about the fight for survival. I might not have Scarlet’s