What You Left Behind
Page 28
But then the horror of what I’d done wound back, and I’d feel more alone, more scared than ever before.
Steal a bike, he’d said. Steal some fun, I’d agreed. Steal some precious hours together.
But now it was over and Dean was dead. Just like Simon.
Then the police came.
And they found Dean’s note.
They said they were sorry, told us that he’d killed himself, took his stuff away.
I was sorry too.
“Mum,” Lana said when she arrived at New Hope later, “you look terrible. Didn’t you sleep?”
“I’m fine,” I said, sitting down so she couldn’t see how I was shaking.
I told her what had happened, that Dean had killed himself. She was shocked. We sat in silence for a while, thinking about him. When she glanced at my arms, I pulled down my sleeves to cover the bruises. I told her about the nightmare that had kept me awake, how I’d dreamed about Simon. How he’d died all over again and there’d been nothing I could do to save him.
But how I was glad I’d had him back, just for one night.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As ever, I am indebted to the wonderful people I work with. I couldn’t possibly do it without you, so huge thanks and love to everyone involved—Selina Walker, my editor, for brilliant advice and friendship, as well as Georgina Hawtrey-Woore, Philippa Cotton, Jen Doyle, Sarah Page, Andrew Sauerwine, Vincent Kelleher, Richard Ogle, Dan Somerfield, Dan Balado, and everyone else at Cornerstone involved with my books. Big love and thanks to Oli Munson, my agent and champion, and also to Jennifer Custer and Hélène Ferey for taking me around the world, and thanks too to all the wonderful staff at A. M. Heath. Gratitude and thanks to all my foreign publishers, and very special thanks indeed to Alexis Washam and her team in New York for making me feel so welcome. I am indebted to Smeg and Berry for their remarkable tales, inside knowledge, help, and advice—all so invaluable as I was writing this book. (I take full responsibility for any mistakes!)
Finally, as always, my love to Terry, Ben, Polly, and Lucy.