Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Rachel Sargeant
About the Publisher
A car horn blares and instinct makes her jump back. Male driver, early thirties. Mouth open in an oath as he speeds past, skidding on the bridge’s frosty tarmac. She can’t be bothered to gesture after him. Defiance gone.
Clutching her elbows for warmth, she makes it to the opposite side. Her jacket’s not much of a coat these days. Zip bust from straining. The barrier along the side of the bridge is tall – nearly her height – but she peers between its vertical railings. The river below looks benign. No boats are out in mid-winter to ruffle its grey-green surface. A few dog walkers and cyclists brave the promenade. The café’s open but the air’s too bitter even for smokers to sit outside.
Wind picks up, making her stumble. For a moment she longs for the warmth of the bonfire under the bridge where the others will be. A few cans and a bit of weed. Where’s the harm? But she can’t go there because of Danno. Can’t bear to see her betrayal reflected in his eyes. To see how her lies have destroyed him.
With her back against the barrier, sheltering from the worst of the weather, she squats and watches the traffic. When a passing lorry causes the bridge to judder, a change of plan flits through her mind. It might be quicker, more certain. But she can’t do that to a driver. She’s damaged enough people. People she loves. Her eyes smart. She stands up.
Searching for places to climb, she walks close to the barrier and spots possible toeholds – welded joints on some of the metal posts that are fixed into the ground at regular intervals. There’s a lull in the traffic and she hears her heartbeat. Loud. A shiver passes through her. Can she do this? What else is there? No one wants her, can’t blame Mum and Jade.
In one swift movement, she grips two railings, wedges the side of her foot on a bolt and hauls herself up. An icy blast hits her head and neck. When she looks down, the river looms in and out of focus. Her head spins so much, she’s sure she’ll overbalance. Determination deserts her and the dizziness makes her afraid. Her hands clench the top rail and she ignores how much the cold metal burns.
As she stares down at the water, Leo’s face flashes across her mind. This isn’t because of Danno – or Mum or Jade. Most of all she’s failed Leo. Her breathing slows and the unsteadiness fades. Her doubts begin to disappear. She levers herself higher.
No more pain, no more loss, no more hurting those who care – used to care. The burden lifts. Limbs and belly light for the first time in months. All over. She smiles. Places a knee on the top of the barrier. One final breath.
“Amber!” A voice shrieks along the bridge before the wind swallows it whole.
Sunday 25 September
Imogen
“You should have gone to a Russell Group university.” Imo’s mother makes her pronouncement after ten minutes of stop-start traffic inside the campus. She’s got her brave face on, pretending to be forthright and normal.
Imo shrinks into the back seat and casts an anxious glance outside, but there’s no change in the faces of the students walking past. They haven’t heard the insult despite the open car windows. Wide-eyed and chatting, they stream on, like Glasto, but without the mud and wellies. It’s been warm all month. Imo was sunbathing in the garden yesterday, trying to suppress her gut-wrenching nervousness about today. So much is riding on it. Her chance to escape the life of grief and guilt that she and her family haunt.
What does her mother mean anyway? What difference does a university league table make to the traffic jam? Has she forgotten the free-for-all to get into Freddie’s uni four years ago? But Imo remembers her mother wasn’t there. Dad and Imo took Freddie. That same day Mum drove Sophia to Nottingham. Imo holds back a sigh; they were ordinary then.
A girl in a bright pink T-shirt steps up to her father’s window. “Welcome to the Abbey.” She hands him a hessian bag with Abbey Student Union printed on the side in the same pink as the T-shirt.
Imo’s belly flutters. It’s happening. She’s become part of the exclusive club of students who call it the Abbey despite it saying University of Abbeythorpe on the website. She leans forward, snatches the bag from her dad and looks inside. Leaflets on the Abbi Bar and Takeaway, the Student Welfare Service, and Avoiding STDs; a freshers’ wristband and a packet of condoms. She quickly clutches the bag on her lap. If her dad had seen inside, he’d have turned the car around, despite being in one-way traffic. And Imo would have understood. Risk weighs differently in this family.
The car park is behind a line of bushes on the right side of the road. They park and debate whether to take the luggage with them. Freddie advises leaving it until they know where Imo’s room is. Imo backs his suggestion; anything to avoid her old Groovy Chick duvet being paraded through reception. Her mum made her bring it, saying that uni tumble driers might damage her new one of the New York skyline. Imo didn’t want that one either. It was a birthday present and she intends to leave everything about that day behind. She’ll never be able to look back on turning eighteen with anything but ache and horror.
A large vehicle chugs into the car park. A boy in a high-vis jacket walks ahead and marshals it lengthways across four parking spaces. It’s an ancient ice-cream van painted sky blue, Cloud’s Coffee in bold purple lettering above the serving hatch. A thickset woman, with hair the same shade of blue as the van, climbs out the driver’s side. She pulls her seat forward and a girl jumps down. Taller and slimmer than the mother, and tidier too; her hair is short and blonde.
“Take this, Phoenix.” A man in the passenger seat passes her a holdall. Imo can see where she gets her looks from. Father and daughter are blessed with cheekbones. Not many
