An indefinable loneliness seemed to clog the air, despite their proximity to one another. Just ahead, invisible in the night, was the town graveyard – rows upon rows of headstones mostly covered with moss and lichen, but with a small section of fresh grey marble markers that included Georgia’s grandparents. She always thought of them here, and she was relieved as the three of them drew closer to the church. It meant they were almost back in town. Once on the other side, beneath the streetlights, she hoped these strange feelings of loss would fade away.
She was grateful for that extra spot of warmth tonight, where her small, cold hand was wrapped inside Danny’s. And yet she was marking time until the streetlights, when she would have to find some excuse to break the hold. She wasn’t ready for this. Why couldn’t he have made his feelings clearer before the summer break? If he had, everything might have been different. Even so, she didn’t want Danny to stop looking at her, or taking her hand in the dark, his grip a fresh promise. She didn’t want that at all.
Sophia hadn’t said another word as they walked. Georgia knew she would soon be shivering in her thin jacket. Even though summer was barely over, at this time of night the air turned glacial. A gap had opened up between them. Had Sophia noticed Danny’s hand? Were they being discreetly cordoned off and left alone, or did Sophia hate feeling like an interloper? Georgia inched into the middle of the road, closer to her friend, pulling Danny gently with her.
‘Are you cold?’ she asked, as they finally turned onto Vicarage Road.
Sophia nodded briskly but kept her head down. Georgia had the impression that her cousin was angry, but she didn’t have time to ask any more. Above them, the floodlit spire of St Mary’s defied the darkness, spearing the night, blocking out the moon. She tried to let go of Danny’s hand, but he held on to her tightly. She felt her phone begin to vibrate in her pocket, and just had time to wonder who was calling when there was a noise behind them. She turned to see a pair of headlights impossibly close, the heat of them throwing sudden warmth towards her legs. The driver couldn’t fail to spot them and yet the car was still moving. She tried to look at the windscreen but was dazzled, her vision becoming wavy lines of fluorescence. Without warning, Danny dropped her hand, only seconds before she was lifted completely off her feet.
1
ANYA
I am not a woman given to premonitions. In fact, I have been known to chuckle at the queues each month outside the town hall, where local mystic Lillian Forbes never fails to draw a crowd.
But, if I’m honest, something inside me has been waiting for this. Quietly preparing for it, for weeks, perhaps months, maybe longer. When the phone rings, when I hear the voice, I am already primed, expectant. My mind registers no surprise; it’s more a case of here we go.
My body, however, responds appropriately. Adrenalin kicks in and I race up the stairs to Zac’s room. He looks up from his computer in surprise, unused to me barging in. He might be my baby but he’s almost as tall as me now, two months shy of fourteen, and since he started high school he’s grown protective of his personal space. I’ve forgotten that his friend Cooper is here – they are working on a school project together, although from the game consoles in their hands I don’t think they’ve got very far. They both stare at me, their expressions guilty, but I don’t have time to care. Zac’s room is dark and gloomy, as usual.
The words hurtle out of me in a series of short bursts. ‘That was Uncle Liam. I have to go – it’s Georgia. There’s been an accident. A car hit them. Sophia is hurt. I’m not sure about Georgia.’
Zac says nothing, but his mouth falls open. Instinctively I go across and put my arms around him, and when he stiffens I remember that this isn’t the done thing any more, especially not with friends present. Reluctantly I let him go and fly out of the room, down the stairs, calling out, ‘I’ve got my mobile. Try to get hold of your dad,’ even though I have no idea if he’s listening.
The next thing that stands between my daughter and me is our bloody car, which is reluctant to start even though it’s only September – we barely need rain and the sodding thing seems to catch mechanical flu. As usual, Callum has taken the Land Rover and left me with this heap of junk – the handle flapping loosely in my hand as I close the door. Finally I get the engine going and I’m away down the road, the car grunting in protest as I try to negotiate the gears too quickly.