“How’s the old bus stop?” he said, almost nostalgically.
“I haven’t been for a few days. My mum’s out now.”
“And your mate?”
Annie just shrugged in answer, and her eyes filled with tears again.
“Ah, shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was always coming.”
“She seemed really nice. Like a really kind person.”
“Well, she was sort of bossy, and self-centered, and a little crazy at times, but yeah, she was. She was really, really kind.”
There was a short awkward pause. “Well, I have to go. We have a curfew. But thank you once again, okay?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You talked to me. Like I was a person. That means more than you know.” He set off down the street with a jaunty wave, and Annie watched him go.
DAY 98
Decorate your home
Annie wished she hadn’t bought quite so many tins of paint. She was struggling to carry them home from the shops. But it was so exciting—the pale greens, the light blues, the yellows and reds and purples. Her landlord had said she could paint the kitchen as long as she paid for it herself, so she’d gone mad collecting samples. It was the first time she’d made these kind of decisions on her own, without ringing her mother or Jane or Mike for backup. It was just her now. And that was okay.
She stopped to rest for a moment, huffing and puffing, feeling the sweat on her back. It was going to be a beautiful summer, she thought. She’d always loved this time of year—flowers bursting out and the days lengthening and just a sense of hope somehow. And Polly was not here to see it. Polly had had her last summer, and winter and everything else. But Annie had many more to come, hopefully, and she better start making the most of them.
Stooping to pick up the bag of tins, she saw a familiar figure come out of the church hall opposite. There was a printed sign tied to the railings that read Slimming World. The woman, who wore a kaftan with dogs printed on it, paused by the gate, looked around her furtively, then unwrapped a Double Decker bar from her bag and started cramming it in her mouth, smearing chocolate over her face.
Annie thought about walking away—after all, it was Sharon—but something made her raise a hand, and wave.
Sharon squinted, then raised one chocolaty hand herself, and waved back. Annie didn’t go over to say hi. One thing at a time, she thought.
DAY 99
Send a letter
Ms. Annie Hebden, née Clarke. The letter looked official, printed on stiff cream paper. Annie picked it off the mat and recognized the logo of Polly’s solicitor. She tore it open, heart hammering. Enclosed was another letter, in a lilac envelope that was stuck over in stars and hearts, as if Annie had suddenly acquired a ten-year-old pen pal.
She sat down at the table to open it, knowing it would be something important. After all, it was from Polly. Anything less than explosive wasn’t her style.
My dearest Angry Annie, my Betty Buzzkill,
Don’t worry, I’m not writing from beyond the grave. I’ve arranged to have this posted to you a little while after I go, because I know you’ll need reminding of a few things. And I know how stubborn both you and Dr. Max are.
People say you should only regret the things you haven’t done. This is clearly bollocks, because what if you started World War III or bought a load of Blu-ray discs or something? One thing I regret is that I never pushed you to ask out Dr. Max. I was a little jealous, you see. That you’d get to live and fall in love and it was all over for me. Forgive me for that? You are very sad and he is very angry, but I feel you could make each other a little less so. I very much doubt you will be speaking right now, if I know either of you, so here is my message from beyond: go after him. Be happy, Annie. You deserve it. You’ve had more than your fair share of the other thing.
If I’m wrong and you’re already together, then fine, you win, and say hi to him for me. Do not start ironing his shirts.
I don’t know if I believe in heaven or if I’d get in, anyway, but if I’m also wrong about all of that, then you can bet your sweet ass I’m going to find Jacob and your dad and give them big old hugs from you. Not that they will know who the strange lady with the bald head is.
With all my love and all my life,
Polly xxxxx
Annie wiped away the tears that had fallen on the letter, smudging the bright purple ink. Bloody Polly. Bloody, awful, amazing, irreplaceable Polly. What would she do without her to argue with? She could even hear her voice in her head, urging her on.
But he went away. He said no.
He was just upset. He blamed himself.
But he might say no again.
Annieeeee—what do you have to lose?
But I don’t know where he is!
Where the hell else could he be?
She laid down the letter, and picked up her phone, and started checking train times to Scotland.
DAY 100
Tell the truth
The tube was rammed again. Annie found herself crammed under the armpit of a sweaty businessman who had music seeping out from his headphones. She tried to channel Polly—Don’t get angry. Rise above it. A woman with a pushchair fought her way on, bashing into Annie’s ankle. She yelped.
“Sorry,” said the woman, who looked wild-eyed with stress. “It’s so busy.” The baby looked terrified at the crush of people around him, his red face smeared in some kind of organic baby food.
Annie laid a hand on the businessman’s arm. “What?” he said irritably, taking out an earbud. Annie realized she used to be that person. Burning with anger, drowning in sadness. Infecting everyone around her with her own toxic pain.
“Do you think you might move a little? Let this lady in? Only, it’s very cramped. Thank you.”
He shuffled up, guiltily. “Sorry, didn’t see.”
“You can sit here,” called another man who’d previously been playing a game on his phone and studiously ignoring them.
“Or here if you want.” Suddenly people were standing up all over the carriage, guilted into doing something.
“Thank you,” said the woman to Annie, almost tearfully grateful as she sat down, unbuckling the baby from his chair. “Would you like to sit, too?”
“Oh, no.” Annie stayed where she was. “I’m just fine, thank you. Just fine.”
*
Since she was already doing something crazy, Annie had splashed out and bought herself a first-class ticket. She settled into the wide seats as the train pulled out of London, flashing past houses and towns and villages and fields, millions of lives Annie would never touch, millions of hearts that would beat and break without her ever knowing them. The attendants brought her tea and coffee, and she savored the comfort and quiet, the sense of forward motion calming her mind. This was a good idea. Even if nothing came of it, it was always better to be moving than standing still.