‘Aye.’ I smile. ‘No doubt.’
The buzzing on the line lets me know I’ve run out of time. ‘Kate I—’ I dig in my pocket but there’s only a few coppers, no silver. The line goes dead.
I close the door behind me. My breathing somehow steadier now, even though my head is buzzing.
Back in the car, I pull down the visor. I’m about to continue along the road, but the truth lands like a gut punch. I need to tell her. I need to tell her I love her.
That I know where I belong.
I push my foot against the brake, making fast work of a U-turn.
A laugh creeps out of my mouth. I’ve spent so long fighting against Yorkshire, fighting the fear of becoming just like my father, but she’s shown me. Now,nowI can’t wait to get back. To the concrete, to the chippy down the road, to the neighbours who know everyone’s name. To the people who fought for something better. Home. Kate.
‘Sweet Dreams’ comes on and I shake my head. Alice was everything that I didn’t think I had, an escape, ambition.You really don’t see it, do you? You’re really quite beautiful.Was that it? What did it? I push my foot on the accelerator, the traffic quieter as I move away from the coast, back towards the glorious dark, the glorious light of home. I let out a long breath, my whole body expanding, relaxing.
I round a sharp bend, indicate around a cyclist.
Then a loud pop.
A squeal of tyres.
Pain in my fingers as I try to grip the steering wheel.
My body slams against the seat belt. Up becomes down. Light becomes dark.
I register pain, so much that my whole body feels numb with it.
There is the sound of a voice. Then another.
He’s breathing.
I blink, the spiderweb of cracks a crimson red now. Would look good in pastel. No, oils?
Can you tell me your name?
I try to answer. My mind drifts instead. To candles and fancy pasta. The Olive something?
Check his driving licence.
No. Not Olive. A herb, maybe?
David? David, can you hear me?
I have the mad urge to laugh. No one’s called me David since I was a kid.
The Bay Tree. That’s it. I’d better book a?—
I try to finish the thought. But it slips away, somewhere light. Warm.
Safe.
And all the pain just…
Goes.
31
SPENCE
