The Packables send their best man, who looks like a furious wizard, patting him on the back as he steps up. ‘Go on, Tony!’
We look at each other.
‘Eve,’ Fin says. ‘You’re equal to this challenge. Go get us that trophy.’
‘Oh no, I’m shite.’
‘Not shite. Up,’ Fin says, and Ed, Justin and Francis make noises of agreement.
‘Here it is, the tie-break. Remember, shout it out because it’s fastest answer as well as correct answer, now. The ballad “I Will Always Love You” was a smash hit for the late Whitney Houston in 1992, spending fourteen weeks at the top of the Billboard charts. However, Whitney didn’t write it. Who did write it?’
‘BARRY GIBB!’ Tony from the Packable Anoraks shouts, like he’s been Tasered, to football-stand cheers from his team.
‘That is incorrect, I’m afraid,’ the compere says, as the din subsides. ‘Would this lovely lady like to give her answer?’
I look at the hopeful faces of my team, their fists clenched in anticipation. Finlay winks at me.
‘Is it … Dolly Parton?’ I say.
‘We have a winner!’ the quizmaster says, and my corner of The Gladstone erupts in hysteria.
‘Congratulations, to …’ he picks up our quiz sheet and squints through his readers at the name. ‘Susie’s Losers.’
45
After
You were alive again last night.
It wasn’t a nightmare, Suze – and I’ve had plenty of those – it was just another world, exactly like this one, but with a dramatic difference. Your presence. Your presence, which I took for granted.
In this place, we were cheerfully organising a skiing trip, sitting at a school desk, while next to a busy motorway. The cars thundering past made the table shake but neither of us were bothered. How about Switzerland? you said. We had plans.
(I wonder if Switzerland was some subconscious thing because that’s where Hester was, when you and Ed …? Haha, by the way, in return? You never get to complain about Finlay. PSYCH. Yeah don’t argue. You know I have you.)
It will always be this way, I’ve come to realise. You are never behind me, Susie. You are never something that happened. You are always alongside me.
I clumsily scrabble for my phone in the blackness, scroll down and find the last text from Susie. Those words in a speech bubble on my handset. It still feels impossible there is no chance of any more, that it was a final word. That she’s not there, behind that screen, hovering out of sight. Waiting for a cue.
I type a reply:
SO much to discuss. Speak soon. I love you. xxx
Across the room, where I’d plugged her phone in to charge, there’s a firefly glow as it lights up, as if in response.
I hear her, clear as a bell, in my head.
Love you too, you iridescent beast. xxx
PS still have to say, my brother, GROSS
We make each other so happy, though!
I am not sure that doesn’t make it MORE gross. That’s what Mr Pulteney the geography teacher said when we found out he and his wife were nudists, remember?
I laugh to myself. I will always hear Susie in my head. It’s an ongoing conversation. Lifelong.
Fin stirs awake. ‘You OK? Did I see a light on?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘That cat is not only heavy, he’s soaking!’ Finlay says, registering Roger’s presence, and Roger yowls territorially, in reply.
‘Rog is as Rog does.’
Finlay pushes his arms around me and we lie in silence, side by side, for a while, listening to the swish of greenery in the wind beyond the window.
‘I think the rain’s stopped,’ he says.
I twist round to face him.
‘So do I.’
THE END
Acknowledgements
Much editorial gratitude with this one: firstly, to my editor Martha Ashby, who was not only hugely enthusiastic at outline stage, but before departing for maternity leave, fielded a lengthy phone call from me where I wailed I’d bitten off more than I could chew. She calmly informed me I had not, I would be carrying on, and it would be great. Without those words this book wouldn’t be here, so thank you for your faith. Further gratitude to my skilled caretaker editors throughout rocky old 2020, Lynne Drew and Sophie Burks, whose good humour and unflappable approach have made them a joy to work with. I especially appreciated being pushed to get each draft to where it needed to be, without ever feeling like I was being pushed. Cheers to you all, ladies, I look forward to raising a glass when it’s legal again. And thank you to the whole HarperCollins team, both UK & USA, for their support and energies, I’ve missed seeing you all!
Thank you to my agent Doug Kean, always a cheerful pleasure to work with. It’s like a marriage now, except we don’t argue over choices of coffee table.
My first draft reading crew: Tara, Sean, Katie, Laura, I couldn’t do this without you. Special shout to Kristy Berry on this one for saving my sanity. Thank you to Carol Clements for her patient, legal expert advice on wills and probate. If I’ve mangled it, that’s on me.
And thanks always to Alex, who has the not-always joyous but completely essential task of telling me to stop catastrophising, carry on, and that maybe it’s quite late to still be in my pyjamas.
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About the Author
Sunday Times bestselling author Mhairi McFarlane was born in Scotland in 1976 and her unnecessarily confusing name is pronounced Vah-Ree.
After some efforts at journalism, she started writing novels and her first book, You Had Me At Hello, was an instant success. She’s now written six books and she lives in Nottingham with a man and a cat.
Also by Mhairi McFarlane
You Had Me at Hello
Here’s Looking at You
It’s Not Me, It’s You
Who’s That Girl?
Don’t You Forget About Me
If I Never Met You
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