Page 58

I COULD THROW THE JOURNAL out to sea, let its secrets dissolve into nothing. I could climb back up to the cliff path and walk in the other direction, to Tome. I could get on a train to London and never look back. I’m at a crossroads, just as I was on a summer night fifteen years ago.

As if in answer, the breeze ransacks through the pages of the journal in my lap until it falls open on the last page. The biro-drawn map. X marks the spot.

No. I can’t let it fester inside me anymore. This is why I’m here. Why I came back.

I’m hurrying back along the part of the footpath that hugs the road, nearly at Seaview Farm, when I see someone opening the gate. I stop dead, heart thumping, and manage to press myself into the hedgerow where hopefully I’m slightly concealed. I can’t face meeting anyone coming out of that place. It’s a young guy, tall and broad-shouldered, long-legged, wheeling a bike, and at first I think... I think...

My thoughts are spiraling, scattering. I’m struggling to breathe, struggling to make any sense of it. He’s too young. He looks the same age he was back then—fifteen years ago. Then he turns in this direction—fuck, I press myself further into the hedge—and I realize it’s not him. Of course it’s not.

I do know this boy, though. And suddenly a lot of things fall into place. Why I was so drawn to Eddie the barman that first night. His strange familiarity. Why I totally took leave of my senses and found myself trying to seduce him.

He’s his brother. He’s his little brother.