She’severything.
And it’s often enough to distract me from what’s happening to my body, about the lit fuse of my condition. About my impending doom. Sometimes it’s enough to make me forget.
So, there’s an extra little spring in my step as I walk through town. At one point a little gurgle of happiness bubbles up my throat and I have to swallow it down before I start swinging around lamp posts and tap dancing in the street. That’s a bridge too far, even for me.
But I do pick up a stuffed fox that a little girl drops out of her buggy and return it to her with a smile. I throw a few coins into a busker’s hat and give him an enthusiastic double thumbs-up as I pass. And when I see an elderly couple about to step into the path of a cyclist, I dart around them and guide them safely back onto the pavement.
At least, I start to.
Because what I don’t know is that there’s a double-decker bus following the cyclist– one of those open-topped tour buses you can jump on and off to see all the attractions– and it’s travelling a little too fast and a little too close to the kerb.
And I didn’t see it coming.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
FLORENCE
I’m halfway to Pickering before I even know what I’m doing.
However much of my humanity I’ve lost, there are a few things that remain fully intact. And one of those is my fight-or-flight response. I’m not proud of it, but when it seems like one of my greatest fears is coming to life before my eyes, I am all flight and no fight.
I’m so focused on getting the hell out of there that when Josiah clears his throat next to me, I don’t react.
‘Florence, what are you doing?’he asks in a low voice. It’s careful, like he might spook me. Like he doesn’t know I’m already fully spooked. But I must be, because I ignore him and turn back to the window, clenching my jaw as I watch the fields roll past. They’re a little less green without Quinn to point them out, I think, and then I curse myself when a fresh wave of grief crashes over me.
I brought this on myself, I realise that. There was a reason I told myself I wouldn’t date humans, and it was agood reason, too. I was trying to save myself from having my heart ripped out.
I was trying to save myself fromthis.
The problem is, I’m not sure staying away from Quinn would have hurt any less. I was doomed either way.
I wipe tears off my cheeks with the cuff of my jacket and sniffle as I studiously ignore the field of cows we just sped past. It’s only a field of livestock. Nothing more.
There’s movement in the seat beside me, then, an unmistakeable chill on my bare arms. Usually when I sense Josiah, it’s more abstract than that, a gentle breeze or a change in the air temperature, but this time it’s as if he’s actually beside me. As though I might turn my head and see him sitting there, his thumb rubbing soft circles against his index finger, the way it always did.
But I don’t turn. I’m not sure I could deal with not seeing him there. Not today.
I bolt out of my seat when the train pulls into the station at Pickering and hop down onto the platform as soon as the doors open. I know exactly where I’m going. It’s the first thing I thought of when I heard about Quinn’s accident.
I got it from my mother, this urge to busy myself when my mind spins out of control. In times of crisis, she’d be on the go constantly, fixing what she could even when the things she actually wanted to fix were irreparable.The helping helps with the helplessness, she used to say. And I’ve never connected with the sentiment more.
I can’t watch another person I love die.
I can’t.
And so I’m here, doing something Icando. Something I’ve been meaning to do for days.
‘Albert?’ I call through the letterbox, and when I hear his answering hum, I try the handle. It’s unlocked, which makes sense considering the state he was in. It’s probably been unlocked for years. I push the door open and I feel Josiah follow me into the house.
It’s just as dark as I remember, dusty too, and when I walk into the living room, I find Albert in his chair exactly where we left him, watching me with curious eyes.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again,’ he says, a faint smile creasing his age-worn cheeks. ‘Particularly not so soon.’
I smile in return, though the movement feels foreign on my face. ‘I brought you something.’
He watches me carefully as I shrug my backpack off my shoulder and fish out the second blood bag from the inside pocket.
‘You need a decent meal,’ I say, placing the bag carefully in his hands, ‘and a bit of help.’