Page 100 of Days You Were Mine

‘I could see it happening, but no one believed me. I started following Alice around the park most days, and I know how that sounds. But I knew something was wrong, something I couldn’t put my finger on.’

‘Her mental health has been fragile for a long time. The reunion with you, something she’d longed for, tipped her over the edge. It was as if Jake was back in her life again and she’s missed him so much. Only, of course, he wasn’t. Obsessing over Samuel was easier than dealing with all that pain again.’

‘I wish we’d had this conversation before it was too late.’

‘It isn’t too late. We’re having it now.’

‘You don’t think …’ I break off. Fear has vacuumed up the words that cannot be spoken. But Rick needs no explanation.

‘She loves him. She wouldn’t hurt a hair on his head.’

We have arrived in Southwold now, in good time; there’s still plenty of daylight left, there’s still heat in the sun. I’ve never been here before, don’t know what to expect, am slightly amazed by the chichi-ness of it, although I don’t know why. Architecture in colour-coordinated pastels with Farrow & Balled doors. Delicatessens and second-hand bookshops and hip-looking cafés that probably specialise in chai and almond-milk lattes.

‘Notting Hill on Sea,’ I say.

‘Not in our day. Back then it was deeply unfashionable and all the better for it. Fish and chips on the pier, candy floss, an arcade with slot machines. There was one machine you loved; it used to have a moving shelf of pennies – you know the kind? – and when the pennies tipped over the edge, you laughed your head off.’ There’s a wistfulness in his voice, and it makes me sad to think of Rick and Alice, those two young art students with their baby.

‘Rick?’

He turns around from the steering wheel, tears in his eyes as I expected.

‘Maybe everything can be all right between us.’

‘It can, Luke. I know it can.’

He is turning down a side street, and now the sea is ahead of us, a silver skin dissected by a cloudless sky. We pull into a little car park in the showstopper car, the beach in front of it lined with a row of candy-coloured huts: pink, yellow, blue and green. My heart is surging with hope and fear.

‘This is our beach. The first time we came here, Alice and Jake and Tom and me, we drove through the night and arrived at sunrise. We made that same trip the night we ran away with you. This beach means so much to her; it’s the last place she was with you before she gave you away.’

A thought strikes me.

‘Can I go alone?’

Rick looks at me. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I think it’s important. Just me and him and her. I want to get it right.’

At first, I think the beach is empty. It takes a few moments for my focus to land on the woman and child sheltering against the breakers. Even from here, I know it’s them.

I want to run, shout, yell, rage, but I force myself to stay calm as relief surges through me. I take out my phone to text Hannah.

Got them. He’s safe.

What I see, as I walk towards them, is how tenderly Alice cares for the small boy on her lap. One arm curved around him as she picks out pebbles and shells for him to inspect. Alice and Samuel. Or Alice and Charlie. It doesn’t much matter which in this bizarre reshaping of our past.

When I’m closer, just a few yards away, she looks up and sees me. Panic flits across her face. She grabs Samuel, holds him against her chest, both arms wrapped around him as if she will never let go.

‘You can’t take him,’ Alice says not looking at me. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Alice.’

I crouch in front of her. I need to be gentle, as I coax her back into the present.

‘Will you look at me, Alice?’

She shakes her head.

‘Alice?’

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