The Rose Petal Beach (57 page)

My hand slips easily into hers and I step outside after her.

Slowly, I shut the door behind me, knowing that the next time I open this door, the next stage of my life will have begun.

‘Shhh, we mustn’t wake the clouds,’ Anansy whispers.

The three of us are on the beach, looking up at the sky again.

‘We still don’t know where they sleep,’ Cora says ever so quietly.

‘I do,’ I say softly.

‘Where, Mama?’ they both ask.

‘At The Rose Petal Beach.’

‘With Auntie Mirabelle?’ Cora asks.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s a lovely place to sleep,’ Anansy decides. ‘Have fun with Auntie Mirabelle,’ she calls quietly to the sky.

‘Yes, have a nice time,’ Cora adds.

The shadow that falls over us causes both girls to squeal in delight and scramble to their feet. ‘Dad!’ they shout in unison, the hush needed for the sleep of the clouds forgotten. They throw themselves at him, as if they haven’t seen him in an age, when it was only four days ago.

He gets down on his knees and hugs them close. He does this now: he shows how much he loves them, how devoted he is to them. It’s not words and showy gestures, when he has them for the weekend he spends the entire time with them. He plays with them, does their homework with them, cooks and cleans for them. He proves every day that they are his priority.

He’s still in therapy, he’s still on his perpetrator course, he’s still trying to be a better man. I get to my feet, brush myself down and retrieve my coat.

‘See you later,’ I say, kissing each of their heads, lingering on each one because, while walking away from them for the weekend
is getting easier, it still hurts. There’s no other way to describe it. It hurts. But that’s part of my new life. ‘Have a good time.’

‘See you later, Mama,’ they chorus, well versed in this ritual. ‘We will.’

‘We’ll call you later,’ Scott reassures.

‘Yes, great,’ I say, as well versed in this ritual as the girls.

I begin my way up the pebbles back to the promenade, the ache growing deeper and stronger. It never really, truly stops until I am with them again, until that is the longest time I’ll go without seeing them every day.

‘Oi,’ Scott calls suddenly.

I stop, turn back to him.

He tips his chin up at me, like he did all those years ago.

It’s over for us, but we have Cora and Anansy, we have the memory of our first, and we have the life that existed before our story started to be unwritten. We’re bound together for ever by those things. And by the love I had for him that I know will never completely go away.

My face creases in a smile, like it did all those years, too.

I glance up at the clouds as I saunter towards home. They roll on by without a care in the world, maybe heading for a sleep at The Rose Petal Beach, maybe just drifting to another part of the planet.

I can do that now: drift, without a care in the world.

Not very long ago

I’m closing my eyes really slowly in the hope I can freeze-frame the world. And once it’s done, once it’s paused, I’ll know my lover will still be out there somewhere, and our lives won’t have passed each other by.

The ice-cold sea slaps against my shins, and even though I don’t want to, I know I have to open my eyes again, I have to come back to where the world is still turning, moving, going on.

The people who are on Brighton beach will see me here in the sea, a perfect red rose in my hand, and they’ll wonder what I’m doing, or they’ll think I’m really quite mad. I am. Of course I am. But I need to be here and I have to do this because I can’t freeze-frame the world.

Each petal of the rose comes away from the stem after the gentlest of tugs, and I keep on pulling until the spindly green stalk is bare except for the tightly curled inner bud, which is folded like tiny arms around its shiny red heart. Once my hand is crammed with dark red petals that I must be careful not to crush, I step further into the waiting sea.

I shut my eyes, ever so slowly, and try again to freeze-frame the world. I want it to work, I want the world to stop, because I can’t believe this is all happening to me. I can’t believe my life in London is over, and now I have been banished – entirely by choice – to Brighton, to be beside the sea. I open my eyes, stare out to the horizon, in the city where I lost my lover; the place where my life is about to begin again.

I move deeper into the sea, the water hungrily soaking my dress,
robbing my body of heat. And carefully, slowly, I release the petals in my hand. I want to be brave like her, the woman in the legend of The Rose Petal Beach.

I want to be able to do what she did and pledge my life to finding my lover. She lost her beloved at sea and, without a second thought, she went to the deserted island where he was last seen and she promised to search every inch of it until she had found him. As she walked her feet were cut by the sharp pebbles of the beach and because her love was so rare and wondrous, so deep and beautiful and pure, every drop of her blood turned into a rose petal, until the beach became a blanket of perfect, red petals.

A few of my petals dance out of my hands, floating away on the breeze, the others spiral downwards onto the foamy water and are immediately carried out on the retreating waves.

After she had walked every step of the island, the woman lay down on her beach, her rose petal beach, and slipped into her final sleep. And in her sleep, her endless sleep, she found the man she had been looking for.

I want to be as strong as the woman from the story, instead of trying to freeze-frame the world. I want to promise I’ll do whatever it takes to learn the truth about my lover’s life and death.

But standing here, I know I can’t, it’s not in me to follow through with such a quest – I’m just too scared that my lover was murdered, and the same thing is going to happen to me.

Now

Have you heard the story of The Rose Petal Beach?

Do you think it’s a story worth dying for?

Have you heard the story of The Rose Petal Beach?

If you have you’ll know I left my life in London and came to Brighton to find my first lover, the person who showed me who I was meant to be.

Have you heard the story of The Rose Petal Beach?

If you have you’ll know that in the end it wasn’t my lover I died for, it was for
her
, my baby, the only person who has ever mattered to me.

Have you heard the story of The Rose Petal Beach?

If you have, you’ll know there’s only one thing left for me to do: to lie down here on my petal-covered shore, and start my endless sleep.

Have you heard the story of The Rose Petal Beach?

I hope so. I want it to do for you what it did for me – make me believe you should never give up because you’ll always find what you’re looking for.

I feel so honoured to be able to write another set of thank yous at the end of a book. It’s going to get gushy, so please look away now if that’ll upset you.

Thank you to

My fantastic family and incredible in-laws. You’re a great bunch of people. Love you all so much.

My fabulous friends. You make me smile by being in my life.

The divine team at Quercus: David, Mark S, Bethan, Katie, Caroline P, Iain, Caroline B, Mark T, Dan, Jenny (for my beautiful covers, especially), Astrid and all of you who have been so welcoming and kind.

Ant & James. Never change – you’re both wonderful.

Emma D, PR woman extraordinaire.

Dr Sarah Marshall and Adam Dukes for their professional input.

Also, I want to say

To Jo. You’re amazing. Thank you, for all of it.

To E & G, never stop being who you are (which is pretty outstanding).

And to my darling M. Love you more every day.

My final thank you goes to you

Thank you, as always, for buying this book. Really hope you enjoy it.
Dorothy Koomson is the author of seven other novels:
The Cupid Effect
,
The Chocolate Run
,
My Best Friend’s Girl
,
Marshmallows for Breakfast
,
The Ice Cream Girls
and
The Woman He Loved Before
– all of which have spent several weeks on the
Sunday Times
bestseller list. Her books have been translated into thirty languages and regularly top the bestseller charts around the world. Dorothy is currently working on another book and a screenplay. She lives in Brighton.

Find out more about Dorothy and her books at
www.dorothykoomson.co.uk

or follow her on Facebook and Twitter.