Page 68 of The Life We Almost Had

Will always belong to him.

I must hurry if I’m going to reach him before it’s too late.

A 3 per cent chance of survival.

There’s a tremble in my fingers. I begin the letter, which will be both an apology to Mum for the risk I am taking, and an explanation, but it seems impossible to put it all into words – the story of Adam and me.

Us.

I really don’t have time to think of the life we had – the life we almost had – but I allow myself the indulgence. Memories gather: we’re on the beach watching the sunrise; I’m introducing him to my mum – his voice unsteady with nerves as he says hello; we’re meeting for the first time in that shabby bar. Out of order and back to front and more than anything I wish I could live it all again. Except that day on the yacht.Neverthat day.

Again the vice around my lungs tightens. In my mind I see it all unfold and I feel it. I feel itall: fear, panic, hopelessness.

Breathe, Anna.

In and out. In and out. Until I am here again, pen gripped too tightly in my hand.

Focus.

I made a mistake.

I stare at the words I have written so intently they jump around on the page. It’s the harsh truth. I had thought that I wanted to live without him.

I don’t.

I’m at a loss to know how to carry on. I look to Adam for inspiration and I remember one of the first things he had said to me: ‘Start at the beginning, Anna.’

And so I do.

Seven years ago. I pause. Recalling our first week. That visit to the author’s house. Me touching the typewriter. Adam asking if I’d ever thought of crafting my own book.

‘Everyone has something to say – it’s a matter of figuring out what that something is. What would you write, if you could?’ Adam had asked.

‘A love story,’ I had told him. ‘One with a happy end.’

‘A clichéd end.’

‘Happy,’ I had insisted, because ultimately isn’t that what we all want? It’s whatIwant.

Speedily, the nib of my pen scratches over the paper. I let it all pour out.

This is not a typical love story, but it’s our love story.

Mine and Adam’s.

And despite that day, despite everything, I’m not yet ready for it to end. I glance at my husband.

Is he?

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Oliver

Oliver has spent the night pacing the long corridors of the Institute. Checking his phone. Second-guessing what Anna’s decision might be. She stands before him now, exhaustion etched onto her face. As much as he burns to know her decision right away, she deserves to be treated with the consideration he had always shown Clem. With the care that Adam would give her if he were able to.

‘Let’s get a coffee.’

Noticing Anna struggling to keep up with his long strides, he slows. He glances at her. At Nell. Wishing one of them would say something.

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