Eighteen
In the morning, I set off early for Plymouth. Couldn’t bear another hour in Tregonna with Ma and Sofija trying to avoid each other. Couldn’t bear seeing the desperate expression on Kit’s face. It was a large house – a massive house – but we all used the same scruffy kitchen and the same back door.
Besides, it was my last drive in the Aston and I planned to take the long way round, through all the twisty country lanes with their high hedges that broke every now and again to give a tantalising glimpse of the countryside, then over the moors where you could see for miles. But when I drove past the lighthouse, quiet and withdrawn in the morning light, another idea came to me and I stopped the car where the road met the cliff path, and walked down to the ledge where I might have been
