The razor-sharp new supernatural thriller from Jason Arnopp, author of the critically acclaimed cult hitThe Last Days of Jack Sparks
Thirty-five days before he disappears off the face of the Earth, Scott Palmer stops licking his ice cream cone and lays that look on me.
That hungry wolf look. The one that leaves me way too keen to be devoured.
The glass sheet of the sea reflects a high mid-afternoon sun as Scott says, “Well, why don’t you live here, then? I’m serious, baby. Why don’t you move down here and live with me?”
He broaches this idea so casually that it feels neither huge nor stupid, despite being both of these things.
My brain pulsates and pops.
The stones of Brighton’s beach shift beneath me. The air around us, so thick with salt and sun cream, carries an exotic shimmer. The West Pier wobbles.
The next time I even think about my own ice cream, it’s because the thing’s melted all over my hand, then down my wrist.
If I were the kind of person who believes in bad omens, I might notice how this cream is chilling the blood in my veins.
I might notice how the skeletal West Pier resembles a burnt-out carcass.
I might even notice how the growing wind has prompted a lifeguard to stride over and plant a huge red flag in a nearby patch of stones.
Not being that kind of person, I notice these things only subliminally, while transfixed by the kaleidoscopic beauty of Scott’s eyes.
Hello. My name’s Kate Collins and I’m balls-deep in love with a walking question mark whose smartphone will one day show me all of his deepest, darkest secrets.
My grin covers my entire face as I tell Scott, “You know what? I reckon I could just about do that, you lucky fucker.”
All I can think about is how I will never, ever, feel alone again.