After You

“I think people get bored of grief,” said Natasha. “It’s like you’re allowed some unspoken allotted time—six months maybe—and then they get faintly irritated that you’re not ‘better.'"

Without someone to talk to, every sight I saw—whether it was the Trevi Fountain or a canal in Amsterdam—felt simply like a name on a list that I needed to check off.

She pulled the kind of face at me that told me simultaneously that I was an eejit, and also that this was no surprise to her whatsoever.

You never know what will happen, when you fall from a great height.

Lily was the first to step forward, holding her white helium balloon. She lifted her arm, then as an afterthought, stooped and picked a tiny blue cornflower from one of her pots and tied it carefully to the string. Then she straightened, raised her hand, and, after the smallest hesitation, released the balloon.

I watched as Steven Traynor followed, saw Della's gentle squeeze of his arm as he did so. Camilla released hers, then Fred, Sunil, Georgina, her arm linked with her mother's. My mother, Treena, Dad, blowing his nose noisily into his handkerchief, and Sam. We stood in silence on the roof and watched the balloons sail upward, one by one into the clear blue sky, growing smaller and smaller until they were somewhere infinite, unseen.

I let mine go.