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Time to Say Goodbye: a heart-rending novel about a father’s love for his daughter
S.D. Robertson
**A heart-rending story about the unique bond between a father and his daughter, for fans of Jojo Moyes, the bestselling author of Me Before You.**HOW DO YOU LEAVE THE PERSON YOU LOVE THE MOST?Will Curtis's six-year-old daughter, Ella, knows her father will never leave her. After all, he promised her so when her mother died. And he's going to do everything he can to keep his word.What Will doesn't know is that the promise he made to his little girl might be harder to keep than he imagined. When he's faced with an impossible decision, Will finds that the most obvious choice might not be the right one.But the future is full of unexpected surprises. And father and daughter are about to embark on an unforgettable journey together . . .
S.D. ROBERTSON
TIME TO SAY GOODBYE
Copyright (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)
Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016
Copyright © S. D. Robertson 2016
S. D. Robertson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008100674
Ebook Edition © February 2016 ISBN: 9780008100681
Version: 2017-12-21
For Claudia and Kirsten
Contents
Cover (#u58f4f4ba-a4ad-5026-88d1-885001879253)
Title Page (#u81839006-a22f-5dd6-bdc6-c71c60903ffb)
Copyright (#u7d6f36cb-3845-50ef-b48c-88d7d70fcab7)
Dedication (#u5a8fa874-5356-52f9-8dd2-e4d6b3c3e4d3)
CHAPTER 1: 2.36 P.M., Thursday 29 September 2016 (#uc2507a49-200e-5ba0-a502-2eb71818568f)
CHAPTER 2: Seven Hours Dead (#u8df17b94-3d78-5071-922f-9225cab8ece2)
CHAPTER 3: One Day Dead (#u6e99c97f-ec5d-56d9-be75-143ba06f61d3)
CHAPTER 4: Six Days Dead (#u408de33f-538e-5aae-839e-4812281ef99b)
CHAPTER 5: Thirteen Days Dead (#u73875473-dfcf-55fa-8927-cf25847396b3)
CHAPTER 6 (#udf6948f5-cdcf-54de-900e-21f7d001802f)
CHAPTER 7 (#ueaab074d-edc9-5f4e-92df-f3ffd1262666)
CHAPTER 8: Thirty-Nine Days Left (#u7cc28e58-1bf2-5ae5-83c4-eb2b96959682)
CHAPTER 9 (#u4917aa8d-60f0-50db-9b04-5a24ae1e2ea5)
CHAPTER 10: Thirty-Six Days Left (#ua6ef8542-9011-58a1-8a76-b5572dce7ab1)
CHAPTER 11: Thirty-Three Days Left (#u32ca6530-89c2-5cd4-8f1b-1cf661d0c18b)
CHAPTER 12: Thirty Days Left (#u6d5aca88-9bad-5f53-8c4f-f140d87defc5)
CHAPTER 13: Twenty-Nine Days Left (#ue4bacd1a-269d-5243-bf1e-069e27982309)
CHAPTER 14: Twenty-Eight Days Left (#u9ccdb43c-4c94-5168-b8b1-dba8bb0a624e)
CHAPTER 15: Twenty-Seven Days Left (#ud6f58a97-f7ed-5fef-9bc3-69187d8703b8)
CHAPTER 16: Twenty-Six Days Left (#uf751b3b1-29cd-5a3a-b5a8-8a615749053b)
CHAPTER 17: Twenty-Three Days Left (#u3ed1632f-f9a9-5013-92a1-3e20662ffdbf)
CHAPTER 18: Twenty-Two Days Left (#uf9e60f44-570b-5ae2-a081-4d030beaba88)
CHAPTER 19: Seventeen Days Left (#u99e3e323-cc32-5510-af48-51e95281ab24)
CHAPTER 20 (#ua0eec3e8-c0fa-578b-911c-d43275d1f17e)
CHAPTER 21 (#uc529a30c-e5b9-55bb-8722-f2baa002840b)
CHAPTER 22: Fifteen Days Left (#uf361828c-9402-5c0f-b5dc-281ed095dddb)
CHAPTER 23: Fourteen Days Left (#u22a874a1-93a0-5c4f-bc5b-e9f7ad44a752)
CHAPTER 24 (#u43b6d922-1263-5e8c-8f4d-d88cf8075f09)
CHAPTER 25: Thirteen Days Left (#u0c5b08ed-c695-5fdb-b725-26ca62ffefcc)
CHAPTER 26 (#udb04b0da-403e-58b9-997e-38349fb3c2b8)
CHAPTER 27: Twelve Days Left (#uc5085717-1e9f-5c2f-809b-1614c1ecab41)
CHAPTER 28: Nine Days Left (#u0df95eaf-dece-5ac4-bd14-1fe10e27a4f3)
CHAPTER 29: Seven Days Left (#u74847050-efcb-5fdc-bd86-3bfb919f6d70)
CHAPTER 30: Six Days Left (#u7a62e55d-6e9a-54c5-b269-6066a09c620a)
CHAPTER 31: Three Days Left (#u1191950c-4e4d-5c76-aa7d-baeca232ee89)
CHAPTER 32: Ten Hours Left (#u3bb6cfa2-d1f8-5a3c-b8e4-cfb60e3856fe)
CHAPTER 33: Three Hours Left (#u4b7ea1bd-f4f0-5593-9b4e-f43cdb0da31b)
CHAPTER 34: Ninety Minutes Left (#ud212c96a-5f9c-5ae2-a070-8ef23da33714)
CHAPTER 35 (#ucafc25b5-58b6-5986-b439-4ac85300f453)
Keep Reading (#ufb8b7d47-b2b1-58c7-b203-7331b72d15ab)
Acknowledgements (#u12d1b198-f7ca-5792-9a99-a2cbfa3276f2)
About the Author (#u8c59fa39-5a66-537e-a9e3-67671ea0c9f3)
About the Publisher (#u8f836d7f-8a8d-5e17-99ab-b3d2677639dd)
CHAPTER 1 (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)
2.36 P.M., THURSDAY 29 SEPTEMBER 2016 (#ue4eb19e7-e69c-5559-8550-40d41eb791d1)
Dying wasn’t on the to-do list I’d drafted earlier that afternoon. No doubt the 4x4 driver hadn’t planned on killing a cyclist either. But that’s what happened. Her giant black car swerved into my path. It hit me head on. There was no time to react. Just an awful screeching sound, a brief sensation of flying and a sudden agonizing pain. Then I blacked out.
Next thing I knew, I was standing on the pavement watching two paramedics fight to revive my battered, bloody body. I desperately willed them to succeed, even moving closer in the hope I could jump back into my skin at the right moment, but it was futile. I was pronounced dead minutes later.
But I’m still here, I told myself. What does that make me? And then my thoughts turned to Ella. What would happen to her if I was dead? She’d be all alone, abandoned by both of her parents: the very thing I’d sworn she’d never face.
‘Wait! Don’t give up,’ I shouted at the paramedics. ‘Don’t stop! I’m still here. You’ve got to keep trying. You don’t know what you’re doing. Don’t fucking give up on me! I’m not dead.’
I screamed my lungs out, begging and pleading with them to try to revive me again, but they couldn’t hear me. I was invisible to them and, ironically, to the onlookers gathered at the police cordon – several waving camera phones – keen to catch a glimpse of the dead guy.
In desperation, I tried to grab one of the paramedics. But as my hand touched his right shoulder, I was hurled backwards by an invisible force. It left me sprawling on the tarmac. I was stunned but, oddly, not in any physical pain. I picked myself up and tried again with the man’s colleague, only to find myself thrown to the floor again. What the hell was going on?
Then I saw the driver who’d killed me. She was chain-smoking menthol cigarettes under the watchful eye of a young bobby. ‘It was an accident,’ she told him in between drags. ‘The sat nav. It fell on to the floor. By my feet. I was just trying to pick it up when – oh God, I can still see his face hitting my windscreen. What have I done? Is he going to be okay? Tell me he’s going to make it.’
‘Do I look okay?’ I ask, standing in front of her, staring her in the face and willing her to see me. ‘Does it seem like I’m going to make it? You’ve killed me. I’m dead. All because of a bloody sat nav. Look at me, for God’s sake. I’m right here.’
She’d have looked glamorous without the vomit on her high-heeled shoes and in the ends of her straightened hair. She was deathly pale and shaking so much that I didn’t have the heart to continue. She knew what she’d done.
‘Why am I still here?’ I yelled at the sky.
‘Have you got the time?’ one police officer asked another.
‘Three o’clock.’
Shit. Home time. Ella’s primary school was a good fifteen-minute walk away; instinct kicked in and I started to run.
The last few stragglers were leaving the school gates by the time I arrived. The knock-on effect of my accident was already evident in the snake of cars – squashed noses and curious eyes at their rear windows – that filled one side of the suburban street. I rushed to the back of the building, where Ella would be waiting, and saw her standing there alone, a forlorn look on her face. ‘Over here, darling!’ I shouted, waving as I ran across the empty yard. ‘It’s okay. I’m here now.’
I don’t know what I was thinking. Why would she see me when no one else had? Watching my six-year-old daughter stare straight through me was quite the reality check.
‘Ella, Daddy’s here,’ I said for the umpteenth time, kneeling in front of her so we were face to face, but not daring to touch her after what had happened with the paramedics. Her lips were chapped and her right hand, which was clenching her Hello Kitty lunchbox, was covered in red felt-tip ink. I gasped as I realized I wouldn’t be able to remind her to use her lip balm or to help her ‘scrub those mucky paws’. Oblivious to my presence, she stared expectantly towards the far end of the playground.
Mrs Afzal emerged from the open door behind Ella. ‘Is he still not here, love? You’d better get inside now.’
‘He’ll be here in a minute,’ Ella told her teacher. ‘His watch might need a new battery again.’
‘Come on. We’ll get the office to give him a call.’
Panic knifed through me as I pictured my mobile ringing in the back of the ambulance while they drove away my dead body. I imagined one of the paramedics, my blood still splattered across his green shirt, rooting through my pockets to find it. How long before Ella discovered what had happened?
I was about to follow them inside when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I spun around.
‘Hello, William. Sorry to sneak up on you like that. I, um, I’m Lizzie.’
A stumpy woman in a dowdy grey skirt suit and beige mac was standing before me, one arm outstretched for a handshake. Gingerly, fearing another run-in with the tarmac, I reached out towards her podgy hand. It felt cool despite the unseasonal late September sunshine.
‘How do you know my name?’ I asked. ‘And how come I can touch you?’
‘I was sent to meet you when you died. You’ve probably got a few questions.’
‘What are you: some kind of angel? Pull the other one.’
Lizzie, who appeared to be in her late twenties, ran a hand through her wavy black hair, which was tied in a loose ponytail. Her nose twitched in a way that reminded me of a rabbit.
‘Um, no. I’m not an angel. We’re on the same team, but they’re higher up the pecking order. Think of me as a guide. This can be a confusing time. I’m here to make your transition from life to death as smooth as possible. How are you doing so far?’
‘Well, I’m dead. Apart from you, no one can see me. Not even my little girl, who’s about to learn she’s an orphan. How do you think I’m doing?’
‘Right. Sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘How about bringing me back to life and taking that bloody lunatic driver instead? It’s her fault I’m here.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not possible, I’m afraid. Anything else?’
‘What about helping me to communicate with Ella? If I’m really a ghost, doesn’t that mean people can see me in certain circumstances? I need her to know that I’m still here; that I haven’t abandoned her.’
