Chapter 34
ALICE
Mike’s playlist is ringing from my speakers and even though it’s been weeks since I found out he died, it still feels as though he’s trying to speak to me, and in a way he is.
I might not have the ending that I wanted for the article, but I still have a story.
I just need to find a new way to finish it.
Me and Spence haven’t talked about the afternoon before I left for Whitby, or the things that were said. We haven’t seen much of each other these past few weeks, but I know from Georgia, and the pictures she’s posting, that Heather has been spending more time with them.
I’ve taken down my wall of research and collated all the information I have into tidy piles on the new kitchen table.
They’re not in any particular order yet, but that will come.
Right now, the material is raw, in the same way his tragic death was.
No order. No reason. I haven’t found the rhythm of the piece yet, but I will.
I tighten my ponytail as Kate Bush’s ‘Man with the Child in His Eyes’ begins playing.
As the lyrics echo, and I try to extract what it was about this song that Michael liked, my thoughts swing towards Spence.
How he’d driven all that way to break the news to me.
Even with everything he’s got going on, despite the argument we had.
He was there. He always is. I’ll make it up to him. Somehow.
I reach for my coffee and open my laptop; the news of Mike’s death is still chiming inside my chest, a vibration that won’t quieten.
I toss and turn most nights, imagining his hand on a steering wheel, the sound of metal folding, the screech of tyres.
Part of me hopes I’ll sleepwalk, that I will find myself in 1985, eating chips from the paper with him next to me.
His death can’t be the end to his story.
I won’t let it.
I’m going to bring him back to life.
I begin scanning the pictures I’ve taken: the mural, the Concrete Fingers promo piece, his photo.
It feels good to be moving forward, and the throb of grief feels more distant the more I focus.
The song trails off, ‘Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve)’ taking over.
My phone buzzes and I open Georgia’s TikTok: ‘Out with my fam.’ They’re on a rollercoaster, mouths open in a scream, but their eyes are bright.
Georgia is in the middle, bracketed by both her parents.
Heather is flushed, even mid-scream and she still looks every bit the most popular girl in school and Spence…
I take a breath, hit like, and turn my phone off.
I don’t need distractions. I have a job to do.
It’s dusk by the time I close the screen.
I’ve collated all the information I have in chronological order.
The timeline from the first letter until his death all blocked into a spreadsheet.
Tomorrow, I will start looking for his family.
For Kate. And hopefully they will be able to explain about Alice, or, well, me.
Find out if I did accidentally time trav—
There is a knock at the door and I crick my neck before opening it. Spence is holding on to the door frame, face flushed, like he’s been running.
‘Spence?’
‘You weren’t answering your phone,’ he says, stepping past me.
‘I was working. What’s wrong?’
I frown as he straightens his hair and looks around. The wall now bare, the house tidy.
He rubs at his forehead, like there’s a stain that he’s trying to get rid of.
‘Let’s… sit, eh?’ I say.
He frowns, eyes off in the distance.
‘Spence?’
He nods, slumping onto the sofa.
‘I thought you were at Alton Towers?’
‘I was. We were.’
‘And…’ I prompt. ‘How did it go?’
He scratches behind his ear. ‘It was good.’
‘And they’re getting on?’
He nods; Spence is practically vibrating with nervous energy.
‘Yeah. I mean, Heather is trying a bit too hard, but…’ His head dips, his leg bouncing. ‘I don’t know, Al. I don’t know what to feel. I mean, she seems genuine, she’s different.’
I soften my voice. ‘But good different?’
‘Yeah.’ He leans back against the sofa closing his eyes.
I curl my feet beneath me. ‘Well, that’s good… isn’t it?’
He turns his head towards me, opening his eyes. ‘What if this is all a big mistake? I’ve let her into our lives… What if she leaves again?’
I reach out and take his hand in mine. ‘But what if she doesn’t?’
‘I think I’m just as scared of that as I am of her leaving.’
My stomach flips at the implication of his words.
The deep-seated anger that I would feel at Heather, when I’d take over the night feeds so Spence could get some sleep.
The fear he had to shoulder when Georgia had a fever fit.
He was only nineteen then, nineteen with a two-year-old.
He’d called me at uni, sobbing down the phone. All of it comes rushing back.
‘So where are they now?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
‘Hmmm? Oh. Going to buy some stationery stuff. They’ve started scrapbooking.’
I think of my handwriting in Georgia’s baby books. First Word: Da-da.
‘Spence, why are you here?’
‘I… I just got freaked out. It’s all going so well and… You should see her, Al. George. It’s like…’ He brushes a hand through his hair. ‘It’s like this light is there, now she’s let her in. It’s like she’s been missing this for her whole life, and I can’t fuck it up for her.’
There is a pang, an ache in my chest as I reach for him. ‘Spence, you are the best father, the best person I know. All of this, this is Heather’s mistake to fix. Not yours.’
He exhales long and hard. ‘I thought I was enough, but seeing George like this…’
‘Listen to me, Spence.’ I lean forwards, cupping the sides of his face. ‘You are enough. Do you hear me? You are enough. You are perfect. Perfectly you.’
Something in the air changes, and his eyes meet mine, as though he’s searching for an answer to a puzzle. There is a split second. A strange ache in the pit of my stomach. I drop my hands, smile up at him breezily and try to eradicate the charged energy around us.
‘Al…’
‘Hmmm?’ I smile up, my pulse speeding through me.
‘Am I making a mistake? With Heather?’
I want to scream Yes. I want to warn him that she might rip his heart out and leave him and Georgia alone. But my throat contracts. What right do I have to say that? This could be a good thing; he’d have what he always wanted.
‘Am I making a mistake?’ The repeated question feels loaded.
My throat dries, and I’m finding it hard to swallow.
‘Should I stop, before… before things go any further?’ Things…
things… For a second, I’m back at Spence’s house, the week after Ryan left.
His mouth on mine, the frantic pull and tear of our clothes, the way we’d fit.
Then the roll of fear and regret that had made me leave in a rush.
I push the images away. We both agreed it was a mistake. We were drunk. I was upset; he was…
‘No, Spence. I don’t think it’s a mistake, just… take it one step at a time. See how it feels. You don’t have to rush into a life-long commitment.’ I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. I look away from him, eyes landing on the papers on the coffee table.
‘So…’ He leans forwards, reaching for the photo of Michael. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about all of this?’
I’m grateful for the change in conversation.
‘I… I’ve decided that I want to continue with the story.
Give him life again, if that makes sense?
’ Spence tilts his head; his eyes scan my face as though he’s trying to find an answer to a question I don’t know.
I continue. ‘I thought I would track down his family. Ask them face to face for their permission to share his story… now I know his real name, the date of his death…’
‘You’re going back to Yorkshire?’
I nod. ‘I’d like to meet them, to share his letters…’ I don’t say, find out if it was me he met in 1985.
He reaches for one of the letters, the one where he tells me about Soho. ‘Then what, Al?’
‘Then… write the piece, I guess, and try to salvage my career. It was always history that I loved, digging into the past. The stuff me and Ryan did was never where my heart lay. I realise that now… Maybe it’s time. Time to go back.’
‘To London?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe. Moving back here… It feels like I’ve run away instead of fighting for what’s mine. Like I’m stalling. I need to move forwards, not stay stuck in the past.’
Outside, a baby cries, a bus idles beside the kerb.
‘Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.’ There is an edge to his words.
‘Yeah. Maybe. This was only ever supposed to be a short-time stay. Just until I… got myself sorted.’
‘Looks like we’ve both got some big decisions to make.’ He digs out his phone, eyes scanning the message. ‘I’d better get back…’ He stands, digging his hands in his pockets. ‘Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll come with you.’
I’m about to interrupt, to tell him he doesn’t need to.
But he takes a breath, pausing at the door. ‘You don’t have to do this alone. You never have.’
I don’t have the words to answer.