Monday, 28 July 1986
Tenerife, Canary Islands
Debbie
The rock I’m standing on is only twelve inches long – just a foot stopping me falling into the water nearly five hundred feet below. The stone is cool under my bare feet.
It’s quiet; there aren’t many cars going past behind me. It must be late, or early. There’s a lovely warm breeze, one you don’t get in England when it’s dark. If it gets stronger, it might push me over the edge. Hitting water from this height is meant to be like landing on tarmac.
I’ve always been afraid of heights. What a strange time to conquer my fear. Nathan said this part of the cliffs is called La Gran Caída. Perhaps the name will be imprinted on my soul, alongside Bobby’s and Annie’s. I thought that when I had children, I’d become a better person. I think I’ve always had a badness, a sadness, inside me.
Why are my thoughts everywhere? They need to be here. I’m ridiculous, silly; my mother’s right. She’s always right. I’m useless to everyone. Everyone will be happier without me. Especially the children.
Oh God, no.
I can’t think about the children.
They have Peter. I’d only let them down again. What if I were left on my own with Annie again? I might kill her.
They’ll forget me soon enough. They’re young enough to erase me from their memory.
Breathe, breathe.
I’m surprised by how calm I am.
It’s like my mind was coated in tar, but now it’s been wiped clean.
I close my eyes.
So, this is how it ends.
I thought I’d be scared if ever I fell from such a height, but if I jump there’ll be nothing I can do about it.
The warm breeze skims my face again. I should be with my children right now, lying next to them, watching them sleep.
But I can’t. I’m not good enough for them. They’ll end up hating me.
Bobby, Annie, you were the loves of my life.
‘Debbie! For God’s sake, what are you doing?’
Is that the voice inside my head again?
I close my eyes. I don’t want anyone to stop me. I just want darkness.
Don’t look back. I can’t look back.
‘Debbie, come away from there!’
Before I have time to think, I’m turning around.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘It’s you.’
Present Day
Anna
My mother, Debbie, has been missing for thirty years, ten months and twenty-seven days. It’s her birthday the day after tomorrow – two days after mine. I’m three years older than she was when she was