Page 53 of The Edge of Always

‘I’m mostly posted abroad.’

‘To, like dangerous places?’

‘It’s not so dangerous, honestly.’

I roll my eyes.

‘What?’

‘Just stop being humble about it. You always were too humble about your brain. You should be proud of it – it’s a solid brain.’

A smile. ‘Well, when you put it like that.’

More eating. ‘No, but seriously, it’s pretty safe.’

‘What made you do it? Over like just getting a job in a hospital like normal doctors?’

He shakes his head. Okay, so he hates that idea. ‘I always wanted to travel, to get away…’

I think of young Emmett and all of his National Geographic magazines.

‘Yeah, but I thought you meant backpacking around Laos, not dodging land mines in – where did you just get back from?’

‘Somalia.’

‘Yeah, Somalia.’

‘No land mines though.’

‘Right, well, that’s good then.’

‘It is. I don’t think I’d be able to focus on work so much if I was dodging land mines the whole time.’

‘Land mines are no laughing matter, Emmett.’

‘No, I suppose they aren’t.’ He smiles. ‘I don’t know, initially, I think I just wanted to get as far away from home as I could, after uni. I feel comfortable moving around a lot and I can relate to people living difficult lives. Not that I grew up in a war zone, or anything like that. Though The Edge felt like it came with proverbial landmines.’

‘Come on, it wasn’t that bad.’

‘It really was, Luna.’

It’s strange how my memories of The Edge are those of a child. When I was younger, I was sure that The Edge was such a cool place to grow up, a fun little community. Of course, as an adult, I can see it for what it was: a pocket of poverty, tucked away on a cliff edge. Mostly, I can see that.

‘Hey, remember when that couple from plot forty-three held a swingers party in their caravan and someone called the police?’

‘The police were always at The Edge. Mae was at the party, wasn’t she?’

‘Yeah. She said she never realised that dicks could go wrinkly.’ I laugh at the memory.

A lady at the table next to ours in a perfect pink two-piece gives me a dirty look.

Emmett sees, and then he’s laughing even harder.

‘Stop it,’ I tell him. ‘You’re going to get me thrown out of Paris. And I can’t believe you just compared a war zone to Northumberland – which is lovely.’

He stills a little, more serious all of a sudden. ‘That was part of the problem, though. You always wanted to stay, and I always wanted to leave.’

Ah. It had been nice, to have a break from being sad for a while, even for a few minutes. At least I got to enjoy the hot chocolate of my dreams before it came back. Because Emmett certainly did leave. He left me, on the side of a cliff, weighed down with so much guilt it threatened to flatten me.