Page 81 of The Edge of Always

She shakes her head. ‘Mr Gregor would know.’

‘But you don’t have a contact for him?’ The thought of someone that I don’t know having a painting of me after I’m dead is strange and uncomfortable.

Another head shake. ‘He said he would be in touch. He is very unusual man.’

‘Will you tell us?’ I ask, talking quickly. ‘If he contacts you, you’ll tell us?’

‘If you like. We have the painting for six months at least.’

I try to do the maths in my head. Maths was never my strong suit, but I know that I’ll be cutting it fine.

MAM is open to the public now, and I’m keen to avoid another swarming. But I don’t want to go either.

The Answer is Always in the Art.

What answer? What was Earl trying to tell me?

He could have made this a little easier. Emmett is standing next to me, staring intently at the painting.

‘Before, when you said Earl would have wanted us to be friends. I think you were right.’

I might be imagining it, or maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I’m almost sure that when I say we’ll be friends, some of Emmett’s smile wanes. That’s all we can ever be, though. Because whatever happens beyond Paris, whatever questions remain unanswered, I am leaving. Ultimately, I’m leaving to a place that no one can follow me to. And that’s the truth of it.