Stand By Me: The uplifting and heartbreaking best seller you need to read this year

Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © S.D. Robertson 2018

Cover photographs © Stephen Carroll/Arcangel Images

Cover design © Lisa Horton/Avon 2018

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: 9780008223458

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780008223465

Version 2018-08-17

Praise For S.D. Robertson:

‘A heartbreaking tale of love, grief and devotion.’ The Sun

‘Exceptionally beautiful, emotionally charged and inspirational.’

Miranda Dickinson

‘Keeps you guessing to the turn of the last page. S.D. Robertson writes with brave assurance that makes the story a must-read and marks him as an author to follow.’ Stewart Foster

‘A wonderfully told tale of devastation, grief and ultimately hope, with a narrative that grips from the start and doesn’t let go until the final page.’ Kathryn Hughes

‘What’s really, really clever about this book is that you don’t realise you’ve been drawn in until it’s too late to stop. The story leaves you sliding down an emotional knife edge until you freefall. It’s soft, subtle, and engaging, then devastating.’ Helen Fields

‘Real. Emotional. Powerful. A must-read for anyone who loves to lose themselves completely in a book.’ Claudia Carroll

‘S.D. Robertson’s writing is so vivid and real that it takes you right there, into each moment with the characters and once you’re there, there’s no escape. You feel everything they feel.’ A Novel Thought

‘One of those unique books that once read will truly stay with you for a lifetime.’ Compelling Reads

‘A strong contender for my favourite book of the year … Emotional, heart-warming, tragic, bittersweet, charming and very, very satisfying.’ Silver Thistle

‘Gave me hope, renewed my faith and made me feel like there is more to look forward to on the other side of life than just an empty space.’ Comfy Reading

‘A sad, sweet, thought-provoking tale about the love and bond between parents and children.’ Lovereading

Dedication

For Claudia and Kirsten

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise For S.D. Robertson:

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1: Now

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Then

Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Now

Chapter 6: Then

Chapter 7: Now

Chapter 8: Then

Chapter 9: Now

Chapter 10: Now

Chapter 11: Then

Chapter 12: Now

Chapter 13: Then

Chapter 14: Now

Chapter 15: Then

Chapter 16: Now

Chapter 17: Now

Chapter 18: Now

Chapter 19: Now

Chapter 20: Now

Chapter 21: Then

Chapter 22: Now

Chapter 23: Now

Chapter 24: Now

Chapter 25: Then

Chapter 26: Now

Chapter 27: Now

Chapter 28: Now

Chapter 29: Then

Chapter 30: Now

Chapter 31: Now

Chapter 32: Now

Chapter 33: Then

Chapter 34: Now

Chapter 35: Then

Chapter 36: Then

Chapter 37: Now

Chapter 38: Now

Chapter 39

Chapter 40: Now

Chapter 41: Now

Epilogue: Now

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by S.D. Robertson

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Pain. That was the last thing he remembered. Excruciating, relentless, all-encompassing pain. The kind that focuses your mind absolutely, driving out all other thoughts as it pierces through your defences with shuddering ease.

The past, the future. Neither existed at that moment. There was only the present, rolling in ultra-slow motion.

No air, no up or down. A rag doll on a spin cycle: his tears invisible; his cries unheard.

That pain, dwarfing every other feeling. Had it been there a moment or forever?

He just wanted it to end. And finally, after rising to a blinding crescendo of agony, it did.

Blissful nothingness swooped down from the heavens above and engulfed him.

His return to consciousness was gradual and unexpected. As he became aware of himself again, it was as a detached series of thoughts and memories floating in the darkness. The echo of his torment remained in the background: a low hum, gone but not forgotten.

It was this way for some time. Then, hidden within that low hum, he began to hear the faint murmur of something else.

Was that someone whispering?

He had to strain to hear it, so quiet was the sound. But the harder he concentrated – the more he strove to tune in – the louder it grew, until eventually he identified a voice, androgynous in tone.

It took longer still to comprehend the actual words, delivered in a sing-song manner that was neither quite human nor robotic. At first he heard what appeared to be gibberish. Another language perhaps, but not one he recognised. And yet as he focused his mind on the sound, piece by piece, word by word, he gradually began to understand.

It was one sentence, repeated on loop: ‘Follow the light to its source and find yourself.’

Light? What light? There was only darkness here.

Wasn’t there?

He looked all around. Saw nothing.

And then the briefest flicker of white in the far distance.

It was barely anything – and yet it was something.

Something that wasn’t pain.

A purpose.

CHAPTER 1

NOW

Friday, 20 July 2018

What time had Mike started drinking? He’d seemed merry when Lisa had got home from work, but she’d let it go. It had been nice to see him smiling for once, even if it was artificially induced, and she’d assumed he’d only had a couple of beers. It must have been considerably more than that, though, for him to be so far gone now.

It was no secret that her husband liked a tipple; in recent weeks, they’d spoken several times about how the frequency of his drinking had increased since he’d stopped working. She’d voiced her fears that it was getting out of control and he’d argued otherwise. At best, this had come in the form of calm reassurances that he wouldn’t let it escalate too far. At worst, it had been a slanging match, with him shouting at her to get off his back and her calling him an alcoholic. Not that Lisa actually thought he was. Not yet. She just wanted to shock him into cutting back before it really did get out of hand. But maybe she’d misjudged the situation.

‘What’s wrong?’ Mike asked. ‘Don’t you like it here?’

Lisa wanted to point out that he was slurring his words, despite the fact it was barely 8 p.m. and they were still waiting for their starter to arrive at the restaurant. But at the same time she didn’t want to ruin the evening. He’d arranged it as a surprise to celebrate their wedding anniversary: an unusually thoughtful gesture. So much so that when he’d told her this morning, before she’d set off for school, her initial response had been to wonder what he’d done wrong and was trying to make up for. She’d not vocalised this, thankfully. Nor had she expressed her concern about the cost of a decent meal out in Manchester. They could barely afford to get takeaway in their village; never mind get a taxi to and from the city centre for the privilege of enjoying overpriced food and drink. That was the cold hard truth. But she’d weighed up the matter at work, where it had been the final day of term before the summer holidays, and decided to throw caution to the wind for once and enjoy a rare night out.

So Lisa had dug a pair of heels and her favourite black dress out of the wardrobe; she’d used the curling tongs to add some life to her dull, limp blonde hair for the first time in ages, and made more than the usual cursory effort with her make-up. Mike had worn the smart navy shirt she’d bought for his birthday, swapping his usual jeans and trainers for chinos and tan brogues.

But she couldn’t enjoy being with him when he was so plastered. He might be sitting up straight and behaving himself so far, but his eyes had gone – and that was never a good sign. Being out with her husband in that state was like riding in a speeding car without a seatbelt on.

‘Hello? Earth to Lisa.’

‘What was that?’ she replied at last, shaking her head in a bid to focus.

‘I asked whether you liked it here or not, but you were miles away. What’s up?’

‘Oh, nothing. Sorry. I was thinking about work.’

‘Anything I can help with?’

‘No, it’s not important,’ Lisa fudged. ‘It’ll take me a few days to switch off, that’s all.’

‘I apologise if I’m boring you,’ he said before taking a long swig from his pint of lager, his eyes darting around the restaurant, looking everywhere except in her direction.

Lisa took a deep breath. Things were on a knife edge already, which did not bode well. Thankfully, a young female waiter turned up with their starters. She beamed a toothy grin at them. ‘Hi, folks. So who’s having the butternut squash soup tonight?’

Lisa raised her right hand and smiled back as the girl presented her with the large white bowl, two-thirds full with its steaming orange contents and central swirl of sour cream. ‘There you go. Enjoy.’ She turned to Mike. ‘And the beef carpaccio for you, sir?’

He smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Lisa noted her husband’s eyes lingering a moment too long on the waitress’s ample chest, on display in a partly unbuttoned white blouse, as she leaned over the table with his plate. How embarrassing, she thought, her fingers squeezing her thighs under the table. The girl looked young enough to be his daughter, for God’s sake. And Lisa couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at her with that degree of lust. They’d barely touched each other in months.

She bit her tongue, lowering her nose over the soup bowl instead to breathe in the aroma. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said. ‘That smells delicious. Yours looks lovely too. Excellent choice coming here, love.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

‘Why not? You springing this on me is a lovely surprise. And of course I’m not bored. I just need a little time to get into school holiday mode. You know how it is.’

‘Not any more,’ Mike said.

‘Oh, come on. Let’s focus on the positives and enjoy ourselves. I’m very impressed. You thought of everything, even arranging for the kids to have sleepovers tonight. Anyone would think you were trying to get me alone.’

This made Mike smile, as she’d hoped it would. He’d always been a sucker for flattery. Feeling the tension dissipate, she allowed herself to sit back in her chair and enjoy a sip of her gin and tonic, trying to heed her own advice.

Things were all right for a while. Although it was still obvious to Lisa that Mike was drunk, he managed to behave himself throughout the starter and main course. This was partly down to her efforts to keep the conversation light and chatty, avoiding danger topics and even engaging in some light flirting with him. She did her best to appear relaxed and happy, although in truth she felt like a firefighter tackling a smouldering blaze near a petrol station. She went with his suggestion to get a bottle of red wine to accompany the steaks they’d both ordered, but drank more than she usually would in a bid to reduce his intake. This backfired when, without warning, he grabbed a passing waiter and ordered a second bottle.

Feeling tipsy now, Lisa couldn’t stop herself from intervening. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, grabbing the waiter’s arm before he had a chance to leave and then looking at her husband. ‘Is that really necessary, love? Don’t you think we’ve had enough?’

The look Mike gave her in return was thunderous. ‘Ignore my wife, please,’ he said with feigned calmness, his eyes locked on to her face, daring her to contradict him again.

The waiter, not much older than his female co-worker and probably also a student, shuffled awkwardly on the spot, looking from one to the other. ‘Um. What, er—’

‘I said to bring me another bottle of red,’ Mike snapped, raising his voice loud enough so that several nearby diners turned to look.

‘Yes, of course, sir. Right away.’ He shot towards the bar without looking at Lisa again and her heart sank.

Mike thumped his right fist into the top of the small dining table, causing a loud clattering sound that drew yet more inquisitive glances. ‘What the hell was that?’ he growled. ‘Are you trying to make me look like an idiot?’

‘You do that all by yourself when you thump tables and raise your voice in public, Mike. Excuse me for daring to question whether we need another bottle of wine or not.’

Lisa realised at this moment, mortified by her husband’s behaviour, that she barely recognised him as the man she’d married sixteen years earlier. Physically he hadn’t changed that much. He still had the same broad shoulders, brown eyes, olive skin and thick stubble she’d fallen in love with when they’d met as trainee teachers. Even his short black hair wasn’t that different, despite receding a little and gaining some flecks of grey. No, these changes were on the inside, which was worse. The very public collapse of Mike’s career had mentally scarred him in all kinds of ways – and Lisa feared that the funny, kind, driven man she’d once adored may have disappeared for good.

‘If I want another bottle, I’ll have one,’ he slurred.

‘Don’t you think that maybe you’ve had enough?’

‘Oh, here we go. I was waiting for this.’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I could tell you were pretty plastered when we arrived – and now you’re embarrassing me. How much did—’

‘I’m the embarrassing one?’ he replied. ‘That’s rich coming from you. I go to the effort of organising this, and how do you repay me? By making me look stupid in public. Thanks very much. You’ve ruined everything now. Bloody typical.’

Lisa shook her head. ‘I think you’ll find—’

She was interrupted by the return of the waiter, who avoided looking at her as he delivered Mike’s wine and unscrewed the cap. ‘Here you are, sir. Would you like to try it first?’

Mike shook his head and gestured for him to fill his glass. After he’d done so, the waiter’s eyes fell on Lisa’s glass; he hesitated before looking in her direction. ‘Madam, would you, um, like me to—’

‘No, thank you. My husband will be drinking the bottle alone.’

Lisa regretted saying this almost straight away – not because of how it made Mike look, but because it further embarrassed the waiter, who was just a young guy doing his job. He nodded awkwardly before leaving the bottle in the middle of the table, clearing away the unwanted remains of their main course, and scuttling off, leaving the pair of them scowling at each other.

Mike was seething. That much was obvious. But so was Lisa – and she’d not been the one to start the row. Usually she did her utmost to avoid such confrontations, but buoyed by the alcohol and a sense of injustice, she had no intention of backing down on this occasion.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad we came out to celebrate our anniversary like this. How lovely.’

Her husband’s reply was to empty his glass in one go before pouring himself another. ‘Happy?’ he asked her.

‘Ecstatic,’ she replied, standing up and removing her handbag from the seatback.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Toilet. Is that okay with you?’ Then before Mike had a chance to react, Lisa grabbed his glass and threw the wine in his face. Leaving behind the sound of his spluttering and shouting, she sprinted for the exit, retrieving her jacket from the coat stand on the way and instructing the bemused receptionist that her husband would settle the bill.

The first thing she did after hitting the pavement was laugh. She howled like a maniac as she made her way to the nearest taxi rank, no longer minding that people were staring. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, but she knew where it had come from. That was repressed frustration bursting out. Lisa knew the tiptoeing around her husband couldn’t last forever. She’d desperately tried to give him enough space to lick his wounds. But there was only so much time she could wait for him to pick himself back up. For too long there had been a tightness in her chest; a knot in her stomach. She’d squashed down her feelings, like a coiled spring; it felt great to release them at last.

However, her elation began to fade in the taxi home to Aldham, giving way to the realisation that she and Mike had major issues to iron out. She didn’t exactly feel guilty about throwing the wine, still believing her husband had driven her to it. But she was ashamed at how they’d behaved in public. She imagined how mortifying it would be if someone they knew had witnessed it.

‘Late night at the office?’ the driver asked her as they sped through the city streets.

Charming, she thought, wondering who would go to work in heels and a cocktail dress.

‘I’m a primary school teacher, so no,’ she snapped, pulling her mobile out of her bag to avoid further conversation. Luckily, he got the hint and turned on the radio.

It was 8.42 p.m. and still broad daylight, emphasising how strange it felt to be heading home so soon. At least she knew she’d have the house to herself when she got back. Until Mike followed her, of course, although she hoped that wouldn’t be for some time.

Lisa looked down again at her phone and noticed she was gripping it so tightly that her fingertips had gone white. Mike hadn’t contacted her so far. Her guess was that, despite the soaking she’d given him and the inevitable red wine stains on his clothes, he’d stay out drinking by himself, drowning his sorrows and telling his sob story to anyone who’d listen. She didn’t want to think about the row they’d eventually have; it was as well that the kids were out.

At home she kicked off her heels, changed into her dressing gown and flopped on to the couch with a cup of tea. She had promised herself a large glass of white, but that was before the booze from earlier started to wear off, making her feel grotty. More alcohol was the last thing she wanted.

She was flicking aimlessly through TV channels when her phone vibrated on the coffee table. Rather than Mike, it turned out to be Sandra, a fellow teacher and her closest friend at work. She’d sent her a text message from the taxi, hinting at what had happened and hoping for a girlie chat.

‘Hello?’

‘Lise, hi. Are you okay?’

‘Not really. Tonight’s romantic meal turned into a disaster.’

‘How come?’

She recounted the story, veering from tears to laughter and then back again in the process.

‘Oh my God,’ Sandra said. ‘I can’t believe you did that. Was it a full glass of red?’

‘Yes. Was that terrible of me?’

Sandra giggled. ‘Sounds like he had it coming. And he didn’t say anything afterwards?’

‘I didn’t wait around to find out. I jumped straight in a taxi and came home. I’m sure he’ll have something to say when he gets back.’

‘When are you expecting him?’

‘No idea. Do you think I should call his mobile or send him a message?’

‘Gosh, I really don’t know, Lise. Whatever you think is best. He’s had some time to cool down now, but it’s a tricky one.’

‘He’s probably getting plastered in a bar somewhere, moaning about his psycho wife.’

Sandra, who had only met Mike a handful of times, asked: ‘Don’t be offended by this, but, um, he’s not likely to hurt you or anything, is he? You know, if he comes back in a state. Because if you need somewhere safe—’

‘Mike would never lay a finger on me,’ Lisa replied. ‘He has his faults, but he’s not that kind of man. Thanks for caring, though.’

‘Well, you’re always welcome here. You know that.’

‘You’re a good friend, Sandra, but I’ll be fine. There’ll be a big row at some point, I’m sure, but nothing I can’t handle.’

Lisa felt better after ending the call. It was always good to chat to a friend for moral support at challenging times.

She finished her cup of tea and picked up the remote control to unmute the television. A programme about border control at Australian airports was showing. She was about to flick over but got hooked by the tales of people trying to smuggle in contraband.

Watching this made her think about her childhood friend Elliot, or El as she often called him. Although he’d lived down under for the past two decades, he still regularly popped into her thoughts. They’d been best friends throughout their years at secondary school, only for him to emigrate after their A-levels. They’d written regular letters to each other at the start, but eventually these had petered out as life got in the way.