HARRY 

I wake from a fitful sleep to a gentle breeze wafting into the tent through the partially open flap, the distinct smell of seaweed turning my stomach at this early hour of the morning. Seagulls are happily yakking to each other overhead, and as I open my eyes and realise it is daylight, my gaze falls on an empty space next to me.

I roll over and sit up, staring at the sleeping bag and air mattress that still bears a vague shape of Chloe's form, an incomprehensible sense of dread engulfing me. The thick, foamy crashing of the sea and the screeching gulls are the only noises I can hear; there is not a peep of Chloe inside or outside the tent. Pushing my own open sleeping bag off me, I grab a pair of boxer shorts and pull them up hastily before crawling through the tent flap and onto the sand, shading my eyes from the glare of the sun above as I scan the beach left and right for any signs of her. Towards the opposite end, past the entrance and towards the northern cliffs, I can see what looks like a man wearing shorts, a tshirt and a baseball cap throwing a ball for his dog who is jumping over the waves in excitement to reach his prize. Other than this, the beach is empty. 

I try not to panic; she could have simply walked to the café to fetch a cup of tea and a bacon roll. But I can't shift this feeling of unease that is creeping through my veins, breeding fear and uncertainty in the deepest, darkest corners of my heart. A quick glance at my watch tells me it is nearly quarter past eight: time we should be making a move to avoid being seen camping on the beach by any early morning beachgoers. Trying to act as normally as I can, I duck back inside the tent and start packing my belongings into the bags, taking some comfort from the fact that all Chloe's possessions are still here, so surely she can't have gone far?

My mind wanders back to our conversation last night, and my offer of letting her go while I turn myself in alone. I meant what I said - I wouldn't ever grass her up. I would keep her name out of this as much as possible to allow her to get far away from here and keep her freedom. She seemed so opposed to the idea, but has she had a change of heart and fled in the night, leaving me to face the police alone? She wouldn't do that - would she?

Once I have packed my own things I start packing Chloe's for her. When the bags are all full and she has not reappeared I remove everything from the tent and begin dismantling it, looking over my shoulder every couple of seconds, searching for her hunched figure walking awkwardly over the sand towards me. If she had gone for breakfast, she would have been back long ago. Eventually there is nothing left for me to do, and I glance up and down the beach to make sure nobody is around before arranging half the bags on my back and around my shoulders, including the holdall containing all the money, and trudge carefully towards the entrance, peering into the empty café as I pass in case Chloe is there. She isn't.

I make my way up the concrete slope and turn left at the top into the gravel car park. There is room here for probably a hundred cars. The parking area itself is a couple of hundred feet long, narrow, and extends south along the cliff top; a grassy, overgrown verge about ten feet wide runs parallel to the edge of the cliff on a gentle downward slope towards the edge and serves as a kind of barrier to signal to the parking cars where to stop to avoid driving off the edge. Beyond the end of the parking area the undergrowth, comprising of various heathers and long grasses, continues along the line of the cliffs, snaking into the distance in the direction of the town centre. 

There is a handful of cars parked now, and to my relief our stolen vehicle is still there, exactly where we left it last night. As I walk towards it and blip it with the remote, I catch sight of a lone figure on the cliff top beyond, sitting in a mound of heather, with her arms around her knees, looking down the gentle slope in front of her and out to sea. The sight of her makes my heart jump, and then pound with relief. I throw the bags haphazardly into the boot and jog towards her, calling her name as soon as I am within earshot. She turns to look at me and I realise with a jolt of unease that she is crying. 

"Hey... hey, what's the matter?" I ask when I reach her. I crouch down next to her but she turns her face away from me, resting her left cheek on her knees, and doesn't answer. "I thought you'd left," I confess. "When I woke up and you weren't there - I panicked a bit." Still she says nothing, so I try again. "I've packed up all our stuff. I've just chucked half of it in the car but the rest is still on the beach. I think we need to get out of here. There are a few people arriving. We don't want anyone to recognise us."

She wipes her eyes with her hand and at last lifts her head to look at me. "Thanks. Would you mind bringing the remainder of the bags up? I'll meet you by the car."

I search her face for a clue as to why she is up here, all alone and crying, but she is looking at me expectantly, her eyes still red and the traces of tears on her cheeks, clearly waiting for me to respond to her request.

"Um, yeah, sure," I answer uncertainly. "Chloe - are you OK? Has something happened?"

She looks away again, pressing her lips together as fresh tears course down her cheeks. I want to probe further but her demeanour is closed and unwelcoming. I am torn between showing I care, and understanding when she doesn't want to talk. 

"OK... well, I'll just go and get the rest of our stuff, then," I tell her. "I'll be straight back. OK?"

She doesn't acknowledge me. After a couple of seconds I back away slowly a few feet across the gravel before turning and making my way past the car again onto the ramp leading to the beach. A young family is making their way down towards the sand ahead of me carrying a windbreaker, inflatable dinghy, buckets and spades and a two large bags no doubt containing towels and swimwear. They pause at the entrance to the café, the mother dropping a handful of coins into two eager, outstretched fists and issuing instructions of what they are allowed to purchase at not even nine o'clock in the morning. In a flash I imagine myself doing the same: my arms full of bags of beach toys, paying for ice creams for Sofía and Dylan, excited about a day at the beach splashing in the sea and building sandcastles. I wait until the family is thoroughly ensconced in what they are doing before slipping quietly past them and hurrying awkwardly around the corner across the soft sand to the alcove in the cliffs where I left our belongings.

I load myself up like a pack horse before making the journey slowly back to the car, waiting by the café with my head bowed, hiding my face from view, while several more families come down the slope towards me. By the time I have thrown everything into the boot of the car I am sweating profusely and have sand in places I shouldn't. I already regret not taking a dip in the sea before we left to start the day fresh but there is no time now. 

I glance across to the cliff top where Chloe is now standing, holding something in her hand that I can't quite see from this distance. I lock the car and advance towards her, keen to get out of here but reluctant to upset her already fragile state. I call out to her as I approach, my footsteps muffled by the grass underfoot, and she turns to me, dropping her hand to her side.

"Come on," I call. "We need to get out of here."

"I won't be a minute," she says softly. She has stopped crying but her tone is unmistakably melancholy. She looks out to sea again, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear with a sigh. I notice she is wearing the same dress she wore when we went to that restaurant the first night we arrived here a couple of weeks ago; the first night we slept together. It is flowery and floaty, and she looks pretty.

"You look nice," I tell her, cringing at my own awkwardness. I never know how to give compliments, so I usually avoid them.

She turns to me, a strange expression on her face. "Thanks."

"Are you ready?" I persist. "The car park's getting busy now. Lots of people around. Let's make tracks." She doesn't answer, but looks past me towards the road, looking north and then south. Something about this gesture unnerves me, and I search her face before dropping my gaze to her hand at her side. She is holding my iPhone. "What are you doing with that?" I ask.

She looks up at me and then follows my gaze to her hand before looking up at me again, meeting my eyes. She doesn't answer. She doesn't have to.

"Oh my God," I breathe. "Chloe... what have you done? What have you done?!" 

"Harry," she begins, her voice weak and quiet. "Harry, you don't have to be afraid."

Panic is rising in me; my throat feels tight and constricted and I clutch my neck impulsively, feeling my pulse thumping beneath my fingers. This cannot be happening.

"We need to get the fuck out of here," I choke, but my legs feel unusually heavy, my feet seemingly stuck to the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she says sadly, but I barely register her words. My mind is racing uncontrollably, my thoughts tripping over each other and making no sense. I can't think clearly, and if I can't think clearly I am going to be caught and taken into custody and my life as I know it is going to be over. I have relied on Chloe so much these past few weeks, that apparently I am now incapable of thinking for myself.

"I need to explain," she is saying. "Harry, please, I can tell you're panicking but you don't need to. You're off the hook. Please, just listen to me."

I don't know if it is my imagination but I can hear a distant siren. I look up, my heart in my mouth, and coming over the hill past the lighthouse are three police cars, lights flashing, sirens wailing. A cold sweat breaks out over my entire body and my eyes swim briefly out of focus.

She turns to follow my gaze and I watch as her eyes find the police cars coming towards us. She takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily; her entire body is trembling now and the colour is slowly draining from her face.

"Oh God," she whispers, her fingers moving to her face. "Oh God, I don't know if I can do this. I thought I was ready, but -"

"Ready?!" I echo in disbelief. "What the fuck, Chloe? I thought we were going to talk about this! I thought we were going to work out a plan, do this together! I can't believe you've gone behind my back like this! I fucking trusted you!"

I am blindsided by this betrayal: I never expected it in a million years. I was afraid she had done a moonlight flit; never did I suspect she would have called the police to turn us both in without any prior warning. But before I can berate her further she has started to back away from me, away from the entrance to the car park and towards the edge of the cliffs. I don't understand - she is the one who called the police, isn't she? So why is she now the one seemingly afraid of their arrival? I feel as though I am in the middle of a bizarre dream because nothing about this is making any sense.

"What are you doing?" I demand, glancing over my shoulder as the police cars turn one by one into the car park. "Chloe! Where are you going? Why are you running? Chloe!"

She has spun on her heel and is now running away from me and the police, tearing across the cliff top through the undergrowth, parallel to a thin wire fence with short, stubby wooden posts that edges the cliff face. I am hot on her heels, the car and our belongings forgotten, chasing her and screaming her name, begging her to stop and tell me what the fuck is going on. My whole world has suddenly upended upon itself without warning and I am struggling to get my head around what is happening. It doesn't feel real; it feels like I am watching it happen to someone else.

The sirens are loud, so loud now, and as I am running I can see a police car pulling up behind me in my peripheral vision, drawing level with me, overtaking me and then pulling ahead, coming to a stop sideways in front of Chloe and blocking her path. She skids as she attempts to come to a halt but then appears to change her mind and instead uses her right hand on one of the wooden fence posts to vault over the safety barrier, landing with both feet on the other side, now inches away from the edge of the cliff and teetering dangerously.

"Chloe!" I scream, tearing over to her as she looks behind her and down, clearly terrified, gripping the flimsy wire with both hands and beginning to edge along sideways, her heels only a couple of inches from the edge. "What are you doing, what are you doing?!" I scream at her, unable to contain my hysteria. 

She doesn't seem to be able to see or hear me, so blind is her panic. I grab her hands that are clenched tightly on the top of the wire mesh separating us and the physical contact seems to bring her to her senses. She looks down at my hands and then up at my face, her eyes wild and darting left and right. Her breath is coming in audible gasps and she is trembling from head to toe. I glance nervously at her feet, aware that if she misses her footing she will plummet several hundred feet onto the rocks below. 

"Chloe," I gasp, "what are you doing? Why are you running?"

"I'm frightened Harry," she confesses, her voice pleading and childlike, tears brimming in her eyes. "I was so brave on the phone. I told them everything; I thought it would make this part easier. But I'm scared, I'm not ready to face up to it."

I want to shake her. What the hell has she got to fear? I'm the murderer - she just got caught up in this stupid whirlwind. She was the tag-along; it was me who killed Chris, me who stole his money, me who went on the run with a guilty conscience and me who insisted we hide for the last month instead of facing up to what I did like a man.

A voice behind me makes us both look up before I can voice my inner confusion. Two police officers - one man and one woman - have climbed out of their car and are standing about ten feet away from us, both with outstretched hands. Their radios are crackling noisily and they both look rattled. It's not surprising really, considering they've just caught two fugitives; one wanted for murder, the other practically hanging off a cliff.

"Chloe, come back over the barrier," the woman instructs, clearly but softly. 

"I can't," Chloe whimpers. 

"You can," she states simply, in the same calm tone. "Hold on to the post with both hands, just like you're doing now, and swing one leg over. Harry, come here please and give Chloe some room."

"No!" Chloe screams, pulling her right hand from beneath mine to grab my forearm. "No, don't take Harry away, please!"

"I'm right here," I assure her softly, but she grips my arm tighter. "Let me help you back over, come on. You're going to fall."

"Will I go to prison?" she whimpers, lifting her head and directing this to the police officer. "I didn't mean to deceive anyone. I just didn't remember."

"Don't worry about that now," the officer says dismissively. "The important thing is that we get you out of here safely. We can sort the rest out later."

Her face is crumpling as a sob escapes; as her eyes squeeze shut, tears stream down both cheeks. "I'm sorry," she cries, pulling on my arm so I am forced to take a step closer to the fence. My feet are now pressing against the bottom of the thin, wire mesh in the undergrowth and I curl my hand around the top of the wooden fence post to steady myself. It wobbles under my grip and I realise with a sickening jolt to my stomach that this barrier is old and rotting, and is highly unlikely to support any great weight: it has probably been erected as a marker, a deterrent, to alert people to their proximity to the edge of the cliff, rather than preventing anyone from falling if they subjected it to any pressure.

"You need to climb back over," I tell her, ducking my head in front of her face to force her to look at me. "Chloe - are you listening? It isn't safe."

"It's you who isn't listening to me!" she cries. "I'm trying to tell you, Harry, but I can't find the words."

Behind us the policewoman is speaking into her radio, requesting emergency services back up. I hear the words 'ambulance' and 'fire brigade', but this only adds to the dreamlike feel of this whole situation. I turn my attention back to Chloe and ignore the police.

"It doesn't matter," I tell her, with great effort as I can't pretend to myself that the sting of her betrayal isn't still raw. "I forgive you, OK? We both knew I would have to turn myself in eventually. It's happened a bit out of the blue, I'll give you that much..."

She is shaking her head firmly, her brow creased in a frown, and I can feel anger and impatience rising from within me like a snake rearing to strike its prey.

"What?!" I demand, glaring at her, furious that she is choosing this moment to show weakness after all we have been through. "What, Chloe? For fuck's sake, pull yourself together! It's over now, ok? The game's up. We've been caught. Nothing matters now, we just have to face the consequences and get on with it."

She physically cowers under my fury, her knees buckling beneath her, but I have no sympathy for her. I ignore the terrified shouts from the police officers behind us and glare at her, wishing there was a more satisfying way to vent my anger and frustration at this loss of control. She brought this on herself by calling the police before we had even had time to discuss it, and now she is running scared like the little mouse she once was. I want to scream at her, shake her, push off this damn cliff. Instead I growl under my breath and take a step back from her which only makes her cry out in anguish.

"Harry, NO! Please, you have to hear me out, you have to let me explain! I want you to hear it from me, not the police!"

"Hear what?" I bellow. "Fucking hell, Chloe, just spit it out!"

My arms are grabbed roughly from behind and forced together behind my back. I hear a snap of handcuffs and the unmistakable feel of cold metal enclosing my wrist, but before I can be attached to an officer I hear Chloe's scream and watch in slow motion as the earth beneath her begins to crumble. Her hands scramble for the wooden post holding the fence in place and with impossible strength I didn't know I possessed I wrench myself free of the officer holding me and leap forward to grab Chloe's arm with my left hand and the wooden fence post with my right, to stop her from falling to her death. The fence post leans almost flat against the ground under the weight of the two of us, and the flimsy wire gives way completely. In less than a second we are suspended over the edge, Chloe's terrified shrieks piercing my ear, clinging to the crumbly, rotting post, our feet scrambling against the smooth concave surface of the cliff face unable to find a foothold. 

The police are panicking now, screaming down to us and shouting into their radios, yelling for the emergency services to get here faster and telling us to hold on, as if we're just going to fucking let go. We are literally being kept alive by the dry, parched earth housing the final twelve inches or so of the bottom of the post; earth that has already yielded enough to allow it enough room to lean almost flat. With too much more disturbance, the opposite end will flick up out of the ground and we will be left to plunge onto the rocks.

"Keep still!" I yell at her as she squeals in terror, still trying to find something to rest her foot on. "If you carry on wriggling it'll pull the post out of the ground and we'll both fall!"

She emits some kind of a squeak in response, and with evident hardship manages to stop kicking her legs and simply hangs there, her breathing coming in hysterical gasps, her body still shaking uncontrollably. She seems to have gradually surrendered her role as leader since I found her on the cliff top, crumbling from within and looking to me to take charge of the situation. 

"That's good, that's good," I encourage her, letting my legs dangle next to hers and craning my neck trying to see the base of the post, and just how precariously it is held in the ground. "Right - listen to me - I'm going to try and pull myself onto the grass -" She begins to scream again, and I push my face into hers to try to bring her to her senses. "I'm not going leave you, OK? But this post isn't strong enough to hold us indefinitely - if I can get myself up I can pull you up too. Just keep still!"

The female police officer is calling out to me, offering some sort of encouragement but I ignore her. Looking desperately around the cliff top for something I can grab onto, I try the only thing within reach: a large clump of grass with enough long strands hopefully to withstand my weight. I swing my legs gently just to give me momentum to reach the extra few inches towards my chosen hold, but immediately the post we are clinging to creaks again and leans lower still, now pointing a couple of degrees downwards from its previous flat position. Chloe lets out more hysterical screams.

"OK, OK," I shout, to the police as well as Chloe. "That's not going to work."

"The fire brigade will be here any minute!" one of the officers shouts. They are all standing several feet back from the edge, obviously realising the earth is too unstable to risk coming any closer without proper equipment. "They'll have a ladder to reach you, just hold on a little longer!"

"You hear that, Chloe?" I pant, my arms aching now from the strain of holding my own body weight. "Just a bit longer and we'll be rescued. You're doing great, girl. Just keep holding on."

"Harry," she whimpers, and I look directly into her eyes only inches from mine. "Harry, promise me you don't hate me."

"Course I don't hate you," I frown. "Why would I hate you?" 

"I swear to you I didn't remember. Not until last night - I had another dream. It was only then that I realised the truth."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I tell her, my mind unable and unwilling to try and work out the ramblings of someone clearly having some sort of breakdown. 

"Chris," she whispers, and that gets my attention. "I'm talking about Chris." Considering she sounds like she has lost her mind, her eyes are suddenly focussed and her voice, although trembling, is clear and coherent.

"What about Chris?"

More sirens are wailing in the distance, the sound of a fire engine this time, coming closer and closer.

"He was the one... the guy... the father of my baby."

My blood runs cold, a prickly sweat breaks out over my entire body and I almost let go of the wooden post in shock. I slip a few millimetres and she screams, her legs kicking in fear. The post leans another few degrees downwards. The frenzied shouting from the officials in the car park intensifies. The seagulls cry overhead.

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" I shout. My grip on the wood feels less secure than before, thanks to the slickness of my palms. My heart is beating faster than ever. What she said... it can't be true, can it? Or does everything now make perfect sense?

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she wails, her face red and blotchy as tears stream down her cheeks. "I couldn't bear to admit it. I was so ashamed, of all of it."

"Ashamed?" I demand, my own legs swinging from the exertion of shouting at her and from the adrenaline now zinging through my veins. "What for? He's the one who should be ashamed! I'd... I'd fucking KILL him, if he wasn't already dead! I'd kill him all over again! I only wish I hadn't done it already, so I could fucking enjoy it this time!"

I can't begin to describe the rage coursing through me at her revelation. If I disliked Chris before, it is nothing compared to the hatred, the loathing, the revulsion I feel now. I can barely see straight, such is my fury. My palms are twitching, desperate to hurt him, desperate to make him pay for what he has done to her, but I can't because I already did it.

"You didn't," she sobs. "You didn't."

I am struggling to see through the blur of my own wrath. My body is twisting and turning as I hang from this wretched pole, frustrated at not being able to release the anger within. "Didn't what?" I storm.

She stares into my eyes, her face the picture of misery yet a look of pure love in her eyes. "You didn't kill him, Harry."

I let out a bark of a laugh at the absurdity of her words. "What the fuck are you talking about?!" What the fuck is she on? Has she taken something? It would certainly explain the extreme behaviour.

"You didn't kill him.... I did. It was me."

I laugh harder, leaning my head back and staring up at the sky. She's lost the plot. Being cooped up with me for a month has sent her over the edge. No pun intended.

"You're off your rocker, you fucking nutcase!" I tease her, but she doesn't laugh. She continues to cry, staring into my eyes as though searching for something there.

"After you beat him up, I went back. I went to see if he was alive. I was going to call an ambulance. Only, he started coming round. He tried to move, tried to grab me. I was so frightened of him, he was a bloody mess. He smelled disgusting. But he was alive. And then he threatened me. He called me a frigid bitch, and said that once he was better, he would... he would make sure I didn't have a choice to refuse him next time."

I have stopped laughing. The seagulls have stopped calling, the police radios have fallen silent. The waves have stopped crashing, the earth has stopped moving. Nothing exists except the two of us, in this moment. 

"So I picked up a stone, a really heavy stone, and... I cracked his head open with it. I was so sick of living in fear of him, Harry. I had to do something to make sure he could never hurt me, or anyone else, ever again."

I am motionless, suspended over the edge of this fucking cliff, hanging on for my life, my only movements the involuntary shaking of my body at this revelation. Her eyes are still searching mine, staring deep into my soul.

"Chloe..."

I don't have any words. I can't even begin to form a coherent reaction.

"I went home. I think I blacked out or something. When I woke up, I didn't remember. I knew Chris was hurt, and I knew you had attacked him, but I didn't remember getting home. I swear to you Harry, if I had known it was me I never would have let you take the blame. I never would have run away with you, got close to you, fallen in love with you. I wouldn't do that, I'm not that type of person to lie so calculatingly..."

The world seems to have started turning again, with a wailing siren signalling the arrival of fire brigade in the car park, deafening us, the shouting of the various officers now lining the cliff top barely audible above the noise as they begin unloading a long ladder from the side of the truck and gesturing to us that they will have us to safety in no time.

"It's OK," I tell her, turning back to her as she casts a glance down at the ground below and lets out another whimper. "I promise you, Chloe, it's going to be OK."

"Do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you, of course I don't hate you -"

"Do you believe me? Do you believe that I didn't remember until now, that I wouldn't ever do anything to harm you, or deceive you, that I love you, I love you so much and I just want you to be happy..."

"I believe you!" I assure her, my voice shaking now as a lump forms in my throat. "Of course I believe you, you muppet. You've saved my skin too many times for you to have had some kind of ulterior motive."

She is nodding fervently, her face the picture of misery, her cheeks soaked with tears. "You're off the hook now," she sobs. "You'll probably get a short stretch for assault and perverting the course of justice. But you won't be charged with murder. You can get on with your life, just like you wanted. You can sort things out with Sofía. Be a proper dad to Dylan."

I'm the one shaking my head now, trying to comprehend what she is saying to me. So much has happened in the last five minutes, I'm struggling to take it all in. Suddenly my future doesn't seem quite so bleak, and the brief vision I had earlier, when I went back to the beach to fetch our stuff and saw the little family arriving for a day in the sun, seems distantly within reach. 

"You have to get help," Chloe is saying. "Promise me you'll speak to someone about your problems. See a proper counsellor. Take all the support you're offered, and more. You owe it to yourself, and to your family, Harry. Your destiny is yours now. Take control of it; grab it with both hands. Life is so short - I should know, I've lost people way before their time. You never know what is just around the corner, so seize every opportunity and make the most of your life. Be the person I know you want to be."

I am nodding, my mind spinning from her words. I feel as though I've been given a second chance at life, a second chance to make things right. I've hurt so many people, but perhaps this is my opportunity to make amends for everything I have done wrong in my life and make everyone proud; make my son proud.

"Promise me, Harry," she is saying. "Promise me you'll get help."

"I will," I vow, and I am surprised to feel tears running down my own cheeks as the reality of the what this means starts to sink in. "I promise you, I will."

"You'll be fine, Harry," she smiles through her tears. "You're so strong. Not like me. You're strong enough to get through all of this -"

Her words are cut off by a sudden jerk beneath our fingers. Chloe darts her eyes towards the base of the wooden post and lets out a wail of terror. I can see the earth slowly cracking and lifting around its base and I realise in horror that it isn't going to hold us any longer; we are about to fall out of the sky and from this height there is no chance either of us is going to survive.

"Help us!" I shout desperately to the fire officers who are now hurrying towards us with their ladders. "It's coming out of the ground, it isn't going to hold us! We're going to fall, PLEASE!"

"I love you, Harry," Chloe says suddenly, her voice louder and clearer than it has been since I found her on the cliff top. "Say you'll remember me - don't ever forget me, will you?"

"The fuck you talking about?" I choke miserably. "I'm not going to forget you, we're getting out of here, look, they're hear with the ladders now."

"Promise me you'll remember me," she begs again, and as the ground gives way further I realise, too late, what she is about to do.

"Chloe!" I scream. "Help!" I yell at the useless firemen still securing the ladders. "She's going!"

"Make sure you keep your promises," she pleads, and I watch as her grip loosens on the dry, flaking wood. "All of them."

"NO!" I scream at her. "Don't you fucking dare."

"I love you," she whispers one last time, and with her eyes fixed on mine she relinquishes her hold.

"Chloe!" I scream, unable to stop my body from thrashing, "No! I love you! I love you!"

It is too late. She is falling beautifully, gracefully, silently, her arms extended towards me like a ballet dancer mid pose, her dress billowing around her like an angel. 

I look to the heavens before she hits the ground. For a second I think I hear her screaming from the impact of the fall before I realise the blood-curdling sound is coming from my own mouth, inside my own head, drowning out all other senses and emotions; drowning out the firemen eventually pulling me onto the grassy earth of the cliff top, drowning out the frenzy of the paramedics charging fruitlessly across the rocks at the base of cliffs, drowning out the reality that the one person who has looked after me, kept me alive, been closest to me has just sacrificed herself for me, my family and my future.