There was a splintering as the ancient wooden frame cracked and the glass panes shattered into infinite shards. They seemed to teeter there for a moment, fighting against the pull of gravity and the long drop down, before Auntie Sue grabbed the back of Mum’s kaftan, clutching a fistful of fabric and yanking her sister away from the precipice.
Rachel’s arms flailed wildly and desperately, grasping for something to save her from the fall, but there was nothing except the night. She toppled backwards, plummeting soundlessly through the darkness, down towards the harbour far below.
Silence.
The curtains billowed in the breeze and the bathroom was filled with cold, briny air. Auntie Sue shuffled to the window and peered down.
‘Isabelle!’ Mum rushed to me, looping her arms around me and slowly raised me out of the bath, my body wracked by uncontrollable shivers. She turned the tap off and wrapped a towel around me, rubbing my back, then took the knife from the dressing table. With steady hands, she cut the plastic ties from my wrists. Cooing a soft lullaby, she started to peel off my wet clothes.
Adam appeared at the door.
‘Izzy! Oh, dear god. We came as soon as we realised! I just got off the phone, the police are on their way. I’m so sorry, I should have…’
‘Don’t, honestly – I’m OK. Is Rachel…?’
Auntie Sue shook her head.
‘How did you know I was in trouble?’ I said through chattering teeth.
‘The message you sent – well, the message that was sent from your phone. I could tell right away it wasn’t you,’ said Adam. ‘You would never not be there for the kids. Also, it was signed it off with “xxx”. That’s how Rachel signs off.’
‘You weren’t yourself at all, I just knew something wasn’t right. I should have realised sooner.’ Auntie Sue was fighting back tears. ‘It was weird, the way Rachel had followed you out. Mike broke down when I asked him if there was anything he wasn’t telling us. I’ll never forgive him for this.’
Mum said nothing. She hummed her lullaby as she rubbed my back, rocking me gently, and I melted into her, surrendering myself to her care. The distant wail of a siren grew louder, and soon the bathroom walls were lit up by flashing blue light.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Quick! She’s coming on now!’
We were crowded into the living room at Amy’s – I still thought of it as Amy’s – and gathered around the television.
‘Quiet, everyone!’ I shushed the excited chatter as the presenter introduced the next guest.
‘Many of us have experienced the pain of losing a loved one, but few have managed to turn that into a positive thing. One person who has done that very successfully is Hannah Sanders from Northumberland, who created a platform for teenagers to access mental health support after she lost her mum in a road accident. And we’re very pleased to have Hannah with us today.’
We collectively gasped as the camera panned out, revealing Hannah sitting on the iconic red sofa. Her long blond hair had been blow-dried and she was wearing the outfit we had chosen together – her leather jacket over a printed tea-dress and Amy’s old shell necklace.
‘Hannah, tell us – where did the idea for MySelfHan come from?’
‘Well, after my mum died, it was very hard to talk about my feelings…’ I mouthed the words with her as she said them. ‘…And I found that it was easier to communicate with my friends through social media. I supposed it’s because young people like me, we’ve grown up with everything being online, and we’re sometimes more comfortable with that.’
She smiled. That’s good, Han – remember to smile.
‘It began with posting how I was feeling, and the strategies I was using to cope. At first it was just my friends, and it sort of just grew from there. Then I realised that what I was going through could help other teenagers who were facing a tough time, so I started to share more widely.’
The screen cut to show images from Hannah’s Instagram, then of Hannah speaking at an event.
‘It’s a fantastic story, Hannah,’ the presenter smiled, ‘and once again we see how powerful social media can be. And yours in particular – I understand you’ve been nominated for an award?’
Hannah squirmed in her seat and blushed. She still wasn’t used to being the centre of attention. ‘I have, yes – I’ve been nominated for a Gleam Award. And while it’s lovely to be recognised, there are lots of really amazing people up for prizes, and I’m just happy to be part of it.’
The presenter beamed at her. Hannah seemed to have this effect on everyone these days – people found it impossible not to like her. Amy would have burst with pride.
‘Hannah Sanders – thank you very much for joining us.’
We cheered and applauded as the show cut to the next segment. I let out a sigh of relief – it had gone so well.
It was all part of the plan that Adam had put together for her – his vision was that Hannah would be an early pioneer of a new generation of influencers with more depth. She had content pillars, editorial calendars, and a weekly call with Adam to go over the engagement analytics. For Hannah, it was all about helping people who needed it. A fitting tribute to her mum.
I worried that it was too much pressure, but she had assured me she would stop if ever it got to the point that it was no longer fun – and promised us that schoolwork would always come first. I would be glad when she got home tonight. At least in Seahouses, she could melt back into her normal life and be a regular teenager – not an online celebrity with sixty thousand followers. Mike and I had even
