S.D. Robertson - Stand By Me - The uplifting and heartbreaking best seller you need to read this year

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 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

‘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

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

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.

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.