Forget Me Never

SOPHIE
    My cousin Danielle was twenty-six when she died. According to the police she jumped from the balcony of her flat, which, in the words of my foster-mother, wasn’t a very nice way to go. What a stupid thing to say. Is death ever ‘nice’?
    My best friend Reece and I were the last people to see Dani alive. We’d been staying the weekend in her Bournemouth flat. I say her flat, but it actually belonged to Danielle’s friend Fay, who was backpacking around South America and had said Dani was welcome to use it.
    ‘Come over! It’ll be brilliant.’ Danielle had sounded so enthusiastic when she rang to invite me. ‘Stay for a week, two weeks – I’m right next to the beach. Loads to do. You’ll love it.’
    ‘I’ve got school,’ I said. ‘They probably wouldn’t approve of me taking a week out to splash about in the sea.’
    ‘Oh, yeah, school. Bummer. Well, whatever. Let’s make it a weekend.’
    Timewise it wasn’t ideal – it was just after Easter, and GCSE exams were breathing down my neck – but I went anyway. My foster-mum, Julie, was fine with me going – she said I deserved a break. I hadn’t heard from Danielle in ages, even though until recently she’d been working in north London, where I was living.
    So after school on Friday afternoon Reece and I got the train from Waterloo and Danielle met us on the platform at the other end, all smiles and carrying an enormous bag of rum-and-raisin fudge. She started chattering about the flat and the beach and her new job, which was a temporary one at an IT consultancy. We had fish and chips in town and then went for a walk along the seafront and tried out the fairground rides on the pier. Danielle knew the people running the air-rifle stand and they let us have a couple of free shots, which they probably regretted when Reece started arguing about the game’s rules. Reece had always liked the sound of his own voice – Danielle and I found the whole thing terribly funny and couldn’t stop laughing. It’s not that remarkable, but I’ll always hold on to that moment: a summer night when the light was starting to fade, a warm breeze ruffling my hair, sharing a joke with my cousin.
    On Sunday afternoon Reece and I were getting ready to leave when the flat’s doorbell buzzed. Danielle went to answer. I was in the other room at the time, so I don’t know if she said anything to the caller over the intercom, but the next thing I knew, I could hear footsteps running downstairs.
    ‘Does she always rush about like that?’ Reece asked.
    I shrugged. ‘Pretty much.’
    Reece went to the window, pressing his palms to it. ‘She’s talking to some bloke.’
    ‘He’s probably just selling something,’ I said. ‘Give me a hand with my case, will you? The zip’s stuck.’
    Half an hour later Danielle still hadn’t come back. She wasn’t outside the flat or picking up her mobile, so we had no choice but to head to the station. We’d booked two cheap seats on the 4.37 and I couldn’t see Julie being happy about forking out for a later train.
    ‘Bit off, Danielle not coming to say goodbye,’ Reece said as we left. ‘She’s a bit of a skitz, your cousin.’
    I felt a little disappointed that Danielle hadn’t returned, but it wasn’t as though it was the first time she’d let me down. She’d probably ring that evening, full of apologies.
    Later Reece and I worked out that Danielle must have jumped from the balcony roughly around the time we were changing trains at Southampton. When I got back Julie told me what had happened.
    I didn’t believe it at first. The idea that Danielle could be gone seemed impossible. But when I began to take it all in – well, it was pretty tough. The next few days were terrible ones I’d give anything to forget. Over the years I’d become very good at blanking out feelings, but I couldn’t ignore this. Dani had been the only person in the world who was mine, someone who knew exactly what I’d been through. She never judged me. She understood . That was something I could never replace.
    The coroner was satisfied it was suicide. Danielle had never been that stable, I knew. She’d threatened to hurt herself before, and depression and mood swings ran in the family. Maybe it had been one of those freak decisions you’d never make if you could go back in time. In the words of the police officer who’d come to tell me the verdict, it was ‘terribly sad, but it all made sense’.
    The whole thing left me