Sister

The next day your sister sent me a bouquet of roses with gypsophila, known as “baby’s breath,” sprays of pretty white flowers. But a newborn baby’s breath is finer than a single parachute from a blown dandelion clock.

You told me once that when you lose consciousness, the last of the senses to go is hearing. In the darkness I thought I heard Jenny take a dandelion-clock breath.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ROSAMUND LUPTON has worked for many years as a scriptwriter. She lives with her husband and two sons in London. This is her first novel.