The Suicide Club by Sarah Quigley

The Suicide Club by Sarah Quigley.jpg
The Suicide Club by Sarah Quigley.jpg

The Suicide Club by Sarah Quigley

38.00

In the minutes before Bright O’Connor tumbled nineteen floors to his death, he thought about everyone he’d ever known. Even those he wished he’d had nothing to do with flickered there in the high windy darkness, lit by a row of harsh spotlights intended to illuminate only the image on the side of the building. Get out of my floodlighting! hissed the billboard girl with the three-foot-high pout — and Bright might well have said the same words, had he not been preoccupied with staring down his past.

Bouncers he’d insulted, fans he’d endured, girls he’d tried to escape from: even Vincent Delatour had showed up to farewell him, which was astonishing considering that the last time he and Bright had met they’d punched each other until the blood streamed.

For a short while there was quite a horde teetering on the gritty, blowing parapet. Not a bad crowd! The billboard girl, her semi-nude body stretching over multiple storeys, raised a sexy eyebrow that was as large as a bridge. Yes! Bright, too, was surprised. He wasn’t a People Person; this had been ascertained by the time he was twelve, written indelibly on his school report and subsequently his character. But his green eyes had a certain magnetism and his flaming hair was frequently mistaken for a beacon in what is — let’s face it — this fairly rough sea we call life. And once people had made their way towards Bright and reached him, they often found it hard to let go.

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