The Likeness

by Tana French

New couples look at each other all the time; established ones don’t need to check in as often.’

Their car flipped three times–he was probably speeding–and lay upside down in a field till a farmer saw the lights and went to investigate. He died the next day; she

Who? the farmer!

I found out early that you can throw yourself away, missing what you’ve lost.

Here and there, though, where history scarred a place deeper than most: people remember.

He woke up one morning with his whole life in bits around him. Everything he dreamed about, gone up in smoke.’