Page 92 of Judging Duke

“I said you’d had a bereavement and would call back to reschedule. She was fine with it and sent her condolences.”

He slid another drink in front of me. This time it was hot tea. I hugged the mug, trying to draw warmth from it.

“How are you feeling now?” He sat next to me, his hand on my bare thigh. “It was a shock, I know, even for me and I didn’t know her that well.”

“I’m okay, a bit drained and tired.”

“That’ll be the crying. We need to get some liquid back into you. Are you hungry? Can I get you some food?”

“I’m not that hungry. I might just go back to bed. Will you come with me?”

“Of course. I’ve nothing to do today. I was only going to take a trip to the beach, get some pictures. The lighting is about perfect.”

“Can we do that? I think I’d like to do that now instead of sleeping. I’ll just go get dressed.”

Once dressed, we headed to Crosby Beach. The sun shone, but a cool breeze made it feel colder than it actually was.

The tide was out, the statues completely visible. Coming here today reminded me of Ziggy and especially Beau. He’d almost lost his life here. If it hadn’t been for Kwan, we’d have lost him. The thought of him dying with how young he was made me think of how precious life was. Barbara, I knew, had lived a full one and had no regrets.

She’d said as much during our many massage sessions over the years, and I was happy she’d left this earth on her terms.

I watched as Simon took out his camera and started snapping. He’d gaze around him before lifting the camera to his eye and twiddling the lens. I was no expert, content with the few photos I took on my phone.

I wandered along the beach, my hands deep in my pockets. The last beach I’d walked on was in France with Simon. It had been our last evening there, and we’d strolled along, shoulderto shoulder, having finally given in to the undeniable attraction between us.

Had it always been there? I knew for me, I’d been infatuated when we were younger, and as I’d caught up with him after all that time, where fate had continually thrown us together, it had grown until I couldn’t imagine being without him.

Once we’d reconnected at Barbara and Cyril’s place and returned to Liverpool, those first few days were full of sorrow. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, let alone speak to him. Seeing him at Robbie’s, hearing him say the words I’d wanted him to had been a turning point, and we’d rarely been apart since. He’d stay at my place, or I’d stay with him. I’d never known what it was like to depend on anyone like I had him, and I could admit sometimes it was scary as fuck.

I found a dry patch of sand and sat, my arms resting on my bent legs. Simon eventually joined me, and I rested my head on his shoulder, watching as time passed us by. It stood still in my grief-stricken world, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever.

I’d get my chance to say goodbye, and that would need to be enough.

Several days passed, and I’d heard nothing from Cyril. I’d tried calling Barbara’s number, but to no avail. I guessed it was busy for him. He had his own grief to deal with, add in funeral arrangements, and it was no wonder he had no time to take my call.

I’d gone back to work the next day, occasionally feeling sad, but slowly things returned to normal.

“I have a surprise,” Simon said one night over dinner. “It’s something I’ve been working on, something I’ve wanted to do for ages. I think I’ve finally found the right place.”

“For what?” The pasta meal he’d cooked was delicious. I couldn’t do it half as well, which was why he did most of the cooking.

“The gallery. I found the perfect place for it. I went to see it yesterday and put a deposit down to secure it.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t I? It must have slipped my mind. Anyway, you know I’ve always wanted to show my own photographs in a gallery. I’ve been building up my portfolio for the past few years and finally found somewhere to show them. Here, look at these.”

He brought his laptop over to the table and opened a few files.

So many pictures: landscapes, people, nature. You name it, they were all there.

“I even have some of you.” He opened a file simply called Duke. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but when I saw the photographs, I was stunned by their beauty.

Not mine, but the composure, the sheer brilliance of each shot. Some were in colour, taken at the villa in France. Pictures of me laughing and joking, and some from the yacht. I remembered I’d fallen asleep, and he’d taken some candid shots of me as I slept and as we ate our lunch. Barbara was in one of the shots, and I recognised now how ill she must have been.

She was half the woman I’d met a few years earlier.

Lastly, there were shots of me at Crosby Beach. The day we’d found out about her passing. Black-and-white shots that conveyed the grief I’d felt that day.

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