Page 65 of The Moment I Met You
I don’t know why seeing pictures of him affects me so much. It’s not as though I have ever forgotten him; the blue of his eyes, his smile, every thick strand of blonde hair. He isn’t just a memory – he is part of me. And yet it does affect me – looking at him, at me, at us together in a way I’ve never seen before, is like a punch to the gut.
I glance at Em. ‘You were good at stalking us. I … I think maybe I’d tried to forget how much time we’d spent together.’
‘You were always laughing,’ she says. ‘Or comforting each other when you were sad. I followed you around, and every time you were with Harry, or his mum and dad, you were lovely and kind and exactly as you should be. But then when you were back with Alex … I don’t know. It’s like you allowed yourself to unravel. To breathe again. There is one more picture – but I warn you, it’s a bit of a heartbreaker.’
‘That’s all right,’ I answer. ‘I think I’m beyond heartbreak, Em.’
She smiles, and places the last shot down on the kitchen table.
It has been taken from behind us, as we sit on the hospital balcony. We are in our usual position, just before sunset, ready to watch the theatrics. My good arm is dangling loosely between us, our fingers casually interlaced, both my feet and one of his propped up on a small table.
We are cast in shadow, the backs of our heads leaning towards each other, the orange glow of the sinking sun giving the whole scene an eerie sense of unreal beauty.
I reach out and touch the picture, as though I can somehow reach through time, right back to that moment.
And I wonder now – would I do anything differently?
I jerk myself back to the present, almost confused by it, I was so lost in that moment. Ollie and Olivia are back, and they are loud.
‘You okay?’ murmurs Em, reaching out to touch my hand. The hand that is still holding that photo.
‘Yes, I feel fine,’ I reply, smiling and putting it down on the table.
I am lying. I don’t feel fine. I don’t feel much of anything at all, and I recognise an old and unloved friend: the Elena that simply closes down and goes numb when too much is asked of her.
It started when my dad died – when things felt too much with Mum, with school, with worrying that she might die too. It happened after Alex left the hospital, and I didn’t have him to talk to, to share with, to both lean on and to support. It is happening now – the emotional version of curling up in a foetal ball.
I scurry around, getting plates, preparing drinks, listening to the banter around me. I smile at the right places, and laugh at Ollie’s jokes, and manage to hopefully fool them all – for I am nothing if not a master of disguise.
‘Guess who we saw in the village?’ says Olivia, mid-chew.
‘Lord Lucan,’ I reply. ‘And don’t talk with your mouth full.’
‘Lord Lucan?’ she says, after pointedly swallowing. ‘Who’s he? We saw Harry, and Alison.’
She says this in a vaguely scandalised way, as if she’s found some hidden lascivious meaning to getting a pizza.
‘Oh no!’ I answer, clutching my hands to my chest. ‘He wasn’t getting garlic bread as well, was he? The cad!’
Em hides a snigger; Ollie doesn’t even try. Olivia sticks her tongue out at me. It’s all very civilised.
She reaches out for a can of lager. I slap her hand away, and am rewarded with another delightful tongue-flash.
‘I’m seventeen,’ she says. ‘Not seven. I have had a drink before, you know.’
‘I’m aware. But anyone who sticks their tongue out this many times an hour is not mature enough to have access to alcohol. At least not under my roof … ha! I always wanted to say that.’
She scowls at me, and as ever our jousting bursts a bubble of tension inside me. She grounds me, Olivia – reminds me that the real world can’t be bad if she is in it. Reminds me that being numb means I miss out on the good stuff as well as the bad. Allows me to drift for a while, knowing I will always come back.
I half listen as Em asks her about her A levels, and what she wants to do next. I smile as Olivia tells her she plans to become Cornwall’s leading female private eye. She announces, very loudly for Ollie’s benefit, that she intends to be both ‘feisty’ and ‘kick-ass’ while she does it.
They are happy and relaxed, and all is well. Their chatter means that I can escape. That I can be with them, but not. That I can be present, but absent.
I am sitting at my kitchen table surrounded by people – but part of me is still on that balcony. Still watching that sunset. Still wondering how it would feel, to hold his hand again.
Chapter 24
The next day, I go around to Em’s cottage to help her with one of her projects. I am still feeling off balance, still feeling confused, but have tried to at least behave normally. It is only, I tell myself, a reaction to everything that is being dredged up. I am only human, and it is to be expected that facing a past I closed down with such brutal efficiency would have some emotional repercussions.
