Page 58 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘What do you think she’d say about us meeting up in Australia?’

‘She’d say …’ He shook his head and smiled. ‘She’d say, Charming, where’s my bloody invite?’

I laughed, grateful to release some of the tension that had been building. ‘That is exactly what she’d say.’

I took his arm. I’d never done that before, but it felt right. And together we headed down the hill towards the centre of town.

Leura’s high street was not at all what I was expecting. The buildings on either side of the road had a familiar Edwardian feel about them, with ornate balconies and little gable windows set high up in the eaves. There was a plethora of boutiques, art galleries and restaurants, many of which were painted in pretty pastel shades. Down the centre of the road was a wide grass verge full of mature trees, which Harry informed me had earned the town the description of ‘the garden village’. We stopped outside the Leura Café and Deli and he gestured for me to go in.

The interior was divided into two: a deli at the front selling an array of salads and pies, pastries and sandwiches; and a café behind with a glass wall at the back. We chose a table with an incredible view across what Harry informed me was Katoomba, another popular town in the Blue Mountains. Harry tucked my suitcase out of the way, and we ordered – coffee for both of us and banana bread for him – and for a moment my brain froze. I shifted in my seat, fumbling for the right words. This was the first time we’d been alone together since Brontë died. In fact, he and I had never spent any time alone; Brontë had always been there.

He seemed to feel the same and for the next few minutes we traded banal comments about the café, the menu and the view.

I remembered that our last face-to-face conversation had been stilted, a few exchanged words before the funeral service. I had no clear recollection of what had been said. The day had gone by in a blur of tissues and tears, and platitudes and promises from everyone to help with anything, anything at all. And now here we both were, four thousand miles from home, facing each other across a café table; the two most important people in Brontë’s life.

After we’d exhausted our small talk, we finally looked at each other directly.

‘There’s so much I want to say,’ I began, ‘but now I’m here, I’m struggling to find the right words.’

‘Yeah.’ He ruffled his hair, self-consciously. ‘Same here. It feels a million years since I sat in your cottage in Honeybourne making pancakes with …’ He clenched his jaw and glanced away. It struck me that he hadn’t said her name out loud yet.

‘Look, we’re here now and we’ve got plenty of time to chat,’ I told him. ‘Let’s take the pressure off and not worry about the big stuff yet.’

‘Cool.’ He shot me a grateful smile. ‘It’s … it’s good to see you, Maggie. Weird to have you sitting opposite me in a café in the Blue Mountains. It’s like two worlds colliding.’

He laughed gently under his breath, but it was without humour.

‘I think you’d got an internship lined up for last year,’ I said, changing the subject for him. ‘How did it go?’

Before he had a chance to respond, someone called his name and we both looked up to see a man approaching our table carrying a takeaway coffee and a paper bag.

‘G’day, my friend.’ The man patted Harry’s shoulder.

‘Karl.’ Harry stood and shook his hand.

‘I won’t interrupt you,’ said Karl, giving me a look of apology. ‘But I wanted to say thanks for the post you tagged us in. We sold out of the poetry book you linked on your story. The author was really pleased too.’

‘No worries.’ Harry looked uncomfortable with the compliment. ‘Happy to help.’

‘Well, I appreciate it, mate.’ Karl sipped his coffee. ‘There’s a proof of a new book arrived at the shop that I think you’ll like. I’ll save it for you. Drop in again soon.’

‘I did a post on Instagram about his bookshop,’ Harry explained once his friend had gone. He cleared his throat. ‘And, er, the internship thing didn’t work out.’

‘Oh?’

He scooted his chair in closer to the table and kept his eyes lowered. ‘My head wasn’t in the right place for it, so I left.’ He shrugged. ‘They were good about it; said I can come back next year if I want.’

I nodded. ‘And so you decided to travel instead?’

I knew from our recent WhatsApp conversations that he’d been travelling since the New Year, staying in the Blue Mountains with his uncle for a while planning to go to New Zealand and on to the Philippines. An impromptu gap year, he’d called it. I hadn’t needed to ask why.

‘Yeah, I wanted to be somewhere new, no memories, you know?’ He looked up at me from under his dark lashes. ‘I hope that doesn’t sound bad?’

My heart ached. ‘No, Harry, it sounds entirely reasonable. Going away and getting a fresh perspective on life is a great idea. I’m doing something similar myself.’

He grinned. ‘It was a surprise to get your message. The last place I expected you to be was Sydney.’

‘Hey, guys,’ said our waitress, putting her tray down on the table. ‘Sorry for the wait.’