Page 61 of Somewhere Only We Know

He left the end of the sentence hanging. ‘I couldn’t face being in your house. Not without her. I feel very guilty about that.’

I was close to tears and so was he. I wanted to hug him, but knew that if I did, we’d both end up crying again. So instead I bumped against his shoulder. ‘Nothing to apologise for. It was a horrendous time and an impossible situation for both of us.’

‘I know but she is, I mean, she was the centre of your world. I knew how much you’d be suffering. I should have done more.’

‘I’m not your responsibility, Harry,’ I assured him. ‘But thank you. She was the centre of my world and when she was taken from me, I felt hollow.’

‘Me too,’ he murmured.

‘I’m sure,’ I said, softly.

Above us, two aeroplanes passed by one after the other, their white vapour trails at first intersecting and then fading in a cornflower-blue sky. I’d allowed Harry’s presence to fade from my life, encouraging it even. Was that the right thing, the natural way of things, or would there always be a thread of common ground to connect us? ‘When your parents said that you didn’t want visitors in the hospital, I was partly relieved. I couldn’t face you either. And I still feel guilty about that. I should have made an effort to check up on you, to give you an opportunity to talk about her. Young people shouldn’t have to experience the death of someone they’re close to like you did.’

‘No, they shouldn’t. But then neither should parents. Can I ask you something?’

I met his eye and nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘How did you cope, you know, afterwards, once the funeral was over?’

‘I don’t think I did, Harry.’ I suppressed a shudder, not wanting to revisit those dark days and weeks. ‘Instead of finding something else to fill the void in my heart, I simply put on thicker armour to protect myself, not really letting grief in.’

‘I was the opposite. I felt as if my skin was paper thin for the first couple of months. I got sick of people telling me to stay strong.’ He tensed his jaw, his dark features clouding over. ‘Why? Why should I be strong? If you can’t collapse under your feelings when something like that happens to you, when can you?’

‘I agree with you, although it took me a while to come around to thinking that way. I suppose it’s only now, by leaving my home and my job, that I can see what I was doing. At the time I thought I was coping, but I was doing the exact opposite.’

‘I loved her,’ he said, gazing into the distance. ‘I’d never been in love before. I know we were still young, but it felt like we had a future together.’

‘She loved you too,’ I told him, resting my arm around his shoulders. ‘And it doesn’t matter how old you are, love isn’t interested in numbers.’

He gave me a crooked smile. ‘I like that idea.’

We were joined at our viewing point by another couple of tourists and moved over to allow them access to the best angle for their photos. As soon as they’d gone, we resumed our position by the railings. I got out my phone and took some pictures of the view, and then a selfie of Harry and me which I’d send to Kat later. We set off again, heading further along the track. The terrain was on a slight incline but nothing I couldn’t manage in my trainers.

‘So how are you doing now?’ I asked him. ‘We’re seven months on from the accident.’

‘Changed.’ He gave me a sad smile. ‘It’s made me question everything. Sometimes I feel like what’s the point in trying, working hard, being the best that you can be? Because that’s what she did. Every day. She was always so driven.’ He looked at me. ‘You did that for her, you fired her belief in herself.’

‘That was my job,’ I said, quietly proud. ‘It’s every parent’s job.’

‘Other times I think about that night non-stop. It plays in my head like a movie I can’t turn off.’ He shuddered and for a moment I worried that he was going to talk about Brontë’s last seconds of life, something I had no desire to hear. I knew that once I knew the details, I could never unknow them. ‘Nothing could be worse than what I witnessed that night, and I think to myself, if I can survive that, I can survive anything.’ He came to a stop and pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry, Maggie, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ I reached for his hand. ‘The simple truth is that you’re still here. I’m still here. Our lives have to go on. We have to live with the loss of Brontë. You’re right: from the moment she was born, in fact from the moment I found out I was pregnant, she became the centre of my world.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m still working on that, but at least I am working on it now instead of pretending everything’s okay.’

We rounded a bend and came to another lookout place, smaller this time, and stood shoulder to shoulder looking out across the mountains.

‘I feel so guilty, you know? I got up and walked away from that accident. I’m alive and she’s not.’

I met his eye. ‘You know deep down that that’s not something to feel guilty about, don’t you?’

He gazed out at the green valley below us. ‘Do I? It was guilt that kept me from being in touch with you too. I thought you’d find it hard to see me still here when—’ His voice cracked and he shook his head, as if impatient with himself. ‘Sorry.’

‘Look, I feel guilty too for what I said about her gap-year plans. The final time we were ever together, and we argued. I’ll never forgive myself.’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’