Page 66 of Somewhere Only We Know

He fetched a large blanket and a pair of giant binoculars from inside. ‘Uncle Pete’s found his phone but the battery’s flat, and then once he gets talking he doesn’t stop. So he’ll be ages.’

We snuffed out the candles, turned off the outside lights and spread the blanket on the ground. For the next few minutes while I got myself comfy and removed all the stones sticking in my back, I let my eyes grow accustomed to the dark.

‘I miss her like crazy. We were kids when we first met, but I think my relationship with her is probably going to be one of the most important of my whole life.’

‘Being young doesn’t make love any less important.’ I stole a sideways glance at him; there was a single tear trickling down his face. ‘I fell in love when I was the same age you and Brontë were. And I’ve never loved anyone as much as that since. That’s not to say you won’t,’ I added swiftly. ‘I chose not to, that’s all.’

‘Can I tell you something weird?’

‘Of course.’ I put the binoculars to my eyes. Stars in their millions appeared instantly, and the sight of them all took my breath away.

‘When I see all the stars shining in the sky, I imagine that they are all the people who died and whose love still shines down on the ones they left behind.’

‘Oh Harry.’ A lump formed in my throat. ‘That’s not weird at all. It’s lovely.’

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled. ‘And I think that she’s up there, sparkling – probably the sparkliest. And when I’m on my own I talk to her. I tell her the truth that I don’t like telling anyone else: that life is shit without her.’

‘I talk to her too,’ I told him. ‘I’ve been writing on the blank pages in her notebook. It helps me to write things down instead of bottling them up. Life was shit for me too, but …’ I paused and felt a smile growing on my face. ‘I think it’s less shit than it was.’

‘Semi-shit.’

We both laughed.

‘And I think Brontë is up there, cheering us both on, hoping we’ll remember to celebrate life, fill it with happy moments. And in your case, fall in love with someone new.’

‘Hmm.’

‘I mean it, Harry, don’t be afraid to love again. Here, your turn.’ I handed him the binoculars.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘I’ve always wondered why you’ve stayed single.’

‘I nearly married once,’ I told him. ‘I met a guy when Brontë was three. He was great, loved Brontë, loved me. But I couldn’t take the risk. His income wasn’t stable, his work schedule was erratic; he was a freelance photographer and never knew where he was going to be from one week to the next. He would have been happy living out of a suitcase for the rest of his life. So even though I loved him, and he made me happy, when he proposed I turned him down. I needed a steady, reliable presence in our lives; he couldn’t provide it. Since then I’ve kept the few relationships I’ve had casual.’

‘She used to wish you’d got someone to love. She used to worry about you.’

I looked at him sharply. ‘Really?’

He lowered the binoculars and looked at me. ‘Yeah. She thinks you never got over her dad.’

‘Yes, I …’ My voice trailed off. ‘I guess she’s right, in a way. Was right. I never felt that way about anyone else.’

‘He sounds cool. She would have liked to have met him.’

‘I know.’ I felt a knot of guilt in my stomach. I’d let my daughter down. I should have done more to find him, but I’d been overwhelmed with life at the time, I reminded myself. ‘The older she got, the worse I felt about it. But then it got to the point where it was too late to track someone down and gatecrash their life with that sort of news. You know, remember me? Oh, and here’s your daughter. There was too much risk involved, and I didn’t want Brontë to end up getting rejected, or disappointed if we couldn’t find him.’

‘Maybe.’ He stared up at the sky again. ‘I guess she’ll never know now. I sort of feel the same about her as you did about Brontë’s dad. That no one will replace her. That she was my person. Yeah, that about sums it up: Brontë was my person.’

My heart lurched at the sound of her name on his lips. He’d finally been able to say it. I reached towards him and squeezed his hand, and we stayed like that until I heard his breathing steady.

‘Harry?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I understand exactly how you feel, but all I ask is that you don’t rule out love forever.’

He laughed softly. ‘Tell you what, I won’t if you won’t.’

He made it sound so easy, as if meeting someone you sparked with, and opening your heart to them, twining your life with theirs, was simply a matter of choice. Either way, I couldn’t very well give him advice that I wasn’t prepared to take myself.