Page 50

“Hush, now,” he breathed, and he rocked gently while I wept into his T-shirt again. He said nothing, and just held me.

And it was exactly what I needed.

“You must be exhausted,” he said after a while.

I sniffled and nodded.

“Why don’t you sleep?”

He lifted me off the bed, pulled back the duvet, and laid me back down. “Sleep.” He covered me with the duvet, ran his fingers down my cheek, then got up and left.

Two seconds later, I fell into an exhausted sleep.

Tristan is gazing at me as I lie in bed. The walls glow a soft calm pink in the midmorning sun. Hello, Beauchamp. Come with me. He stretches out his hand, and I reach up and take it. Suddenly, we’re standing on sage-colored, mossy ground in a strange, pale, gray-and-purple landscape. It’s a vast, empty vista, like a moor, with gentle rolling hills in the far distance, and it’s hard to tell where the ground finishes and the sky begins. The gentle breeze flutters around me, teasing my hair, which tumbles loose to my waist, and even though I’m only wearing my dad’s oversize T-shirt, I’m not cold. In the other direction, a pale-pink sunset hangs over the horizon and it bleeds into a bright light source, but I can’t see what or where it’s coming from because a hazy mist lingers low over the land. It’s a purple mist, no, purple foliage. And I realize we’re standing amidst heather. Lots of heather. That’s the smell. That’s his scent. Heather. His hand is in mine. And he smiles down at me. His green eyes moss bright.

A mist is rolling toward us, and in the gloom, I spy a bright glow—an aura heralding the promise of something unearthly, maybe celestial. Time to say goodbye. The words are said but not spoken, and I don’t understand. Tristan continues to hold my hand, his fingers, neither warm nor cold, wrap around mine. Through the mist, the colors grow brighter, more vivid. I make out figures, three of them. And as I gaze at them, their shapes grow more familiar, and my heart lurches with sweet, unexpected recognition as joy bursts through my veins.

My mother and father appear, walking slowly out of the mist, and in front of them, Billy, a streak of pale blue, is running, running with the wild abandon of a child to meet me, leaping into my suddenly open widespread arms. I whirl him round and round, feeling his small, supple body against mine. He laughs his howling laugh, and I’m crying—huge, wet tears of joy rolling down my cheeks.

Billy calls with glee. Emmy. Emmy. Emmy. My mother catches up and hugs us both, her hazel eyes soft and warm, her chestnut hair swinging in the light breeze and now my dad is embracing us all, with his bear-like hug, his glistening blue eyes wide with happiness, and he throws back his blond head and laughs. My parents kiss me on each cheek in unison. They have done this often. Emily sandwich, my father proclaims—and they beam at me.

My heart nearly explodes, full of wild elation. Against the gray mist they look vivid, bright, and colorful, dressed in the clothes I last saw them in. Billy’s golden hair gleams like a halo, and his blue eyes, the exact shade of mine, are luminous. They are all breathtaking and beautiful, glowing with saturated color and life in this bleak landscape.

I turn my head to look at the young man, Tristan. His eyes never leave mine, his hair blown off his forehead by the breeze—dressed in black, he’s a dark sentry. His clothes complement his tanned skin. He has a healthy glow about him as he regards me. He stands a few steps away, letting me enjoy this sweet, sweet reunion.

His full lips twitch with a small knowing smile. Yes. This is for you. The words are in my head in his voice.

I turn back to my family, reveling in their touch, and my father squeezes us all once more. Billy plants a wet child’s kiss on my cheek, then wriggles out of my arms and my parents release me.

My father skates the back of his knuckles down my cheek, kisses my forehead, and steps back. Emmy. You beautiful bright girl. You’ve got this. You’re going to be okay. More than okay. You’re going to fly high.

Daddy.

My mother clasps my head in her hands and kisses my cheeks in turn, smoothing my hair behind my ears.

Mummy.

We love you. So, so much. Look after yourself. Stay safe, always.

My mother looks toward the boy. Thank you. He nods, and her attention returns to me. I like the boy with the good hair. She grins, and I bask in the warmth of her smile. Goodbye, Angel.

My parents step back. They each take one of Billy’s hands and step again toward the mist.

They are leaving.

“NO!” I shout as loudly as I can. “No—don’t leave me. Take me with you. I love you. I miss you.” My voice is soft and quiet. Why?

My father shakes his head and responds, his voice echoing inside my head. We know, darling. We know. We love you too. So much. But we can go now and you don’t belong here. This place isn’t for you. Not yet. Not for a long time. You have so much to live for. Live well. Live long. We’ll see you so much later. Goodbye, darling.

Daddy! Billy! Mummy!

All three blow silent kisses to me.

Tristan takes my hand once more. I look desperately at him and pull against his hand. His grip tightens, and he shakes his head.

“NO!” I tug harder.

He shakes his head once more, pointing toward my retreating family. “Wave goodbye,” he says.