Don't Forget Me

by Victoria Stevens

  EPILOGUE

  The afternoon of Hazel’s eighteenth birthday was a warm one. The April skies were clear and impossibly blue, and now that they were in the middle of autumn, the air was no longer thick and heavy. Everything felt … peaceful.

  Luca was there, and Red and Marc, and Maddie and Hunter—and, of course, Hazel’s dad. Claire would be there too, as soon as she finished up at the restaurant. They were all sitting in the garden, Red and Luca manning the barbecue and making sure everything was cooked to slightly charred perfection while the rest of them sat around talking. When they had all eaten their fill, Hazel’s dad produced one of the prettiest birthday cakes she’d ever seen, with eighteen candles alight on the top. “Make a wish,” he said as she blew them out, but she didn’t. She couldn’t—there was nothing left for her to wish for.

  She and her dad had spent the morning with her mum up in Tamoya Bay. The nurses had let them go down to the pier for a while. Her mum hardly spoke, but she was calm and comfortable, so it was more than enough.

  It had taken almost two months and lots of paperwork to get it done, but they’d finally managed to get her transfer approved at the beginning of March. Hazel and her dad had traveled to England to sort everything out and had returned a week later with her mum. She lived a bus ride away in a lovely care facility on the coast, where she was well looked after and easy to reach. Hazel went to see her a few times each week without fail. Usually she went by herself, but sometimes she took Red or Luca with her. She liked going with her dad best, though. It wasn’t often that her mum recognized her or her dad, but Hazel liked seeing the way her mum’s face lit up when she did.

  After she and Luca had sorted everything out back in January, the first thing Hazel had done was invite Maddie and Hunter over to tell them the truth. She’d been so worried that they’d be angry at her for lying—or at the very least disappointed—but they weren’t. All Maddie did was ask if she was okay.

  “I lied,” Hazel had responded dumbly. “You do understand that, right? By not explaining the situation I let you guys think that my mum was dead.”

  “We know,” Maddie had said. “But we also know that there are harder things in life than dying.”

  Hazel hadn’t known what to do, how else to respond to their kindness, so she’d just cried while Maddie and Hunter hugged her tight. Since then, there hadn’t been any more lies; honesty, as Red was so fond of saying, was the only way to move forward.

  * * *

  After the barbecue, when the adults had all gone inside to make tea and coffee, Hunter dragged the four of them through the hole in the hedge at the bottom of the garden and out onto the empty beach. “I have something to show you all,” he announced, disappearing into the bushes. “Stay where you are!”

  The four of them exchanged amused looks, and after a minute or two of rustling, Hunter reappeared from the bushes, dressed in a tight black wet suit with an orange surfboard tucked under his arm. “Prepare to have your minds blown.” He grinned and then darted off into the waves before any of them had the chance to say anything.

  “He’s not actually going to…” Maddie trailed off, her eyes wide. “… Is he?”

  “I think he is.” Red snorted. “Shall we call an ambulance?”

  Out in the sea, Hunter paused to wave at them, and they all waved back cautiously. Then, slowly, he crouched down on the board, looking back over his shoulder for the next approaching wave.

  The second he was up on his feet, his whole demeanor changed. He suddenly looked in control, face set with concentration, well and truly in his element. He rode the wave in all the way toward shore, and by the time he made it to the sand, the rest of them were cheering and running over to meet him, because this was it, this was his sport, and he was so good at it.

  “Why didn’t you say anything, you tool?” Maddie said, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight even though he was soaking wet. He just laughed and hugged her back, spinning her around and sending sand flying everywhere before setting her back down.

  “Coach says he’s thinking of creating a surf team just for me,” he said. “How’s that for a legacy?”

  “I knew you could do it,” she said. “I knew you’d find a way.”

  “Yeah, well. Now you can rub it in Callum’s face.”

  Maddie rolled her eyes. “Hunter, I didn’t help you because of that. I never cared about Callum.”

  “No? Then what did you care about?”

  “You, you absolute oblivious idiot! I only ever cared about you.”

  “But I thought you told Hazel that would ruin our—”

  “Oh would you shut up,” Maddie growled, pressing her lips firmly against his before he could say another word. He kissed her right back, and when she went to pull away he stopped her, making a little noise of protest and looping his arms around her waist to pull her back against him. Luca and Hazel exchanged a look. Finally.

  “All right, all right, that’s enough,” Red said eventually, clearing his throat, and the two of them broke apart. “Now I really need to find a boyfriend.”

  “Then we can all go on triple dates to the Anchor,” Hunter joked, arm firmly around Maddie’s waist, not missing a beat.

  “Oh my God,” Maddie said, cheeks flushing, and buried her face in his shoulder.

  “You were great at the surfing anyway,” Luca said, clapping him on the back. “Well done.”

  “I’ve only just mastered the basics, but I’m working on it.”

  “You’re amazing,” Maddie assured him as they began walking back up to the house, and Red made gagging noises as he pushed the two of them affectionately along the sand.

  “Does this mean I have to cut him some slack now?” Luca asked Hazel.

  “Imagine that.” She smiled. “There’s more than one athlete on the block.”

  Luca had sat his dad down over Christmas and told him that he was ready to start running competitively again. He’d found himself a couple of local track teams that had spaces, and together they’d figured out the best one for him. He’d only been training so far, but there was a scout coming down from the Charles Darwin University in a few weeks to watch him run in his first race, and they were all hopeful that the scout would show some interest. Hazel had complete faith in him either way, and Luca knew she would be there supporting him no matter what.

  “Hey, at least you’ll have someone to complain to about how much your muscles hurt now,” she added with a grin.

  “I do have someone! I have you!”

  “Okay, let me rephrase,” she teased. “Someone who actually cares.”

  He slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close against him and nuzzling into her hair. “You do care, really. Besides, I only say it because I’m angling for a massage. You just never get the hint.”

  “Oh, I get the hint. I just never take it.”

  Luca let out a groan. “You wound me. You know that, right?”

  “Sorry,” she murmured, leaning up on tiptoes to give him a soft kiss.

  “Forgiven,” he whispered back, and together they headed toward the house.

  * * *

  Later on in the evening, when the sun had just begun to set over the sea, Red dragged Hazel away from the others in the garden with promises of returning her very soon.

  “Red! Where are we going?”

  “Inside the house. I’ve got one last birthday present for you.”

  She pulled him to a stop outside her bedroom. “Wait, we can’t go in here. Dad’s still decorating.”

  “It’s finished.”

  She turned to look at him, surprised. She’d spent the entire weekend at Maddie’s house, having effectively been kicked out of her own room so her dad could repaint it, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about it being done. “It is? How do you know?”

  “I think that’ll become pretty obvious.” He grinned and pushed open the door. He stood back out of the way to let her pass, and when she stepped into the room her mouth droppe
d open. She stood gaping at the walls, at the ceiling above her bed. Gone was the bare, cold white—the room was an explosion of color. She turned on her heels, mouth still open, trying to take it all in. The wall opposite her bed depicted a sunset, with a black sky that faded down into an orange curve of sun. The wall to the left was the beach in daytime, and was the most colorful, all blues and greens and golden yellows. The third wall, behind Hazel’s bed, was the beach at night. Red had captured the moonlight flawlessly, the navy blue of the sky, the silver of the sand. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. There, above her bed, Red had painted a sky full of brilliant stars, so that every single night could be a starry one.

  “Red,” she breathed. “It’s perfect.”

  “I thought it was about time I truly showed you what I do at school all day.” He shrugged. “Happy birthday, Hazel-from-England.”

  She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  He just laughed, hugging her back just as tight. “You are so welcome.”

  “So all this was happening when I was at Maddie’s?”

  “Yep.” He grinned. “I spoke to Graham about it a while ago, though. We’ve had this planned for weeks. It’s okay, then?”

  “It’s perfect,” she said again, because it really was and she was a little lost for words.

  In the last couple of months, Red’s art had gone from strength to strength. Her dad had even commissioned a mural for the back wall of the restaurant. Hazel had already seen some of Red’s mock-up sketches; it was going to be absolutely beautiful, and she was so, so proud of him.

  He and Claire were leaving in a few days to visit a college out of state with one of the best art programs in the country. The college had already shown an interest in him just from seeing his portfolio—a fact that only really surprised Red himself. They all knew how talented he was. He’d gotten the best mark in his class for his assignment last year, and they’d gone to see his photographs when they were displayed in the gallery just down from the Anchor, after all. Hazel thought they were amazing, obviously, but her favorite was a shot that Red had taken of them all the morning after they camped out on the beach. His honorary family. Everyone looked sleepy and soft and happy, sitting around the remains of the fire. Red had captured the moment perfectly, captured the feeling of belonging.

  Hazel crossed her bedroom to the balcony, sliding open the doors and stepping outside. Her dad and Luca and the rest of them looked up at the sound, and when they saw her they all broke into grins of their own.

  “You like it?” her dad called up.

  “I love it!” she said. Her eyes found Luca’s. I love you, he was saying, without even having to open his mouth.

  “Luc was here helping too,” Red said quietly from behind her. “He painted most of the stars.”

  “He did?” she said. “But Luca hates art.”

  “Doesn’t hate you though,” he said. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “He’s such a sap.”

  “You two are so nauseatingly cute together,” Red said with a shake of his head, pulling her backward until they were inside again and both lying flat on her bed, staring up at the starry sky. “It’s gross.”

  “You don’t mind,” she murmured.

  “I don’t,” he agreed.

  Hazel settled back against the pillows and let her eyes wander across the ceiling, trying to pinpoint constellations. It reminded her of what Luca had said that first night they went to Bluehill, about the stars being spy holes for heaven. It was a thought that was both comforting and sad at the same time.

  Luca still had his bad days, and Hazel still had hers; it wasn’t as if they were fixed. But they were better. Now, if things got too much, if it hurt too bad, they talked about it. It had taken them a while, but they’d gotten there eventually. They’d gotten there together.

  “We should go back down,” Red said after a minute or two of warm, comfortable silence. “They’re waiting for us.”

  And they were. Hunter had his arms full of wood, twigs and logs and branches, and Luca was holding the biggest bag of marshmallows Hazel had ever seen. Claire was there now too, fresh from her shift at the Anchor, and she beamed at Hazel as they approached. Everyone at the restaurant had been run off their feet lately, because after many late-night discussions with Graham, Claire had finally agreed to become co-owner. The two of them were in the middle of negotiations, and were hoping to open a new restaurant up in Tamoya Bay before the end of the year, and so everyone was extra busy. Busy, but excited too.

  “Sorry I’m late, love,” Claire said when they reached them, and Hazel just hugged her in response, happy they were all together now.

  “So I was thinking,” her dad said then. “We should go to the beach and make a campfire and watch the rest of the sunset while we roast marshmallows. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds perfect,” Hazel said.

  They made their way down to the bottom of the garden and through the gap in the hedge at the end. Once they arranged themselves into a circle on the sand, Dad and Hunter made quick work of lighting the fire. They sat and talked and laughed and roasted marshmallows and watched as the sinking sun was engulfed by the sea and the sky above them turned black. The mood was relaxed, the company amazing, and the night air was sweet with the scent of autumn.

  “This is nice,” Dad said to no one in particular. Hazel met his eyes across the circle, and he smiled at her, soft and bright and filled with fondness. She smiled right back at him, and then around at all the other familiar faces that were bathed in the warm, flickering light from the flames. She couldn’t help but think to herself again just how lucky she was to be surrounded by so many people who loved her beyond reason.

  A little way down the beach, dark waves crawled forward, breaking against the sand—it was a sound she’d become so used to that it was now merely a low hum in the background, like music. In and out, they went. In and out. She liked that, liked how comforting their consistency was, locked into a perpetual rhythm. It was reassuring to know that—if nothing else—those waves continued their journey to shore, day in, day out, all night long, as if nothing around them had changed. As if nothing ever changed. But the fact was things had, and did, and would go on changing in ways she couldn’t even imagine, with every single breath she took from here until forever.

  Hazel had to learn how to love and how to trust and how to forgive and how to open up and how to hold on and how to let go, and it was hard, but she also had to keep on going, she had to keep on trying. That was just life, that was how it went, that was how they—how she—had to live if they were going to survive.

  Dear Mum,

  I was eight years old when you bought me my first camera.

  It was a pink plastic Polaroid one, where the photographs printed right away. You told me how important it was to take pictures of places and faces and things that were special to me, and keep hold of them in case one day I needed to look back on my life and remember all the moments that made it so great.

  We took photos all the time after that. Birthdays, days out, holidays, even just of the two of us at home. We captured moment after moment on film, every smile, every laugh. We stored them all in a box, first one, then two or three, then five or six, until we had a whole shelf full.

  But then you got sick, and suddenly there were things that were much more important than taking photos. The boxes grew dusty and forgotten, and the memories faded away until it got hard to remember a time when things had been happy. When things had been normal.

  Slowly but surely I lost control of my childhood, and you lost control of your memory.

  Recently, I sat down with some good friends of mine and sorted through each of the boxes. It took hours and hours, and I both laughed and cried at what we found. In the end, we managed to sort all of the best ones into two photo albums. One for you and one for me.

  I hope that when you look at the photos, they’ll mean something
. That when you look at them, even if you don’t remember the day they were taken, or what the weather was like, or even who was with you, you’ll remember how they made you feel.

  I remember, Mum. Not just the good bits, but everything. I sit each night and think of you, think of how things used to be, and I remember.

  I remember how much you love the smell of rain on the dusty sidewalks in the summer.

  I remember how you prefer black-and-white movies.

  I remember how you were usually right, even when I wanted you to be wrong.

  I remember how we used to bake when I was upset, and read stories together by the fire when it was cold outside.

  I remember how we could just talk, about anything, anywhere, anytime.

  I remember how you were always there for me.

  I remember how you used to plait my hair each night and lie next to me on the bed when I had a nightmare because you knew that was the way I would fall asleep.

  I remember how you believed that even something as small as a snowflake was magical enough to change the world.

  I remember how you kissed me good night, your lips soft on my forehead, and how your voice sounded when you told me that you loved me.

  I remember.

  I remember, I remember, I remember.

  And Mum—I hope I never, ever forget.

  Love then, now, and forever,

  Hazel xxx

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Victoria Stevens lives in Whittlebury, England. Don’t Forget Me was inspired by childhood vacations to Australia and her grandmother’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. You can sign up for email updates here.

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