by Liz Flanagan
The wail of a siren floats down from the village road. In the opposite direction to the party, I see the lights of the search-and-rescue team coming down the bridleway towards us, their head torches flashing in and out of the trees. I hear their dogs barking and men’s voices.
I don’t say anything. I leave Liam and Eden together. I walk back over the bridge and I flee.
Chapter Thirty-Four
10.20 p.m.
I use my the torch on my phone to light my way and I stumble down the valley back to the party. I follow the music to the clearing. When I get there, Imogen and Charlotte home straight in on me, starving for news.
‘Eden’s alive,’ I tell them. ‘Rescue team have her. Up there.’
We actually hug. Me, Imogen, Charlotte. So I’m no longer the smelly goth? I’m not on the outside any more. I’m one of them. We’re all in it, all of us. All so different, but all here right now. I look over their shoulders, at the moonlit clearing.
Who-who? The owl asks, sounding like it belongs in the music.
I wonder what the owls think of all this. They don’t stress about difference, do they? You don’t find an owl being jealous of a deer cos it can’t run; it knows it has wings.
Am I crazy? These feel like mad thoughts. I think I might be totally unhinged now. My mind’s seen too much, been too far today.
‘It’s going to be OK,’ Imogen tells me.
‘Everything!’ Charlotte agrees. She’s still holding flyers. She throws them up into the air, laughing, and the papers twist down, catching the rainbow lights.
I can’t speak, but I smile and I nod and then I turn away from Imo and Charlotte and wade deep into the crowd. I nearly laugh out loud, cos I actually feel safe here, deep in the middle of dancing bodies. It’s not about me: each person is lost in the music, and I dive in too. The rhythm grounds me. I can hold on to that. It tethers my body, and my mind can float off with the melody, with the woman’s voice, so pure and fierce, and I follow the piano that comes in next, taking me somewhere high and free, like a spiral up to the stars. For the first time in a very long time, I let go completely.
The wind gets up, sending clouds sailing across the sky. The moon goes in and out again, hiding between the clouds, tinting the world silver and black, black and then silver, like an old film, flickering. There are strobe lights in the DJ deck, and the moon joins in, scattering cut-outs on the ground, stark and crisp, appearing and disappearing. I see my body, my shadow, black on white, hair flying loose, arms out. Is that me? I look free.
I dance, and as I move I know that I’m whole again. I will survive. I did survive. They didn’t destroy me, though they came close.
I made it through, with the help of Mum, Eden. And, yes, Liam.
Eden made it too.
I know she’s going to be OK. She’s at the start of a path. The start of life without Iona. This summer was the crisis, the shock of it. All anger and denial. Now she can start to mourn.
I dance on. And I start to mourn too. With wet cheeks, I dance for Iona. I finally admit to my sadness, my little grief that was so insignificant next to Eden’s that I couldn’t pay it any attention. But my heart is breaking for the Iona we lost, for the one-off girl she was, an almost-big-sister to me, before she got shunted onto the wrong track, before she had a chance to make it right.
I dance and I cry for the future she won’t have, for the forgiveness she never knew, for her friends and all the ones out there who were waiting for her, whom she’ll never meet now.
I dance for Eden and the big black hole in her heart.
I’m so light now I feel I could break loose and float up over the valley. I’d see it from above, like the owl. Did Iona see this, as she left us? The steep craggy slopes where they hewed out stone and built this town. The houses, all snug and close, huddling in the valley bottom, looped by the curving lines of the canal, the railway, the river and the road, all holding our town in their arms. The old chimneys, the ruins and the new-builds, all that life going on, right here. And we will be part of it: me, Eden, Liam.
Liam. I dance for him too. Thinking of him now is like pressing a bruise. I dance and I say goodbye to him. I dance myself further away from him, but this time it doesn’t work.
Instead, I conjure him up. I open my eyes at last and I see him, coming through the shadowy dancing bodies, his T-shirt catching flashes of light: blue, green, yellow.
It’s really him. Standing right in front of me. Filling my vision.
Chapter Thirty-Five
11.30 p.m.
‘Jess!’
‘What’s wrong? Where is she?’ I can’t see his face well enough to read it. ‘What happened?’ I can’t think why he would leave her.
‘It’s OK. Everything’s OK.’ Liam has to shout over the music. ‘Come over here, so we can talk?’
We edge through the press of bodies and find a quieter corner, behind two huge trees. My legs buckle and I slide down, leaning against the bark, knees pulled up. I rest my head on my leggings, feeling like I’ve been wearing these clothes for at least a hundred years. ‘Tell me,’ I whisper.
‘Jess, you should’ve seen it.’ He slides down at my side. ‘The search-and-rescue team came down, with dogs and stretchers and stuff. They checked Eden over, wrapped her in blankets, gave her energy drinks. They got her up to the pub car park and that’s when her folks came. And the police, ambulance, the lot. Swarming around her.’ His voice breaks. ‘Her mum and her dad – it was … she was … kind of squashed between them. They were sobbing, losing it.’ He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. ‘Intense. After a bit her dad tried to thank me. ’Cept he couldn’t really speak. I told him it wasn’t me, it was you he should thank. Dunno if it went in. Don’t think anything went in, ’cept Eden being safe. She’s really safe, Jess. You did it. You found her.’
‘Yeah.’ I can’t think what else to say. Part of me is still flying over the valley, weightless. ‘Why didn’t you stay? Where’s she gone?’
‘Home. Her mum wasn’t taking any shit. The medics did some checks right there, but Claire said the rest could wait, they were going home.’
‘Good.’ I’m glad for Claire and Simon.
‘Jess, she sent me to find you – Eden did.’ He turns sideways so I can see his expression. ‘We grabbed a second, while Claire was arguing with the uniforms.’
‘What do you mean? Is she all right? What did she say?’ I’m not taking any chances here.
‘Eden told me to find you, Jess. To be with you.’ He smiles properly, and it’s like a camera flash; I can’t see anything but the afterburn. ‘That you needed me. So here I am.’
A warm glow starts firing up inside me. I hug myself, keeping it in, keeping my eyes on his, not daring to believe him. ‘Are you sure?’
Liam nods. ‘Not the kind of thing I get wrong.’ He nudges me. ‘What do you say?’
‘I can’t. Not now.’ I look down. If I don’t meet his gaze, I’m brave enough to tell him. ‘When I was looking for her, I made a deal.’ It sounds crazy now, so I drop my voice to a whisper. ‘I promised I’d give you up, if Eden was OK. And she is, so we can’t … I can’t. I gave you up for Eden.’
‘Well, she doesn’t want me.’ He laughs and breaks off when I still don’t look up. ‘It’s finished, but we’re both OK with that.’ He sits up. ‘Oi, anyway, why is it up to you? Or even her? What about me? What about what I want? Look at me, Jess!’
I sneak a quick glance. His eyebrows are telling me something urgent.
‘And a deal with who? Jess, it doesn’t work like that.’
‘Who says?’ I want to believe him. I want to touch him. I want to kiss his neck. I want to be closer, breathing him in. But it’s not right. I promised. I remember the pale moonlit path of stones, how I felt the world listening. Could I have heard it wrong?
Liam swears. ‘Don’t you get it, Jess? Even after everything. Why is it OK for random bad things to happen, but you can’t let random good things happen? You don’t owe
anybody for what happened today. You don’t have to give up what you want. If Eden says this is OK, who else can stop us?’ And then, like the wind changing, I see the doubts blow in. Anxious, he runs a hand through his hair, tufting it higher. ‘Unless you don’t want this. Jess? Is this your way of telling me to sod off and leave you alone?’
‘No.’ I reach out and take his hand. Its weight and warmth are familiar now. My hand fits in his. ‘It’s not that. Just, what about Eden? It’s too soon. We’ve got to put her first.’
‘And you can. Go see her tomorrow if you don’t believe me. I don’t mind waiting. Listen, I wasn’t telling you everything, before. Cos I didn’t know how you felt. This morning you said we should forget about Saturday …’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I met up with Eden last night to be honest with her, to finish it. Only it got messy. Think we both felt guilty ’bout Saturday …’ He breathes out in a rush. ‘Anyway, I was right. She does want Tyler. She told me yesterday. And I saw him just now, on the phone to her.’
It fits with what Tyler said. I look past Liam, at the magical silvery woods. I feel hope rising like water springing up from the earth, gathering pace as it rushes downstream. Is Liam right? Can I have it all? Me and Liam and Eden too? All of us together and no one lost? It’s been so hard, this year, I can’t believe I’m allowed something easy, something good.
‘And another thing. I didn’t do it. I didn’t hit Josh this time. I wanted to.’ He swears. ‘God, I wanted to. But I just pushed him off and ran after you – only I guessed the wrong path first time, so it took me longer to find you.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t. He isn’t worth it.’ But I still haven’t said yes, and he knows it.
Liam shakes his hand free, digging out a cigarette and lighting it, still talking restlessly. ‘None of it is fixed. It’s not fate. What do you think, Jess?’ He waves the lit end of his cigarette around as he gestures wildly. ‘You think there’s someone watching us, with a giant pair of scales, weighing what we’re owed? Anyway, if there was, I think you’ve suffered enough, don’t you? We don’t get to be happy or unhappy cos we deserve it. Do you think Iona deserved to die?’
‘Course not.’ I shake my head, trying to follow his logic, like a safety line hauling me up.
‘We’re just lucky if we get good stuff. But you still have to choose what to make of it, right? So let’s grab it, Jess, why not? I’m up for it, if you are.’
I sit up straighter. Suddenly it seems possible. I can change my setting. I don’t have to be stuck on the old one. Maybe I have already changed.
‘Come on, Jess. Tell me the truth. Tell me what you want.’
I look at this beautiful boy who’s looking straight at me, so hopeful, and it hits me how ridiculous I’m being. Am I brave enough to say what I want? And try for it? Any one of us can be gone in a day, like Iona. There are no guarantees. I should know that by now. Life’s too short, and you don’t know what’s around the corner. But, tonight, he’s here and so am I, and I can’t think of a single reason not to grab that with both hands.
So I do. I grab him with both hands. My gold medal.
‘OK, Liam Caffrey, you’re on.’ I gather the warm cotton of his T-shirt and gently pull him towards me. Then I kiss him.
‘Finally,’ he says, afterwards.
‘Next, I need a drink.’ I start asking for what I want. I need to get into the habit. ‘And then we should dance.’
Epilogue
Christmas Day
11.48 a.m.
Snow on Christmas Day? Like that ever happens! Only it has. Snow so deep, each branch has a thick white crust. Even under the trees, against the pure blue sky, this icy lacework is dazzling. I love running in snow and today I get to try out my Christmas presents: all garish high-vis running gear, because Mum still hasn’t lost the habit of wanting me safe and seen. The shock of the frozen air when I leave the house is like inhaling needles. But now I’m warmed through – my fleece tied around my waist, gloved hands pumping – I’m high with it. The cold and the whiteness make me giddy. I run on the road, where it’s been ploughed and gritted into a fine bronze slush, with snowdrifts like cresting waves either side, chest-high now I’m out of the valley.
Each breath is like a miracle. I’m here. I’m alive. I made it. Today I want to yell it from the highest hill. Last Christmas seems light years ago. I’d like to think that was the lowest point of my life, but it doesn’t work like that. No guarantees. I don’t know what’s waiting. The difference is, now I believe I can survive it.
I reach the top of the hill and turn left on the long straight road to the chapel. You can see for miles, over to the tiny dark stub of the Pike on the far hill. There’s a dirty yellow snow cloud approaching from the west, smudging the horizon to an ashy blur. More snow soon then.
I see a spot of bright cherry red. Eden! She’s coming up the bridleway in her padded ski stuff, hat and gloves: must’ve been a battle in these drifts, but I think that’s part of the point.
‘Hey! Happy Christmas!’ I shout, breathless, running to meet her.
‘Happy Christmas!’ She hugs me tight and then pulls back, scanning my face carefully.
I do the same. We can’t help it, I think, after everything. We constantly check the other is OK. I smile and tug my fleece on again so I don’t get chilled, then we turn to trudge the last half-mile together.
‘So. First Christmas since Steph moved in,’ Eden says. ‘How’s that working out?’
‘Yeah, it’s not bad actually. Mum laughs way more. Plus Steph’s a better cook. Christmas dinner was shaping up nicely as I left, ta very much. Home-made Christmas pudding – we never had that before!’
‘All good then? Your mum deserves it.’
‘All good.’ I nod. ‘Steph even backs me up, sometimes, when me and Mum row. Wasn’t expecting that.’ Then I laugh. ‘You wanna know the downside? Promise you won’t tell anyone?’
‘Course, J. What?’
‘PMS week in our house is hell. I’m not even joking. Three of us in sync. Can I move in with you next time?’
When she’s finished laughing, I ask, ‘So, are you seeing Tyler later?’
‘I might be. If this snow doesn’t put him off walking up our hill. Southerner! He’s not used to it.’
‘Still going well then, you two?’
She grins. ‘Yep. We had a good start, weird to think of it now. We kind of fast-forwarded somewhere, me and him. He got under my skin. He knows I’m not nice, and it’s such a bloody relief. He sees through me, J, in a good way. And I let him in. He’s OK. I mean, yeah, he’s got swagger, but really, he’s solid, I promise.’
‘OK. If you say so, I believe you. But be careful, E. If he hurts you, I will be coming for him. You can tell him that.’
I’m so fierce I can see she wants to laugh, but she reins it in. ‘OK, I’ll pass that on. You seeing Liam today?’
‘I might be …’ I repeat her words, and we nudge each other, giggling, but there’s something accepted, about our lads and how we feel about them.
‘Anyway, he’s only four streets away, so no excuse. Plus he’s supposed to be helping me with the framing. Deadline’s straight after the holidays.’
‘That’s good. You deserve this, Jess.’
I still can’t believe it, but I’ve got my own exhibition. Just a little shop in town, but I have to sort and frame all the prints I’ve chosen. These last few months, the painting’s been so good I’ve got more than I need and I can be choosy. My portfolio is growing fat. I’ve emailed Aisha for one of my art-college references. There’s a future taking shape, still blurry, but so bright I hardly dare look at it.
We don’t speak for this last bit. Eden pushes the old iron gate open over smooth compacted white. We’re not the first to do this. You can see at a glance which graves have had their Christmas-morning visit. Iona’s row is deep, pristine snow, but we break a path to her, through the thick, powdery drift.
I wait and let Ed
en go first.
She takes off her hat and gloves and unzips her backpack.
‘Hey, Iona. Happy Christmas.’ Eden takes out a bit of holly and sticks it in the snow at the base of the headstone.
Iona Holby 1998–2016 Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend
‘Here you are.’ She places a mince pie on the top of the stone. Next she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a miniature bottle of brandy. She takes a swig and hands it to me.
I copy her – coughing on the hot burnt-sugar flavour – and pass it back.
She sprinkles it. Amber drops melt the snow where they land.
‘Do you remember when we did about Mexico, and the Day of the Dead?’ Eden asks without looking at me. ‘How they party with their dead people, bringing them food and drink? I liked that idea, even back then, before I knew any dead people.’
She sits back on her snowy boots.
‘The grief counsellor says it’s OK to admit it all. Bad stuff. Good stuff. That we fought. That I loved her. That we were friends once.’
‘Course it is.’
‘She said grief is just love with no home. I get that. The love doesn’t stop, just because the person has. But I felt like a hypocrite, you know, for being sad? Like she’d chuck it in my face if she knew: You? Sad? You hated me! I thought you’d be glad I’m dead! And you know the worst thing? For one split second the day she died, I was glad. Glad the fighting was over.’
‘That’s got to be normal. Don’t beat yourself up.’
‘Oh, but I do. I’m good at that. The mad thing is, right now I would literally give my right arm to see her again. Even if it was just one last time. To hug her and say sorry would be …’ She gulps on the tears.
I crouch next to her in the snow. Give her some time. I can feel the compacted cold seeping up. ‘How’s it been, today?’
‘It’s hideous, but I was ready for that, first Christmas and all. It couldn’t be more wrong. It’s like we’re unbalanced – a chair with one leg missing – so we’re all useless and crooked and tipping over. We just don’t work.’
