“I’m so sorry I brought us here,” I say. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
He looks up and manages a sad smile. “No, I’m glad we came,” he replies. “I didn’t know how I’d react, how I’d feel. As soon as we parked, I wanted to get back in and drive away again. But... well, I’m glad I didn’t. It’s long overdue, coming back here. Seeing this place, remembering those times... it’s not easy. But it’s also not all bad—this was Katie’s happy place.
“I can picture her here at all those different ages—being carried as a baby, toddling around the tree trunks, running as fast as she could down the hills. Even later, when she was ill, it always made her smile. She never complained about anything—and that’s what I need to remember most of all. If she was brave enough to get through all that she had to deal with, then I’m brave enough to deal with this. I can make it my happy place too. So don’t apologize for bringing me here—thank you for bringing me here.”
Charlie seems unnerved, as you would expect from an eighteen-year-old being plunged into a whirlpool of adult emotion. He chews his lip and says: “Have you got a picture of her?”
Luke smiles and replies: “Your mum asked me the same, and I never showed her one. But yes, of course.”
He pulls his wallet out of his shorts pocket and passes us a small square photo.
“That’s her school picture, from her first year,” he explains. “I have more, back in the motorhome and on my phone, but I love that one.”
I handle the picture like the precious artifact it is, and Charlie leans in to look at the same time. I can’t help but smile; she has messy dark hair that has escaped her plaits in wild, errant strands, and huge brown eyes. Her grin is infectious and speaks of a deep vein of mischief. Her school shirt has a paint stain on it, and her cardigan is hanging off one shoulder.
“Her mum was not pleased with that photo at first,” Luke says, taking it back and staring at it. “She’d done her hair all nice for picture day, and she didn’t have that paint stain when she left the house! But that was Katie—she didn’t care. She was a little bit wild already, even at four. And that’s why I love that photo. I wish I had more—I wish I had school photos that stretched all the way through, and could add graduation photos, and even wedding photos, but... well. At least I have this. We didn’t have her for long enough, but what we had was perfect.”
I think of all of Charlie’s school portraits—the progression from kindergarten to juniors to high school; the different haircuts and missing teeth and various uniforms; his transformation from cute little nipper to handsome young man—and know how lucky I am. Losing some of those photos in a storm is nothing in comparison to what Luke has lost.
“She’s absolutely gorgeous,” I say. “Like you say, perfect.”
“She looks really cheeky and a lot of fun,” Charlie adds, which makes Luke grin. I notice then that it is the same grin as Katie’s—the little girl must have looked physically more like her mum, but there is a resemblance there.
“She was. And thank you. Now, look—this has been a lot, and it’s been heavy, and I’m sorry about that. The whole ethos of this trip was supposed to be joy. So this is my suggestion—how about you two go back up to the cafe and get something to drink, and in your case, of course, Charlie, to eat as well, and I’ll meet you there in a while? I think Betty and I are going to go on a trip down memory lane, and I think it’s something we should do alone. We’re going to go back to that play trail, and over the stepping-stones, and we’re going to be sad and happy for a while, and then we’ll come back. Is that all right with you guys?”
“Of course it is,” I reply as we all stand up again.
“Yeah. I haven’t eaten in, like, over an hour,” says Charlie. “Anyway... do you know what it’s time for now?”
Luke and I look confused, and Charlie announces: “Group hug!”
He dives in and wraps his arms around Luke’s waist, and laughing, I join in. Luke grabs us both in a big bear hug, and Betty jumps up at our ankles. We stagger around for a few steps, then finally disentangle. Again, I have that strange feeling that Charlie has become great friends with Luke in such a small amount of time—but then again, so have I. It’s like we’ve all been in some kind of emotional fast-forward. It must be one of the side effects of living in such close quarters and being together 24-7.
We make our farewells and walk back up to the visitor center and cafe at the top of the hill. After bagging an outdoor table,drinks, and a selection of scones, Charlie and I settle down together. A black Lab at the next table keeps trying to sidle toward us, looking at Charlie’s plate hopefully in case he drops any crumbs.Good luck, fella, I think.
“That was nice of you,” I say, “that group hug. I think he needed that.”
“Jeez, Mum, I needed that! What a horrible thing to have happened. How long have you known?”
“A few days,” I reply. “I hope you’re not annoyed with me. It wasn’t my story to share, if you know what I mean?”
He nods and drains half his glass of orange juice in one go.
“Yeah. That’s okay. I just feel sorry for him. Why does the bad shit always seem to happen to the good people?”
“That, my son, is a question as old as time. Anyway, just want to say—that wasn’t easy, and you handled it well, and I’m very proud of you.”
He shrugs, as if to say, “Naturally you are,” and chews his lip. He does that when he’s thinking. It’s like his poker tell.
“So,” he says eventually, dragging the word out, “that was Luke’s story to tell, and I totally get that. But what about your story?”
“What do you mean?” I reply, feeling suddenly tense. “Nothing to tell. I’m very boring. Not so much a story as a chapter. Or possibly a limerick.”
He points a finger at me, then notices there’s some cream left on there and licks it off. “Don’t do that thing, Mum. Don’t make a joke—or what you think of as a joke—to try to distract me. I’ve been thinking about this since we were in Oxford. You know last year when I was looking at unis, and you took me to open days?”
“Of course. I bagged a fine collection of free pens and jute tote bags.”
“Well, that was you once, wasn’t it? Looking at unis, thinking about your future, making plans. And before you start making a speech, yes, I get it—you don’t regret having me. I believe you, because I am very awesome, but that’s not what I mean. What I mean is that you had parents. You had a mum and dad and a family home, people who maybe took you to open days, and helped you through your exams like you did with me, and all that boring stuff. And I know next to nothing about them. I’m eighteen, Mum, and I’m about to start the next stage of my life—but I feel like I’m doing it without filling in the blanks, you know?”
