Chapter Fifty-Seven Soundtrack: What Would I Do Without You by Drew Holcomb + The Neighbours

Saturday morning. The first weekend of the rest of my life. A life with a promotion, but a life without Nas.

I think that will feel better soon. After all, I've grieved before. I can survive it again.

And since I'm starting anew, I know it's time to let something go. Well, someone.

The Overground is quiet this morning. I started early, coffee in hand, walking the familiar route along the canal. The train arrived as I stepped onto the platform. Calm, quiet, gentle. There's a family sitting opposite me and, further down the carriage, a young couple carrying an armchair.

Ding. An email.

Joanna is losing her rag over an amendment to her contract. We're six months in and she still won't sign it. European land wars have been won in shorter campaigns.

Sunlight speckles across my eyelashes. The Overground train grinds to a start. I shut my eyes to block out the light.

I stand up and respond to Joanna: Hi Joanna, as we're reaching the end of our option period, I think it's best not to renew. Wishing you all the best in finding a more satisfactory partner.

I wish myself the best in that, too, but that's not a thought to share.

As I leave the station, I text Nas: I just trashed our relationship with Joanna. so if you come back to the office, you'd only have David to deal with. and I'm absolutely willing to kill David if that's what it takes.

Could that text be used against me in court? It doesn't matter either way because Nas doesn't respond.

I'm happy for him: the kind of happiness that's soul-crushing and devastating and feels like death. So not really happy, actually.

I hurt him and I haven't fixed it, so he won't forgive me. It's exactly what I'd tell a friend to do. But I suspect that keeping silent hurts him too, because his absence is like a missing limb to me, and I've only liked him for a few months. I can't imagine how hard he's finding this distance.

If I really cared about him, I'd leave him alone to move on. But I miss him. I miss him so much.

I crunch through the autumn leaves. I'm walking down a narrow lane, embraced on both sides by hanging trees that are turning orange and gold. I used to think London jumped from summer straight to winter, but autumn is waiting here, in this lane. There's a solitary bird singing from above me, louder than the chugging of the departing Overground. The path curves ahead so I can't see where I'm going. It's my first visit, but I know the way.

I turn at the end and find the cemetery. It's as familiar as a dream. The rows of graves are neat but worn, a little tilted as the field drops on the left, and around them are the soft swaying trees. It's cosy. I didn't expect that.

In the distance is a church, but I ignore that. Instead, I walk along the rows of headstones. Some are fresh, some decades old, but each one carries an inscription of love.

I nearly miss him as I walk. I'm distracted by a robin, swooping down beside me. But as I watch it perch on the headstone, I see it.

Benjamin O'Connell

Beloved son and partner.

'Some things are more precious because they don't last long.'

It's beautiful. Exactly what I would have wanted, if I had been able to ask. If I hadn't wasted those weeks after in numbness and silence, going where I was told and eating when forced. But somehow, he's lying beneath this stone and I feel nothing but peace.

For the first time since the accident, I wonder why Ben is here, instead of back in Ireland. Surely his family wanted him near them. But almost before I've formed the question, I know the answer. Mei will have insisted. She'll have known that, even though it took me years, I would have wanted him close to our home. He should be resting where he was happiest.

I kneel before him. It's been so hard to remember him. Grief steals more than a person: it takes your memories, too. It made Ben a saint in my mind, but he wasn't. He was just a man. A kind, funny, impulsive man. I remember his crooked front tooth, which he used to open beer bottles, even though I warned him it would hurt. I remember his terrible handwriting, which nearly got his passport application denied. I remember how he would mumble in his sleep. I remember him, exactly as he was, for a single moment.

It's not sad at all. It's warm, and joyful, and peaceful.

I tell him, 'I always knew you would catch me when I fell. And after a while, I stopped jumping. I miss you so much. I wish you were still here. But it's time to start jumping again.'

He doesn't reply, of course. But I know that he's in a peaceful place, surrounded by birds and trees. I know that I can see him again, whenever I need. And I know that it's time to leave.

So I pull myself up, I touch the stone one last time, and I let myself go.