Three years later

HARRY

I am silent the entire journey here. I expected the route to feel familiar; I expected to recognise the bends in the road, the fields either side, the signposts along the way. It therefore comes as a surprise to me that the first stab of recognition is the narrowing of the village high street ahead of me, the quaint stone cottages adorned with pink climbing roses, and the church looming into view, its soft grey walls lit up in the summer sunlight. I take the first turning to my left and manage to find a parking space just outside the community hall, opposite the entrance to a small local supermarket that also looks vaguely familiar from the last time I was here. Stepping out onto the pavement I feel a flutter of nerves in my stomach not for the first time. I have thought about this day for so long and envisioned it with a mixture of anticipation and dread; above all, I want today to be right. 

A couple of slow, deep breaths give me the courage I need to open the boot of the car and retrieve a small bunch of flowers - a bouquet of delicate pink, white and yellow blooms wrapped in clear cellophane - and a pair of identical small yellow teddy bears, which I carry slowly and purposefully round the corner to the entrance of St Peters churchyard. 

The midday sun is hot on the back of my neck. There is a gentle breeze rippling through the trees lining the perimeter of the cemetery, and once I am on the concrete path and in the shade of the tall sycamores I feel calm and instantly peaceful. I make my way slowly towards the rear of the churchyard, following the path and the directions given to me over the phone by the parish vicar earlier in the week. The frozen statues of angels and cherubs stand guard over their tombs, their stone eyes blank and expressionless as I pass. 

I turn left at a cross in the paths, reaching the perimeter wall before turning right and making my way towards the rear, counting the lines of graves in my head and pausing at the end of the seventh row. This is the one, and now that I am so close I feel another stab of nerves. I am afraid of my own feelings; afraid of the emotion this might bring up. I wander slowly along the row, reading the names on the headstones as I pass, looking for the one that is already bringing a lump to my throat, as I had known all along it would.

I see the gravestone in the shape of the open book ahead of me and my heart misses a beat. I know in my gut this is the one. I take a deep breath, my eyes burning already, and pick my way carefully forward, my feet trampling the long grass flat. I come to a stop in front of the grave, skim read the names on either page of the open book - Chloe's parents - before my eyes fall on a new piece of granite that wasn't here last time. 

Chloe Elizabeth Lewis. 20th September 1999 - 4th July 2019. There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends. 

The words blur before me and I sink to my knees at her graveside, the ground soft and yielding thanks to the length of the grass. I set the flowers and the teddy bears down to the side of me and reach forward to run one finger softly over the cool granite, relishing the sharp edges of the inscription. So strong is the memory of holding her in my arms on this very spot three years ago, I imagine for a moment that I feel her now, warm and soft, clinging to me as though I am her saviour when in fact it was she who was mine. I give in to the emotion rising inside me and let the tears flow freely. The tombstone is unsympathetic, cold and immobile, yet still indistinctly beautiful in its own way. The trees rustle in the breeze, the birds sing their chorus above my head. The world carries on, oblivious to its loss. 

Eventually I lift my head as the rush of emotion begins to subside. A couple of tears have dropped onto the smooth surface of the headstone and I am happy to be leaving a piece of me here with her, albeit tiny and insignificant.

I shift my legs so I am sitting beside the grave, and snap off a piece of long grass to twiddle awkwardly between my fingers. I feel embarrassed and self conscious, but a quick glance around me tells me I am still alone for now. "Hi Chloe," I begin, and cringe a little at my voice, clumsy and stupid in such beautiful and peaceful surroundings. I plough on regardless. "I'm sorry I haven't been to visit sooner. I spent eighteen months in prison, and since I've been out I've been putting everything I have into rebuilding my life. I had a lot to put right."

I take a deep breath, my confidence growing. "It hasn't been easy. I thought it would be so simple; I just needed to stop being an arse and start being a good person. I didn't think I needed any outside help. I didn't think I needed to talk about the past. Of course, I was wrong and you were right. It took me a while to see it. I spent the first six months of my sentence being angry: Angry with myself, angry with the world... angry with you. Fuck, I was so angry with you."

I remember I'm in a scared place, and that I shouldn't be swearing. I glance over my shoulder and throw an apologetic look in the direction of the church before turning back to the grave.

"I felt so guilty that I survived when you didn't. And I blamed you for that guilt, because you actively made the decision to save me and you didn't give me any choice. I was furious that you'd made the biggest sacrifice anyone could ever make, and then just left me to cope with that on my own. I knew my thoughts weren't rational but the grief took over and wouldn't let me think clearly. I was in a dark place. I kept going over and over that day in my head. I dreamed about it constantly, I couldn't escape it. I wanted to scream at you, to hurt you like you were hurting me. I even thought I hated you."

I pause to wipe the tears from my face, and to take another deep breath. "I didn't hate you, of course. I could never hate you. I owe you my life. Not just from that day on the cliff top, but every day since then. You changed me, Chloe. You showed me what was right in front of me all along: that there is good in the world, and light, and love. I just needed to open my eyes to see it." 

A gentle gust of wind lifts my hair from my forehead and sends ripples through the grass in front of me. I wonder if somehow, somewhere, Chloe can hear me. It comforts me to hope that she might. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you when we first met. I'm sorry for my part in your misery, those first few weeks when I was coming into the Flute with Chris. I was a different person back then. I found it funny that Chris spoke to you like a piece of shit. I don't find it funny now. I'm sorry for being an arsehole to you pretty much the whole time we were on the run. I was a shit. You didn't deserve it. But you loved me anyway, and I didn't deserve that. I was never worthy of you; you were a much better person than me. You deserved all the love in the world. You deserved all the success, all the happiness. I'm so sorry for everything you went through, and for all the shit you put up with. I keep thinking what a horrible life you had, but I know you wouldn't see it that way. I know that you would say you were lucky to have had people in your life who loved you, and whom you loved. And I get that, I really do, I just wish..."

What do I wish? Sometimes even I don't know.

"I just wish you could have been happy, I suppose. That's all any of us really want, isn't it? To be happy..."

A small brown bird swoops down low from one of the trees, wings fluttering as it perches nearby on an old stone grave covered in moss. It cocks its head to one side, regarding me with suspicion. It jumps one way, and then the other, opening its beak a couple of times and watching me with one beady eye.

"One day, after I'd been inside about six months, I saw the prison counsellor. I still don't even know what made me decide to see him. I was just having a really bad day I think. I hadn't wanted to bother with all that at first - you know I never liked to talk about anything emotional. And I thought I was over everything that happened. I thought I'd dealt with it. But we got talking, and when he asked me why I was angry I started telling him about you. And it was like someone had flicked a switch inside me - once I started, I couldn't stop. The relief was incredible. I know now why you said I needed counselling. Over the course of that year he helped me come to terms with what my step dad did to my mum, and helped me understand that I wasn't to blame, and that I couldn't have stopped it. He helped me see that what I experienced as a child affected my whole outlook, my relationships, my entire life."

The bird on the nearby gravestone watches me intently, as though listening to every word. 

"He helped me understand my own feelings. He helped me come to terms with my anger towards you, and my survivor's guilt. He told me it was a common reaction to be angry with someone who has died, especially under these circumstances."

My stomach flutters, and I look down at the bunch of flowers lying on the grass, the cellophane now wrinkled around the stems where I had clenched them nervously in my hand, and the two small yellow teddy bears. I pick up the flowers first and lay them carefully below the headstone bearing Chloe's name, the colourful blooms appearing somehow more delicate against the unforgiving granite.

"I know that you didn't know you were pregnant," I murmur. "And I know that if you had known, your decision on the clifftop probably would have been completely different. You wouldn't have given up on your life if you'd known you were carrying my baby. That's something else I've been coming to terms with, too. I think about that baby every single day. I know it wasn't even a  baby yet; it was just.... cells, or whatever. It might not have even survived anyway. But it was still my child. Mine and yours. I wonder what it would have looked like, what it would have been like. Whether it would have been a mess like me, or pure like you."

I hesitate, and then reach for the teddy bears. I hold them side by side, one in each hand, raising them briefly to my lips to kiss them both. The little brown bird watches with interest.

"The day I got out of prison I went and bought these teddy bears. One for me and one for you, in memory of the baby. I wish I'd been able to do it sooner, so that yours could have been buried with you, but the funeral happened so quickly - I was in custody and there wasn't enough time to get a permit approved to attend, never mind see you beforehand to put it in your coffin. I know it's too little too late, but I thought it would at least be close to you here." I set one of the teddies down next to the flowers, pressing my lips together to fight another wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

A rustle behind me causes the little bird to take off sharply, darting away between the headstones and disappearing into the trees. Looking over my shoulder I see the figures of Sofía and Dylan making their way carefully along the path towards me, hand in hand. As I stand up and wipe my cheeks with the back of my sleeve I catch Sofía's eye, She smiles as she helps Dylan across the grass to the graveside where she slips her hand into mine. 

"Are you OK?" she asks softly.

"Yeah," I mutter, and she gives my fingers a squeeze of solidarity. 

"So this is the place," she murmurs, looking all around her and then down at the memorial at our feet. "It's beautiful. So quiet, and peaceful."

"It's pretty much how I remember it," I nod. "A little more overgrown, maybe."

"So sad," she sighs. "Places like this should be nurtured, not forgotten."

I nod again, in agreement, and we stand in silence for a moment before Sofía crouches down, Dylan immediately climbing onto her knee.

"Rest in peace, Chloe," she whispers. "We never met, but I owe you so much. You were so brave, and so selfless. I will always be in your debt."

"Who are you talking to, Mummy?" Dylan asks, reaching up to put his arms around her neck. She stands up again, holding him tightly, and I can see her eyes are swimming with tears.

"Somebody very brave, who took care of Daddy when he needed looking after," she answers. 

"Like you take care of me?" he asks. 

"Yes, something like that," she replies, smiling at Dylan and then at me through her tears. 

"And like I'll take care of my baby sister?" he persists, looking at Sofía with such seriousness that my heart swells with pride.

"Just like that," she affirms, her hand instinctively cradling the small bump that has only started protruding from her usually flat stomach in the last couple of weeks. He beams at her.

"Can I have an ice cream please?" 

We both laugh, and Sofía sets Dylan down on the grass and looks up at me, clearly waiting for my signal that I am ready to leave.

"You go ahead," I tell her. "I just need another minute. If you don't mind."

She stands on tip toes to kiss me. "Of course I don't mind. Take as long as you need. We passed a little café, a few metres up the road. We'll wait in there for you."

I watch as the two of them saunter up the path together, Dylan pointing out birds and insects and anything else that catches the attention of a five year old boy. I turn back to Chloe's grave and smile. "You were right, of course," I tell her. "Sofía took me back. I still don't know why, or how she managed to forgive me. We wrote to each other while I was in prison - can you believe that? Me, writing letters! Maybe that's how Sofía could see I was serious about changing my ways. She started visiting me, and by the time I was released I was in a much better place, after the counselling. I told her about our relationship, and what you had meant to me, in our letters. We talked about it at length face-to-face once I was free. She understands that if I hadn't met you, and become close to you, and loved you, that I wouldn't be here now. It took a lot for her to accept my feelings for you, and that my love for you was separate from my love for her. I still don't feel that I deserve her, but I'm working on my own self worth. I'm seeing a new counsellor, not far from where we live now. We left London a few months after I was released and moved to a tiny little village on the south coast. We wanted to leave all the bad memories behind and start afresh, somewhere neither of us had ever been. We didn't want Dylan growing up on the estate, and now with another little one on the way..."

I swallow the lump forming in my throat at the thought of the baby that Chloe wanted but never had, but could have had. "Sofía and I found out last week that we're having a little girl. And I wanted you to know that we've already chosen her name. She's going to be Olivia Chloe, after you. Because there will always be a piece of you in me. Without you, there would be no me. I owe everything to you, Chloe. And nothing I could ever say or do would come close to what you did for me. I've even gone back to college part time," I add, resisting the urge to laugh out loud at the thought of the look of disbelief on Chloe's face if she heard I was voluntarily returning to education. "I want to become a counsellor myself, eventually. If I can help just one person turn their life around, I'll feel as though I'll have made a difference. But I promise you that every single day I will remember the sacrifice you made for me and my family, and I will live the best life I can so that sacrifice wasn't in vain."

A breeze rushes through the trees; the sound not unlike a collective sigh of approval. I feel a sense of inner peace I have never experienced before; as though the final piece of the puzzle has fallen into place and a stage of my life is now complete. 

"I don't know if I'll be back," I tell her, staring down at the gold inscription. "This place holds so many memories for me. I haven't been to the cliff top - I don't think I ever will. But don't think I've forgotten you. You're here," I place the hand that is still holding my yellow teddy over my heart, "forever."

I bring my fingers to my lips in a gentle kiss, and then bend down to press my fingertips to the letters of her name on her headstone. "I love you," I whisper. "Thank you for loving me."

A tiny brown bird - the same one as before, perhaps? - swoops past me, chirping excitedly, into the shelter of the sycamore trees. I straighten up, and with one last lingering glance at the grave I turn and walk slowly down the row and onto the path leading back to the entrance of the cemetery, lost in thought, towards my family, my future, my destiny. 

It's funny how your life can change in the blink of an eye. It's funny how your whole world can be thrown upside down without even the slightest warning. It's funny how you can end up achieving things you never would have thought possible, or being someone you never dreamed you could be. It's funny how amidst all the confusion, the panic, the fear and the uncertainty, you can find an inner strength you never knew was there, right when it matters the most.

Sometimes it takes just one person to change your view on the world; to change the world's view on you. To help you simply be you. And sometimes it is the last person you ever would have expected who changes your life. Sometimes, there is no way in the world you could possibly imagine what is about happen; what is waiting for you just around the corner. Not even in your wildest dreams.

THE END