Chapter 24: She Was Loved

I packed up and left the library shortly after Chloe. I just couldn’t concentrate. Maybe I’d be better working on the essays with Imogen during the week anyway—we’d become something of a team in that respect.

I went back to Wintersmith, flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling. It was just before lunch and I expected that Mark would be banging my door down any—

“Fancy a burger in town?” He said as he entered the room without knocking.

I shrugged. “It’s got to be better than the shit they serve across the road.” I sat up. “You know, part of me is looking forward to moving out of this place next year just to get away from the canteen, but then I realise that it means I might have to cook for myself and the prospect suddenly seems less appealing.”

“Cooking ain’t hard,” said Mark. “I mean, what’s hard about bunging a meal in the microwave for two minutes.”

“Microwave meals are shit.”

“You’re too bloody picky. I reckon that sister of yours spoilt you. She’s a great cook.” He snapped his fingers. “See, that’s what we should do, move in with someone who can cook.”

I grinned. “Imogen can cook. Apparently.”

“There you go then,” he said, grinning back. “Think Vanessa can too?”

“Does it matter? Wherever Imogen ends up living next year, Vanessa will be right there too, don’t you think?”

“Probably. That pair are joined at the hip. Now, about this burger...”

Mark quite enjoyed the food served up by the big fast-food joints, but I always refused to eat food that didn’t taste much different from its packaging on principle. That principle being that it tasted like shit. So we compromised. I agreed to accompany Mark to watch Westmouth United play that afternoon if he’d agree to lunch at a halfway decent pub, where the burgers would be fat and juicy and the chips thick, crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside. I’m pretty sure Mark got the better end of that deal, particularly given we found a pub that was doing a two-for-one lunchtime special.

I’ve never seen the attraction of watching twenty-two grown men kick a leather bag of air around a field, and two hours in the cold and rain only to see United go down two goals to nil really didn’t do anything to change my mind. But at least Mark enjoyed himself—shouting all sort of obscenities at the home team’s players and the referee.

And it stopped me from thinking about what Chloe had said. About what she had suggested.

And stopping me from thinking too deeply was the only reason I went out that evening too. With Vanessa and Imogen being absent, we were welcomed back into Emily’s group of friends and Amanda made a non-too-subtle offer to keep me company while my not-girlfriend was out of town.

I rebuffed her advances as politely as I could and sat in a corner of Central Pier with Mark, Jem and Phil talking bullshit and drinking lager and whisky chasers all night.

The voice in my head had been surprisingly quiet ever since my encounter with Chloe. And as I got ready for bed that night, I reflected that this could not be a good thing.

I was right.

I’d only ever had The Dream when I fell asleep after sex, but it still came as no surprise to find myself in that all too familiar field, standing under that oak tree on that small rise in the corner, looking out over those cliffs at the sea beyond.

It was unusually quiet. There was no wind, so the waves weren’t crashing against the rocks below, merely lapping, almost silently. There was no rustle of the leaves in the trees. No birdsong.

And there were no clouds at all. Not even a few fluffy wisps, just a completely clear, blue sky.

It felt ... eerie.

“Paul?” I shivered when I heard her voice. I’d hoped...

“Paul, answer me.”

I shook my head.

“Fine.”

The silence continued. I couldn’t even hear her breathing the way I normally could. Time stretched out. If that was possible. Time had no meaning here. How could it?

“You’re not real,” I said. “This place isn’t real.”

“Aren’t I? Isn’t it?”

“It’s just in my head. You’re just in my head.”

“Just because something only exists in a person’s head, doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“Yes, it does!”

“Everything we see, hear, touch and taste, they’re all just electrical signals in our head. Our whole world, all our experiences, are just in our head.”

“But you’re not real,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“I’m as real as you allow me to be.”

“That doesn’t even mean anything.”

“Really?”

“Just ... Go away. Leave me alone.”

“You know I’m not going anywhere, Paul. Not until you—”

“Don’t say it!”

“Why not? Why won’t you admit it, Paul? Why won’t you let me have my peace? Do you think I want to be doing this? Do you think I want to visit you all the time? Just let me have my peace, Paul. Let me rest. You know what you have to do, so just do it. Why won’t you just do it?”

It had suddenly gone cold. Very cold. The sky had clouded over in the blink of an eye, from bright blue to a dark murky grey. The wind had picked up and the sound of the waves crashing hard against the rocks filled the air. She had to shout now. Over the wind. Over the waves.

“You know what day it is, Paul! There’ll never be a better time! Just do it! Do it!”

“No!” I screamed.

“Why not? Why won’t you?”

The storm raged around us. It was raining now, hard and fast. My shirt soaked through in an instant, sticking to my chest. Rainwater dripped from my hair and into my eyes.

“Because!”

“Because why?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

“Don’t want to what?”

I spun around. The first time I’d ever turned to face her. Despite the rain, she looked as beautiful as she ever had. Those bright blue eyes, so full of fire, so full of life. That hair, managing to maintain its lustre even though it was drenched. And that smile. Oh, damn, that smile. It was that smile—that array of smiles—that I’d fallen for. Each time she’d smiled I’d fallen a little more in love with her.

“Because I don’t want to let you go!”

She stepped forward and reached out to hold my cheek. “There,” she said, her eyes so full of love. “Was that so hard?”

I felt the ground rumbling beneath our feet as the air filled with thunder and the sky flashed with lightning. She looked to her right and I followed her gaze. Pushing up, out of the ground, was a gravestone. Even before it was up far enough for the name to be visible, I felt her looking back at me, so I turned to her.

But it wasn’t her. It was a monstrosity of rotten flesh, with lifeless hair and dull eyes.

“It’s time to wake up now, Paul.”

I woke with jolt and sat upright. I’d thrown the covers off and they lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. I was covered in sweat. The t-shirt and boxers I’d slept in stuck to me and I was breathing heavily.

This couldn’t go on. I had to do something about it.

But what?

Wasn’t it obvious? She’d told me. Chloe had told me. Hell, Emily had taken me there and very nearly forced me to do it.

But this was something I had to do alone. Well, as alone as I could be with her still in my head.

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. Seven-thirty. I’d thought it might be earlier than that. My stomach rumbled and my mind shifted to the filling cooked breakfast in the canteen across the road.

But my hunger could wait. I had to do this now.

If I didn’t, I’d back out.

Again.

I clambered off the bed and quickly dressed in the clothes from last night. I didn’t bother with a shower. That would only be yet another delaying tactic. And I’d delayed enough.

I automatically picked up my keys, phone and wallet, grabbed my coat from the hook on the back of the door, and went out to the car.

As I passed a flower shop on the way through Westmouth town centre, a voice in the back of my head told me it wouldn’t be right to turn up without flowers. But I shut it out. This wasn’t about flowers. This was about something else. Something more important than just flowers.

Once clear of the town, out on the open road, I pushed down on the gas a little harder. I wanted to get this over with. Now I’d made up my mind, I needed to get this over with. So it was a little after eight when I parked outside the building that served as, amongst other things, a chapel.

Clarissa’s service hadn’t been there. No, of course, it hadn’t. It had been at the church in her village. It was only appropriate really.

I’d coasted through that day on autopilot, not taking any of it in. But as I thought back now, walking up the path, past the old oak tree, it all came back. The sights. The smells. Smells? Why the smells?

I could hear the vicar speaking, though I couldn’t remember his words.

I remember all the people patting me on the shoulder as I sat in that damn wheelchair, telling me how sorry they were.