Page 48 of Five Things I Love About You

‘Do you want to visit it now?’

He doesn’t reply, but a few seconds later dips his chin. ‘It’s just along here. I… I wasn’t sure whether I’d want to see it but now I’m here, I really do.’

He sets off in the direction of the bench and I follow, slightly behind. I don’t want to intrude on this moment, but I don’t want to abandon him if he needs someone there either. From the stories he told me earlier, he was clearly very close to his dad.

The walk is further than I expected, and I glance at the plaques on the other benches as we pass, dodging children on bikes, joggers and tourists at the same time; most of them are dedicated to older people who have died, but the odd one is for someone younger, too young, and the thought makes my breath catch in my throat.

Eventually, Matt comes to a stop, and I hover a little behind him. For a few moments he simply stands and looks at the bench, not saying a word. I can’t read the inscription from here. There are no other adornments, but the bronze plaque is shiny, the sun glinting off it. Matt’s face is stony, his jaw so tight I can see him grinding his teeth, and I know he’s trying not to cry. I want to tell him not to hold back for my benefit; to let it all out. In my head I can imagine what Sophie would say:it’s always better to have a good old cry to clear everything out, otherwise you just get blocked up like a smelly old drain.But I don’t feel I know him well enough for that, so I stay where I am and say nothing.

Eventually, he turns to look at me. He’s smiling, but his eyes are sad.

‘Do you want to sit down?’

I take a step forward. ‘Are you going to?’

He nods, wipes the raindrops off the seat with his sleeve and sits, before picking Gladys up to sit beside him. I lower myself down onto the other end and look out to sea. The water is a flat grey now, but there’s still the odd diamond glint as a slice of sun battles through the clouds. Through the railings the beach has disappeared beneath rocks, some shiny and dark, others covered in a thick layer of green moss. Families pick their way carefully across them, oblivious to the drizzle, bending occasionally to search for something, or to scoop something out with a net, grinning at their catch of the day, and I picture Matt here with his father, doing just this all those years ago.

‘Thanks for coming here with me,’ Matt says, his voice making me jump. I turn to look at him, and he’s gazing out at the horizon, his eyes shining. Even from this angle I can see the pain in them.

He points to the plaque. ‘Dad died two years ago, and I’ve only been here once since then. I feel so guilty but I just can’t—’ His voice catches and without thinking I stretch out my hand and wrap it round his on the wooden slats between us. He looks down at our intertwined fingers but doesn’t move them.

‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ I say.

He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s good for me. I just… I miss him so much. But I feel him here. I really feel him.’

I smile at him and he looks back out to sea. Gladys sniffs our hands, then settles down with her head on her front paws. ‘You tired girl?’ Matt says, ruffling her head with his free hand. ‘Your old legs aren’t doing too badly today, aren’t they?’

‘She’ll sleep well tonight.’

‘She will. So will I.’

We sit like that for a few more minutes, the blustery wind buffering us back and forth. I don’t need to ask Matt any questions, it’s already clear how much it means to him to be here.

The rain is getting heavier and within seconds the heavens have opened and fat drops splatter across the tarmac, changing it quickly from pale to dark grey.

Matt snatches his hand away and we both jump up.

‘Quick, we’ll get soaked if we stay here,’ he says, and we half run, half walk in the direction of the lighthouse. It’s still quite a long way along the walkway and by the time we arrive in the small shop at the base of the lighthouse, we’re both soaked through. Gladys looks less impressed than we do and I can’t help laughing at her disgruntled face as she drips forlornly all over the tiled floor. The windows are steamed up and Matt’s hair is plastered to his head.

‘Well, that was fun,’ he says, swiping ineffectually at the water dripping down his face.

‘I feel like I’ve been in the shower fully clothed,’ I say, as water seeps down my back.

We buy cups of tea and stand watching the rain hammer down on the path outside and trickle down the glass.

‘Shall we climb to the top?’

‘Are we allowed?’

‘We always used to. I loved it.’

‘Go on then.’

The lady behind the counter takes our money, hands us two tickets and points to a small door to the right. ‘Go through there and you’ll find a few exhibits along the way, then you’ll come to the stairs,’ she says.

‘Thank you,’ I say, clutching the tickets.

‘Is it okay to take Gladys?’ Matt says. The woman peers over the counter. ‘Hello, girl,’ she says. ‘Yes, she can go up but you might need to carry her. She looks like she’s had enough.’

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