Page 98 of The Love of Our Lives
‘Good, shall we walk?’ he says, offering me his arm, and breathing in that peppermint scent of him, I take it.
Ten minutes later and we’re back at the building I grew to love so very much and my heart thuds at the idea of going in again. As we go up each stone step slowly together, it all rushes up at me, a thousand moments and memories of happiness and sadness and everything in between.
‘Are you all right?’ William says, stopping briefly.
I nod silently. ‘I’ll be fine, thank you.’
At the top, I let William fiddle with his keys for a moment. Glancing around at Adam’s door, my eyes searching frantically for signs of him. There are no boots outside his door and the paintwork is slightly chipped – something he’d have always fixed if he were here.
‘Here we are,’ William says and I turn back to see him walking into the place I called home for a whole year.
Stepping inside the now quiet space, I take in the scent of it; find it’s still very faintly there, those roses and lemons, and shutting my eyes briefly, I drink it in.
William closes the door behind us now and walks into the living room. Following behind him, I scan over everything quickly – a wall of colour, which is sort of like mine, but also not; her photos of Edinburgh, which line the walls – but from slightly different angles to mine; her little diving figurines, which were exactly the same, of course.
It is my home, and hers, and ours.
And I can’t help wondering what else was the same, or different? Did we really track the same course?
Perhaps I’ll never know what really happened in her version.
‘You can take a look around if you like,’ William says, sitting himself down on the little dining room chair near the window, through which I first smelt those intoxicating scents.
‘Thank you,’ I say softly, and walk slowly back through to the hallway. A lot has clearly already been packed up and put away, her jackets and shoes for one, but the little mirror is still there and I look at myself in it now, half expecting to see the dark hair and kind eyes. It’s just me and my red hair reflected back, of course, but for the briefest moment, I see her still, smiling out at me from somewhere.
In the bedroom, I stop, look around. There is the bed I first woke up in, the dreamcatcher against the window, the cupboard of colourful clothing, likely empty now, I assume. All the same, I walk up and open it again, remember how it was just a week ago – when I’d wake up every day with an adventure ahead and wonder what I should wear to do it in. It’s all gone now as I suspected, but then I see something. Up on top of the wardrobe, a black case of some sort. Is it . . . no, it can’t be.
But as I reach up to take it down, I realise it really is – my camera.
Her camera.
Unzipping the case with trembling hands, a thousand thoughts flash through my head. How is it still here? Why didn’t her mum take it away with her? Why didn’t Adam take it?
And what’s on it?
Pulling the camera out of the bag, I brace myself for it to have no battery left after all this time. But then, who was the last person to touch it? Pressing the ‘on’ button, I’m amazed to find it flashes to life, and what I see makes me stop and stare in amazement.
Even as the tears are falling from my eyes, I head back through to William. He’ll be wondering what I’m doing.
When he sees me walk in with the camera, he gets up quickly.
‘Are you all right?’ he says, kindly. He looks down at the camera, ‘is that . . . we always wondered where it was. I assumed it was lost.’
I shake my head, trying to compose myself. ‘No,’ I say, ‘she just liked to keep it safe. It . . . meant a lot to her, these photos.’
‘You really did know her well, didn’t you?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ I say, ‘would you mind if I showed this to someone who needs to see these?’
William pauses, then nods. ‘Of course. Please look after it though, for everyone’s sake.’
I smile. ‘Always.’
I take the train down to London again this time, not because I have any fear of flying anymore, but more because I need to start the process of sorting insurance with my condition first. I’m not sure who’s more shocked, Mum or Dad, and when they ask why I’m going, I simply tell them there’s someone I have to see – right now.
And Mum doesn’t fight it at all this time.
Walking along the pretty, pristine street later that day, I can’t help thinking about Simon and Fran again, wondering how they’re doing. I looked them up online, of course, and while Simon seemed to be doing broadly the same as before, at least Fran had moved on – alone. The latest picture was of her beside a blue-footed booby in the Galapagos Islands, a big smile on her face, and it made me smile too.
