When Theo died, his father got in contact with me to dictate the funeral arrangements. There’s a church on the Whittington estate – and a lovely one at that – but the thought of putting my beloved husband in the cold ground and leaving his gravestone in the care of people who treated him with so little love and respect while he was alive felt wrong. I also worried that they’d somehow make it hard for me to visit him – they’ve made no effort to get to know Emilie and I’m fine with that. They’re not good people and her life is full without them. But I believe Edwin would get a sick kick out of holding all the cards. He made Theo feel powerless when he was younger and I couldn’t bear to be at his mercy over my husband’s final resting place.
So I had Theo cremated. And his remains are still in an urn at the back of my bedroom cupboard.
I know people would think I’m morbid, so Mum is the only one aware of this – everyone else thinks I’ve already scattered his ashes, Theo’s scandalised family included.
The thing is, Theo is still with me, metaphorically and physically. I haven’t fully let him go.
It’s been two and a half years since he died and it’s time. I know that. But the thought of climbing up to Hare Heads and setting him free on the wind makes me want to claw my heart out with agony.
Mum has told me I’ll feel lighter once it’s done, but the idea of doing it at all is so horrendously painful to me that I keep resisting.
Now that George is coming to live with us, it simply doesn’t feel right having them under the same roof, so to speak.
* * *
‘Can you look after Emilie for me this morning?’ I ask Mum on the morning of what should have been Theo’s thirty-first birthday.
She sees the urn in my hands and then looks at my face.
‘Oh, Lee-Lee,’ she murmurs, enfolding me in a hug.
I cry into her shoulder. I’ve shed so many tears already and I haven’t even left the house.
‘Do you want me to come with you? And Emilie?’
‘No. I’d prefer to do this alone.’
It pains me, but Emilie doesn’t remember Theo and I can’t imagine any benefit to her seeing what her father’s body has been reduced to. One day, I’ll tell her that Hare Heads is his special place and perhaps it will be somewhere she’ll go to think about him or talk to him.
It’s a crisp autumnal morning. The bramble bushes are bursting with plump blackberries, glistening like beads of caviar amongst mint-green leaves. I brush between the feathery ferns that come almost to my shoulders, and climb up onto the rocks before walking out onto the overhang.
For a while I simply sit there, cradling the urn in my arms as I look across the vibrant green fields at a yellow tractor rumbling away in a far-off paddock, carrying black-plastic-coated hay bales to the barn for safekeeping.
Memories of Theo begin to play out in a long film reel inside my mind, jumping endlessly from one thought to the next.
I think about him meeting me up here when he came back for Christmas a year and a half after leaving: the day I saw him as, not second-place to George, but someone I loved in his own right…
* * *
‘What is going through that mind of yours?’ Theo asks.
We’ve walked out to the overhang, but it’s too cold and damp to sit down.
‘I hope you’re not contemplating turning my hair into wrist warmers again,’ he adds, narrowing his eyes at me.
I laugh. ‘No, I’ve got some of those now, thanks. I could do with more socks, though.’
‘You nutter,’ he says with a grin, gently punching my arm. ‘I do still want to know what you’re thinking, though. You’ve had a funny look on your face all morning.’
His expression has grown serious and I blush, averting my gaze. I have been staring at him more than usual. Trust him to notice.
‘I don’t know,’ I mumble with a shrug. ‘There’s something different about you. It’s freaking me out a bit.’
Now he full-on grins at me. ‘Different? In what way? Have I got better looking?’
I raise my eyebrows sardonically. ‘You’ve always been good-looking, Theo, but you don’t need me to tell you that. I’m sure you get more than enough of an ego boost from… What’s her name? Francesca?’
I haven’t really forgotten Francesca’s name. He told me about her at the end of October when he called for a rare phone chat, casually slipping in the fact that he had a new ‘friend’ he’d been hanging out with.
‘Friend, my arse,’ I said at the time. ‘You’ve been snogging her, haven’t you?’
I was staggered by how jealous I felt when he laughed off my comment instead of denying it. It played on my mind relentlessly afterwards. It’s still at the forefront of my thoughts almost two months later.
He looks down. ‘I haven’t seen her in a while.’
‘No? Why not?’
He shrugs.
‘She’s not your girlfriend?’
‘No,’ he replies in a low voice, staring at me directly.
I hold his gaze for as long as I can, but break eye contact first, turning towards the view.
‘You’re different too,’ he says from behind me.
‘In what way?’
He lifts a lock of my hair away from my neck and I shiver, still facing away from him. I’m nervous as he steps closer, his hands resting on my hips.
‘You seem… edgy.’
I freeze. ‘I am a little on edge,’ I admit.
‘Why?’
I’m reluctant to explain why I no longer feel at ease in his company. The truth is, he’s not different. I am. My feelings for him have shifted since the summer. Maybe even before that, although I wasn’t quite ready to accept it after what had happened with George.
It’s taken me a long time to separate Theo from George and the pain I felt when George left, but last summer, that connection finally severed. I felt like my old self again. No, better than my old self: I don’t remember ever laughing as much in my life.
But Theo and I also had a lot of heart-to-hearts, confiding in each other about our families and our anxieties. The thing about him is he listens actively – when you’re speaking, all of his attention is on you. He made me feel like the centre of his universe and, I’ll admit, I loved it.
I missed him intensely when he returned to boarding school. It took me long enough, but I had finally stopped taking him for granted and realised what a truly special person he is. I found myself daydreaming about him relentlessly and it became very clear that my feelings for him were no longer platonic. I hoped he might feel the same way.
So when he called and sort of admitted to having a girlfriend, it threw me.
‘Do you want to know what I’m thinking?’ Theo asks.
I nod and turn around. We’re toe to toe, standing so close, his hands still on my hips. I stare into his twilight eyes and my heart flips.
‘I’m thinking that I still like you,’ he tells me earnestly. ‘As much as I ever have. No. More. I’ve always liked you, Leah. And not just as a friend.’
I breathe in sharply, my stomach cartwheeling. ‘I like you too.’
‘As a friend?’ he asks.