“And what exactlydoyou know about me?”
“Quite a bit. Literally, after the twentieth second of that one and only kiss, Ellis broke down. Whatever you saw tonight in that video wasn’t love or affection or even lust. I’ve been around a bit, believe me, and I know what those kinds of kisses are like. All Ellis needed at that moment was someone to hold.”
“Then why didn’t he holdme? I would’ve been there for him. He only had to pick up the phone or answer one of the million messages I’d been sending all week.”
“Maybe he cared about you too much to bring all that darkness down on you. Because it was darkness, Dylan.” For the first time, Raj cuts his gaze away from me. “I saw it. He’d experienced something very bad.”
My thoughts fly back to the night you died. Instinct still tells me that the darkness Raj is talking about is somehow linked to whatever frightened you at the Easter dance. But how can those two events be connected?
“Anyway,” Raj continues, “I helped him to a booth and we pretty much talked all night. Not about whatever was upsetting him, he wouldn’t discuss that. But you know what we did talk about? What obsessed him and took up virtually every thought in his stupidly handsome head?”
Raj grins and, reaching across the table, flicks my nose with his finger.
“You, you moron. God, I know every little thing about you! How you can’t go five minutes without making some comic-book reference; how crappy your taste in music is; how when you were eight years old you stood up at a wedding and told the vicar the happy couple couldn’t get married because your mum thought your cousin’s partner smelled a bit like cat food and that he had these weird tiny feet.”
“Weird tiny hands,” I correct, and suddenly I’m smiling.
“Whatever. I knew enough to order you that revolting pizza, didn’t I? Look, I don’t know what happened leading up to New Year’s Eve but I do know one thing. Ellislovedyou. He was in pain that night and he made a stupid mistake. And God, if hehadbeen single, I would have snapped him up then and there. But he wasn’t. And he felt so bloody guilty after he kissed me.”
Raj’s grin is infectious, and I can’t help it, I like the guy. If you had to cry on someone’s shoulder that night, I’m glad it was his.
“You are one lucky nerd, Dylan McKee. To be loved like that, even once in a lifetime…” A shimmer glazes those deep onyx pools. “It’s something, anyway.”
I get up slowly from my chair and Raj mirrors me. Jeeze, this kid is psychic, I swear, he just seems toknow. Anyway, before I can hold out my arms he catches me in this hug that seems to go on forever. I hug him right back. It’s nice to be held like this, and for once I don’t feel any guilt. I even hope that one day we might be friends.
I find you again in the night. In the winding country roads we used to walk, holding hands and feeling safe holding hands, beyond the gaze of Ferrivale. I find you in these moonlit fields you loved to sketch. I find you in Raj’s words and in my renewed certainty of who you were.
The night’s warm but still my skin goosebumps whenever I hit a familiar spot. Behind me, the town lights glower like the eyes of the old couple at the hospital. But here’s the stile I stumbled over before you caught me, swinging me in a huge circle until my feet touched back down on the ground. And here, far across the yellow field, the footpath with its wonky signpost pointing toFerrivale, Givesby, Goodstone, Dorral; a signpost you climbed, laughing and splaying your hands over letters until all I could read was “Gives Good orral”.
I walk the night thin and, reaching my destination, sit on a tombstone and wait for morning. I leave it until 10.30 before taking out my phone and calling Mike. I tell him I need to see him, but only if he’s up to it.
“Give me an hour,” he groans, and hangs up.
I know, El, you don’t have to tell me. He’s a better friend than I deserve.
I try not to look at our place. Not until Mike’s here with me and I can take some of his strength. I try not to think or remember anything at all. I just sit and wait…
Something pale circles and snuffles through the mid-morning mist, threading between the trees, picking its way over the tumbledown wall until it finds me. I reach down and cup my hand around Becks’s snout. Dogs never judge, do they? Not even when you’ve been the most unholy of dicks to their master.
“Hey,” I say, as Mike steps into the graveyard.
He moves slowly between the stones, his gaze drifting from inscription to inscription. I know he can’t read them. You and I examined every crumbling slab during our hours here and, even crouching up close, could only ever make out a few random words and dates. I wonder how many love stories have been worn away in the years since this place was abandoned. Their grief must have seemed as powerful and unique to them as mine is to me, and yet now their romances are forgotten. Ours will be too, one day. This should give me some perspective, I guess. It doesn’t. It’s still wrong that the world hasn’t stopped and broken into pieces because you’re no longer a part of it.
Mike takes the tombstone next to mine and hands me a thermos and something warm and delicious-smelling wrapped up in tinfoil. My stomach grumbles. While I unwrap my bacon sandwich, Mike fills two plastic cups with hot sweet tea.
“Have you been home?”
“Uh-uh.” The bacon’s salty and crispy and the nearest thing to heaven I’ve ever tasted. Mike lets me finish.
“You’re an unbelievable tool, Dylan. You know that, right?” I wipe my mouth and nod. “Okay, just as long as that’s clear.”
I feed Becks a bit of bacon rind. The sun is throwing long graveyard shadows and the mist is starting to clear.
“Mate, I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “All right. But you do realize what this calls for?”
“Dude, no.”
