I had no idea how much energy it took to gather yourself up every day and pull yourself out of the darkness. Every bloody day. Every bloody second. Every time I think of some new thing I’d like to tell her about. Like the stuff with Grace, which we never even got to Skype about. Because she was too busy and I plain forgot. Because I was so happy with Emma. Because I thought we had so much time.
Maeve, it’s not fair, do you get that? You wanted to go off on an adventure and help people, and then you died because of some fucking little mosquito, and I can’t take it in.
I feel guilty if I forget it for a moment. I think about you all and every bloody day, and it feels like someone’s crushing my ribcage. And all night too. When I dream about that hospital, about Nairobi, and wake up dripping with sweat, that’s when it’s worst of all. The moment when they switched the machines off repeats itself in my head. I’ve lost a person I thought would be in my life forever. I was so bloody sure. I never even dreamed that one day I might be on my own. The hole that Maeve’s left behind seems massive to me. She was the bridge between Theo and me. I don’t know how we’re meant to manage without her.
They say it’ll get easier with time, but I’m not sure that’s true. I feel worse than I did at the very beginning. I cry more often, but only in secret. I feel alone more often, even though Emma and the others are there and do so much for me. I’m afraid I’m getting on their nerves. That I just bring the mood down, that I’m no longer the Henry they want to be friends with, eventhough I know that’s nonsense. I know they’re worried for me and want to help.
It feels like everything’s shifted.
The ground is muddy from the rain. I slip slightly, but I keep running. If I go fast enough, maybe my heart will just stop beating. I hear Emma’s voice, I notice her dropping back behind me, but I don’t care. Her shitty theory doesn’t work. It’s not getting better: Everything’s just getting more intense. I’m running. I’m feeling the rain like pinpricks on my face. I can’t take in as much air as I need. I’m running. I’m slipping. I land on my knees. The ground is muddy and wet. My fists pound on the sodding mud. A sound escapes me, one I’ve never heard myself make before, and then everything bursts out of me.
Emma
“Henry!” I call his name, but I don’t tell him to stop because I know he can’t. I just run and ignore the cold rain on my face. I’m running, and this time, I’m having trouble keeping up. Henry is faster, I’m breathing wrongly, and after just a couple of lousy kilometers, I feel a stabbing in my chest. Maybe it’s also because I can see Henry’s clenched jaw when I finally catch up. His clenched fists, his face fixed grimly ahead. His curls are plastered damply to his brow. He’s not listening to me.
The path through the trees is more reminiscent of a slide after all the rain over the last few days. Henry trips, lands on his knees. For a second, he’s frozen there. Has he hurt himself?I hope not, but then I see him punch the ground with his fists. Once, twice. Henry’s back shakes, rises and falls as he breathes rapidly. I get goose bumps as a hoarse sob escapes him. He curls up, and I kneel beside him.
He’s crying differently this time. It’s louder and more desperate. Furious, involving his whole body. I wrap both arms around him and hold him tighter than I’ve ever held anyone before. I shut my eyes and press my face into his shoulder, because I can feel his pain as if it were my own. It’s unbearable, but I can’t do a thing.
I don’t know if I’ve ever cried like Henry’s crying. I’ve never had reason to. The business with my dad is a different pain. A slow, dull pain that’s crept into my heart and made a nest there. I’ve learned to live with it. But Henry’s been knocked off his feet without any warning, and since then, he’s been falling. Deeper and deeper. I think we might have hit the bottom.
29
Emma
We’re frozen to the bone by the time we get back to school. Wet through and caked with mud. Dark-brown water disappears down the drain as I rinse our running clothes in my shower. Then I stay under the hot water for several minutes.
Henry’s eyes are still red as we lie in my bed with wet hair, but for the first time, it feels like he’s really here again. Something must have happened in the woods just now, and even if I don’t completely understand it, I’m happy that he’s let emotions in again. And he’s talking. Especially that.
When he speaks, between minutes of a not-uncomfortable silence, his words are so genuine, it hurts.
“I don’t know what I should do,” he whispers, his head on my belly. “It feels like nothing exists anymore.”
“I understand it feels like that.” His hair is almost dry as I run my fingers through his dark curls. “It’s not true, though. There’s still so much, even if you can’t see it right now.”
“You’ll never get to meet.” Henry gulps. “It’s not fair, Em.”
“No. It’s not.”
Henry says nothing. The raindrops still rattling against my window are the only sound as he runs his index finger over my knee.
“Do you think we’d have got on?” I ask.
Henry nods without a second’s hesitation. “You might have found her a bit overpowering, but Maeve would have loved you. And then she’d have spent the whole time sending you these weird memes that no one but her really finds funny.” Henry pauses, but there’s something else he wants to say. I can sense it, so I say nothing. “Nobody messages our family group anymore,” he says in the end. “It’s horrible. Mum and Dad only text me individually. And Theo...” He doesn’t need to spell it out; I get the idea. Theo doesn’t message at all.
I roll onto my side so that I can put both arms around Henry. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into his hoodie. It’s the one I might just have stolen from him and hidden in my wardrobe. “But I’m sure it has nothing to do with you.”
Henry doesn’t answer right away. “I know,” he mumbles in the end.
“Next week is the open day at St. Andrews.” Henry tenses almost imperceptibly. “Are you coming?” I feel him shrug. “I’m sure Mrs.Sinclair would understand if we asked not to go,” I say.
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”
I sense that I’m overburdening him, so I don’t ask again. It’s not a decision he has to make right now.
“But you have to go,” Henry says.
“I don’t want to go if you don’t go.”
