A tragic accident took her from us. Alone at home one afternoon, she went up into the loft to get something from her childhood to share at the nursery. She fell awkwardly from the ladder, hitting her head on the banister on the way down. Slipped straight into a coma, and by the time we found her, nothing could be done. It was just one of those random, unaccountable things you can’t explain, and which makes no sense.
She didn’t get to have a future, grow older, travel, fall in love, get married, or have children. We won’t get to see her features passed down in the faces of the next generation. So much was stolen from her, and us. But while we’ll never get over losing our daughter, we are glad other people are alive because of her, and living vicariouslyforher.
Lastly, thank you for giving Louisa’s heart a good home, Harley Bellmont. Even if you don’t think you deserve it. We’ve read articles in the press of course, but it was clear from the sincerity and gratitude in your letter, and the fact you spent time writing it in the first place, you’re not the person the worldbelieves you to be. We know you are worthy of our daughter’s heart and will use it wisely.
With warmest regards,
Carol & Patrick x
PS: We understand if this letter brings you closure and you don’t want to write back, but hope you keep in touch. We think she would have liked that.
The pages slip from his hands, face wet with tears as he picks up the photograph his donor’s parents have enclosed. He feels a sharp jolt. Her open face and blue eyes are as familiar as a loved one. She’s not a stranger, this young woman. Stroking his index finger over the photo, he breathes, ‘Thank you, Louisa. Thank you.’
The little voice present for so many months replies, ‘You’re welcome.’ Except this time, it’s not in his head, it seems to whisper in his ear. ‘I think they’ll be okay now. I needed to know they would be. So, thankyou.’ There’s a pause, a moment frozen in time, and then in a voice throbbing with emotion, she adds, ‘Live a good life for me, Harley. Live a kind one.’
‘Always.’ Nodding, he rubs a hand over the centre of his chest. A warmth grows there, mounting and mounting, unbelievably fiery before dissipating. There’s the faint pressure of a hand on his shoulder, and she murmurs, ‘Goodbye.’A breeze brushes past him as if a window’s open, but he knows without checking they’re all shut.
Somehow, he knows she is gone.
But she will always be a part of him. The absolutely best part.
It takes a while to stop crying, for all he’s lost, and gained. He re-reads her parents’ words.We know you are worthy of ourdaughter’s heart and will use it wisely. He has a responsibility to, and as he thinks of everything that’s happened since his op and moving here, the doubts, fears and recriminations dissolve.
Standing, he tucks the letter in his pocket and treads silently along the hallway and down the stairs to Kirsten’s flat. It’s late, so his tap is insistent but quiet. He isn’t aware of the lights brightening in their sconces, and doesn’t know that if he pressed his hand to the wall beside Kirsten’s door, it would warm his palm with gentle approval.
She opens the door with heavy eyelids, and seeing his expression, ushers him in. ‘What’s wrong?’ A frown pleats her forehead. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Yes. Can we go to your room?’
‘Of course.’
Once there, he closes the door, gesturing for her to sit on the bed. All he takes in is the duvet design, pink and featuring tiny cupcakes. So perfectly her, it makes him smile.
Sliding the letter into her hand, he kneels at her feet. ‘Her parents wrote back.’
‘Oh.’ Her face is lit by the lamp on the bedside table, red hair shining as it tumbles around her shoulders. ‘And?’
‘Read it.’
Nodding, she unfolds the paper and scans the words, Harley holding his breath. The tension in his body increases with every minute until after an eternity, she lifts her chin, tears trickling down her cheeks. Her voice hitches. ‘How l-lovely.’ Holding her other palm out. ‘Photo?’
Wordlessly, he hands it over.
‘Yes.’ She nods in recognition, before looking back at him. ‘She’s beautiful.’
He closes his eyes, opens them again. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Really?’ She lays the photo and letter on the mattress.
‘Yes.’ He doesn’t want to say any more. It feels private. A secret that’s his and Louisa’s to keep. ‘But I’m okay, I mean, it’s- fine. God, I sound ridiculous. My heart donor was what, haunting me? And now she’s moved on?’
‘Not haunting.’ She tilts her head, considering, ‘Caretaking. And how is it any more ridiculous than living in a manor that holds a strange sort of magic? You’ve noticed unusual things too, right? The cottage roses changing colour, small things spontaneously repairing, and the wallpaper in here growing steadily darker – in a nice way – unless you’ve been secretly taking it down and replacing it every week?’ At his shaken head, she adds, ‘Plus Rosie’s occasional remarks that make it sound like the buildings are sentient.’
‘The fountain as well, the roses and lion heads rippling or moving,’ he agrees. ‘There’s no point denying it, but I’m not sure if we’ll ever understand it.’
‘I don’t think I want to,’ Kirsten sighs. ‘I think I just want to appreciate the wonder of it.’ She raises both eyebrows. ‘So, do you?’
‘Do I appreciate the wonder?’
