I know that what I’m feeling is minor in comparison with what he went through – isstillgoing through – but, even though Beau might not have been my childhood sweetheart, my husband of many years or the father of my beloved child, he still meant a lot to me, and I’m crushed by the news of his death.
My mind is racing as I set off at a fast pace along the footpath. It was a heroin overdose – aheroinoverdose! Michelle told Adam that Beau fell in with a bad crowd a few years ago, but, even though he occasionally dabbled in recreational drugs at parties, I never thought he’d go that far.
Who the hell was he when he died? What on earth happened to my Beau?
It hurts so much to think about it.
I hear the sound of footsteps jogging closer on the footpath behind me and I look over my shoulder, preparing to move aside, but instead I stop in my tracks, because it’s Charlie.
‘Don’t argue,’ he states firmly when he catches up with me. He knows from the look on my face that I was about to scold him, but then I’m in his arms and he’s holding me so tight I can hardly breathe.
‘You don’t have to be here,’ I say in a strangled voice.
‘It’s okay,’ he replies into my ear. ‘I want to be here.’
I lose it then, right there on the Camel Trail.
I have very troubled dreams that night. Beau is in them, and Charlie, too, but when I wake up I can’t quite remember what they were about.
I have a feeling it’s just as well.
Beau is buried in Yealmpton, near Plymouth, about an hour and a half away. Charlie has offered to drive me there. I don’t say much in the car. April has her nap and we listen to the radio.
I’ve brought my camera and my notepad, but I don’t feel like putting pen to paper. I sit and stare out of the window for the most part.
Beau’s parents chose to bury their free-spirited boy on a grassy hilltop with far-reaching views of Dartmoor and the Yealm estuary. It’s a natural burial site, and, to preserve the environment, his coffin was made of willow, which will return to the soil as nature intended and won’t impede the growth of the saplings that will be planted in memory of those who are buried here. One day this entire hill will be covered with trees.
No headstones are allowed, but one of the Woodland Burial Association’s employees shows us the site where Beau’s body was lowered into the ground.
Charlie takes April for a wander and I’m left in peace.
‘I wish you could see the sea, Beau,’ I whisper, as I sit there on the grass, surrounded by wildflowers. Skylarks sing overhead as I take time to remember the boy who once took a piece of my heart.
And there is no way now that I can ever ask for it back.
‘I can’t write about this,’ I tell Charlie later, when we’re in the car on our way home. My notepad lies open in my lap, the blank pages rustling in the wind from the open window.
‘No,’ he says. ‘No.’
As if it really were that simple.
Chapter 28
‘Bridget youmust,’Sara says the next day. I’m in Nicki’s office and she’s called me to check on how it’s all going. I’ve just told her I can’t write about Beau. ‘You absolutelymust,’she repeats. ‘This is exactly the sort of chapter that will bring some grit to your book. It can’t all be light-hearted fluff.’
Er, pardon? ‘I didn’t think it was,’ I say narkily.
‘You know what I mean,’ she soothes. ‘There’s not a whole lot of depth to your chapters at the moment. They’re fun, but, if you really want people to care, I think you need to let them see your emotional side. It needs to be more heartfelt. You can’t possibly leave Beau out of it. I thought you’d already written about your time with him.’
I emailed her an update on where I was at with my blog only last week.
‘Yes, but—’
‘So it shouldn’t be too hard to write up yesterday.’
‘Well—’
‘Hard is the wrong word,’ she interrupts. ‘But remember, the best writers put themselves out there. Theylay themselves bare,’ she says weightily. ‘The reason Nicki’s book was such a success is because she allowed the reader to see inside her heart. We felt everything Kit was feeling, every painful decision she makes, every butterfly that, I don’t know, flaps around her chest.’
