He lets me go and shoves his hands into his pockets, then he blinks and I’m taken aback to see that there are tears in his eyes. He swallows, his gaze fixed on the ground, but then he throws me a heavy look.
‘I lost my best friend too,’ he confesses in a husky voice. ‘Taran.’
‘Oh, Ash, I’m so sorry,’ I murmur, distraught. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Leukaemia.’ I inhale quickly as he continues. ‘We used to talk about going interrailing too. I don’t think he ever really believed he was going to die until days before he did.’
He looks at the ground again as we shuffle forward in the queue. I loop my arm through his – he still has his hands in his pockets.
‘When did you lose him?’
‘It will be two years next month.’ It’s the middle of August. ‘He passed away a week before I was due to start my second year.’
‘That must have been so hard.’
‘It was,’ he agrees.
‘Taran had a telescope, right? He got you into space?’
He nods. ‘It was technically his dad’s,’ he says softly. ‘I’m still close to his family.’
‘You said that you spent a lot of time at his house, growing up?’
He nods again, but doesn’t elaborate.
He had mentioned that his home life could be hectic. He also said something about space making anything he was experiencing down on Earth feel inconsequential. Did he have a difficult upbringing? I so want to get to know him better.
‘Anyway, he’s been on my mind a bit,’ he says.
‘I understand.’
‘And the weird thing is, you do.’
The look we share carries so much weight.
It’s probably another quarter of an hour before the entrance to the Initiation Well comes into view and during that time Ash and I stay close but don’t speak. I can’t explain how it feels, the silence. It’s more than comfortable – it’s profound.
Just before we reach the entrance, he casts me one of his small, steady smiles and takes his hands out of his pockets. I let go of his arm and he reaches down to interlace our fingers. My heart flutters at the press of his palm against mine as he leads me through the rocky doorway.
We come out at the top of a beautiful spiral staircase and I know that I’m wearing the same look of wonder that’s etched on his face.
The wide staircase curves round a hollow space in the centre that is completely open to the elements, and the rough stone walls are alive with green moss. When the people in front of us pause to take photos, Ash squeezes my hand in sympathy. It pains me to realise that I’ve probably lost all my pictures of Lisbon, but I focus on soaking up every detail and committing them to memory in the same way that Ash has been doing for weeks without a phone.
Down below is a patterned floor, and above is a disc of daylight encircled by jagged stones that look like trolls’ teeth. This circle of light shrinks as we walk round and round, descending several storeys underground.
The further we go, the cooler and damper the air gets and I become increasingly aware of the heat of Ash’s bodywhenever we come to a stop. There are people ahead of and behind us, but they’re all so consumed with taking videos and photographs that I feel as if we’re on another plane altogether.
Eventually we reach the bottom and find ourselves in a man-made tunnel lit by a warm glow. The rocky walls and ceiling curve over our heads, and stalactite-like pillars that look as though they’re made of candle wax come down from the ceiling to perch on the ground. We head towards a pocket of sunlight and discover a waterfall trickling down the rocks into a pond dotted with a confetti layer of green algae. A mossy bridge made of rough stone spans the water.
‘Everything looks so natural, it’s hard to believe it’s a construct of some rich guy’s imagination,’ I say.
It’s the first time either of us has spoken in almost half an hour.
Ash looks at me, his gaze piercing, and then he tugs me into the relative darkness of the tunnel, letting me go as we turn to face each other.
‘What is this?’ he asks quietly as he motions between us.
My scalp prickles at the intensity in his expression. It’s a few seconds before I’m able to reply.
