Chapter 31 #2
I glanced sideways at Harry as he did the same.
He wasn’t speaking but there were tears in his eyes.
After a few minutes, I tucked my arm through his and we continued walking for a while before sitting down on the shingle beach.
His legs were dotted with old scars. Bronte always used to say that he could trip over his own shadow.
Now both of us had scars, although the new ones weren’t on our skin, but on our hearts.
‘You’re going to be okay, you know,’ I told him, bumping my arm against his.
‘So are you.’ He grinned shyly. ‘Maybe I can come and see you when we’re both back at home.’
‘You must. Any time. I’ll hold you to that,’ I replied.
He and I shared a deep connection now. I got him and he got me.
‘Any tips you can give me for my next Instagram post?’ he asked, getting his phone out. ‘I thought I’d use these pictures.’
He showed me a selection of the photographs from our day together. The lighthouse; the rocks; a hazy one of me smiling, with the sun a golden halo behind my head, that I liked so much I got him to send it to me.
‘What sort of tips?’
He shrugged. ‘Whatever comes to mind. Life after loss, maybe? Taking a gap-year trip when you’re—’
‘Old?’ I shot him a teasing look.
‘Sorry. More mature?’
‘Better. Okay, what about this,’ I suggested. ‘Things I’ve learned about grief.’
‘Good shout.’ Harry opened the voice recorder on his phone and I started to talk.
‘Grief is a lonely place. However much your friends and family want to share that burden, no one can carry it for you. Grief is utterly unique. You and I have lost the same person, but we’ll grieve at different times and in different ways.
I’ve realised that love is forever; Bronte may not be here where I can see her, but she remains as loved as she always was.
I will be her mother for eternity. Lastly, don’t make the mistake I made for so long and lock your grief for your loved one away.
Tell their stories, say their name, celebrate the good times, remember what they gave you.
Grief will be a part of your life forever, but so will love. ’
‘That was amazing. You’re amazing.’ He scrubbed the tears from his face roughly and gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘And I’m such an idiot.’
The ferry was pulling up to the quay. We hugged and said our goodbyes, renewing our promises to keep in touch, and I watched him lope away.
Within an hour I was back at my hotel. I made a cup of tea and prepared myself to read the next entry in Bronte’s itinerary. It was time to find out where I was going next. I pulled my backpack onto my lap and looked inside. The book wasn’t there.
I checked again, searching in every pocket, every compartment.
Shit, shit. Where was it? It had to be here somewhere. It couldn’t simply vanish.
I was ninety-nine per cent sure that I’d taken it out with me this morning. It went everywhere with me because it was too big for the tiny hotel safe. I’d blithely thought that it would be secure with me. How wrong I was.
The third search of my backpack was fruitless, so I searched my room, checking all the places it might be: the nightstand, the bathroom, my suitcase.
I stripped the sheets off the bed, got down on my hands and knees and looked under the bed.
My throat felt tight and I was having to hold back my tears of frustration.
I checked the backpack again, this time tipping the contents on the floor, becoming increasingly frantic.
My mind skipped back across the hours of the day.
I’d seen it in my room this morning because I’d finally peeked at the inside back cover and looked at the weather wheel Harry had told me about.
I’d smiled with delight at the spinning cardboard wheel she’d made of the continents and their wet and dry seasons.
The coffee shop, I recalled with a surge of fear. I’d stopped to get a coffee before boarding the ferry and it had definitely been in my backpack then. I was certain of that because I’d spilled my flat white and had seen the book when I’d reached into my bag for a tissue.
So where was it now? Think, Maggie, think!
It could be anywhere between here and Watson’s Bay.
Did someone steal it? Surely not. Could I have dropped it in the water getting on or off the ferry?
Possibly. It had been quite a step; there’d been a man there at the quay giving smaller people a hand.
The idea that her beautiful book had dropped into the ocean didn’t bear thinking about.
For the next few minutes, I was gripped by panic, unable to think straight or do anything sensible.
Finally, my brain kicked in and I called Harry.
‘Harry, something terrible has happened,’ I blurted out.
‘Maggie? What is it? Are you okay?’
‘No. I’ve lost Bronte’s book,’ I sobbed. ‘I had it when I left the hotel this morning and it’s gone. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Oh no. Where did you last see it?’ There were voices in the background and music playing and Harry had to shout to make himself heard.
‘This morning in Sydney before catching the ferry to meet you. After that, I’m not sure if it was still in my bag or not.’
‘Right. There’s a good chance you dropped it somewhere at Watson’s Bay. I’m still here at the bar,’ he said. ‘I’ll retrace our steps; it’s got to be somewhere.’
‘But what if we don’t find it?’ I wailed. ‘What am I going to do then?’
‘Try not to panic. And keep on looking at your end.’
‘I’m already panicking, I’ve searched everywhere in my room. More than once.’
‘I’ll get my mate to help me. We’ll set off now and we won’t stop until we’re sure we’ve checked everywhere.’
‘Thank you, Harry,’ I said tearily.
He ended the call and I sank down onto the floor and cried tears of guilt and frustration. My most precious possession. Bronte’s book, her words, her thoughts, her plans. Bronte’s trip and now mine too. All gone.