Chapter 41
Amy: Back to Life
He’s back! What do you mean ‘who’s back’? James, of course! James is back. Yes, I know it’s not really ‘of course’. I know it doesn’t make any sense. And yet, here he is. I keep having to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
I even wondered if I’d actually died and gone to heaven – like really gone to heaven.
But no. I’m still alive and this is for real.
I’m still reeling from what’s happened. And no, I’m not imagining it, although there are many times in the past when I’ve tried to.
It was all so sudden, that’s why I’m still in shock.
Well, however it had happened I’d still be in shock.
And the time, that’s the other thing. I can’t tell you the details, because no one else is meant to know, but The Boss did some kind of time rewind.
So, what happened was he and I wound back to D-Day, you know, the Saturday morning when James went out on his bike and the Aldi lorry came along, and all that.
Only this time, The Boss got James to drive to the shop, and he and the lorry didn’t encounter each other, and instead he came straight back home, alive and well, with the milk, the papers, and two warm cinnamon buns.
I was still in bed asleep when he got back, and I didn’t wake until he’d slipped into bed beside me.
I feel a familiar arm around me, just as I’m in that warm fuzzy place between sleep and being awake.
It’s starting to feel like that really vivid dream I had a few weeks ago.
I open my eyes and there he is, right next to me, looking exactly as I remember him before he went away.
But this can’t be happening for real. I close my eyes and pinch myself.
When I open my eyes he’s still here. Oh my god.
He’s warm. He’s breathing. He’s for real.
And he’s looking at me with such a look of love, and my heart just feels like it’s going to burst.
‘James?!’
He smiles.
‘Is it really you?’ I ask, wrapping my arms around him.
‘It’s really me.’
‘I’m not dreaming?’
‘You’re not dreaming,’ he replies, still smiling.
‘Are you sure?’
‘You’re definitely not dreaming.’
And then he kisses me and tells me he’s real and he’s back for good. And my head is swimming with a crazy mix of confusion and shock and disbelief and joy, and total and utter love for this man I never thought I’d see here again.
A bit later, when we’re still in bed, now eating the cinnamon buns, I suddenly remember something.
‘Oh my god. We need to go to the charity shop.’
‘Which one?’
‘The British Heart Foundation.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I just took all your clothes there yesterday.’
He smiles at me, that wonderful heart-lifting smile I’ve missed so much.
And then he explains about how we have gone back in time, and whilst it seems completely fanciful and I’m starting to think the grief has finally driven me over the edge, I have to start to take it in because everything is there to back up what he’s saying.
His clothes are still in the wardrobe and drawers, the calendar on my iPhone tells me it’s January, and outside there’s a thick frost on the lawn.
I look in the mirror and my hair is just how it used to be back at the start of last year, and I can see I’m back up to my normal dress size – I lost quite a lot of weight after James went, despite all the extra chocolate, and biscuits, and cake. So, finally I start to believe what he’s saying.
And then there are a lot of tears, a lot of laughter and a lot of making up for lost time. Except that’s the most amazing part. We haven’t actually lost any time. If anything, we’ve kind of gained it, because we get to live this part again, and together this time.
‘So anyway, why the British Heart Foundation?’ he says. ‘Has someone you know had heart problems?’
‘Yes. Me! My heart was broken.’
And now he’s looking serious.
‘I am so sorry, Amy. I never meant to hurt you.’ He kisses me. A lot. ‘And how’s your heart now?’ he asks gently.
I smile at him. ‘I think it’s on the mend.’ And I wrap my arms around him again. I never want to let him go.
Later, when it’s time to go to sleep, I keep putting water on my eyelashes.
It’s an old trick my auntie taught me when I was a little girl; she said it would make it impossible to fall asleep, so I’d be able to stay awake on Christmas Eve and see if Father Christmas turned up.
Of course, every year I’d eventually get so tired I would fall asleep anyway.
And now I should know better than to expect this to work – after all, I cried myself to sleep enough times when James went. But I try it anyway. And now James has caught me applying the water.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I reply, a little defensively.
He looks at me questioningly. He knows me too well.
‘Okay, I’m just trying to keep myself awake.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want to fall asleep and then wake up in the morning and find this was all a dream and you’re not here, and you’ve gone.’
James smiles, ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ And he wraps his arms around me and kisses me so lovingly. And I feel so warm and safe again in his arms. This is where I’m meant to be. And this is definitely where he’s meant to be.