Chapter 37
MEGAN
It’s a long walk early the next morning right to the top of the hill on which sits the old stone fort that has panoramic views of mountains, fields, vineyards, the town of Collioure and the deep blue Mediterranean Sea that stretches on and on and on.
We’re in no hurry to get there and as much as Mum claims she’s fine, I want her to take things slow and not do anything that means she’ll be in a lot of pain later.
It’s cool at this time in the morning and there’s a strong breeze today, which helps.
At least we’re not hiking up in the heat.
And it’s nice to take our time, talking and pointing out various sights as we wander up the path to the top.
If you hurried this walk, you’d miss the best bits of it.
It’s so early that the route is quiet and the fort empty by the time we get there.
When we reach our chosen point – the end of a terrace that looks over the treetops running down the hill towards the cliffs – we stand side by side, silently taking a moment to gaze out at the breathtaking view.
The wind whips my hair around my face and a shiver rolls down my spine.
Mum turns to me. ‘Are you ready?’
I reach into my bag to pull out the box.
Last night, Mum had poured the ashes from her box into this one.
It had been a solemn moment, both of us moved to silence, neither willing to speak as she carefully closed the lid again.
I lay in bed later, staring up in the darkness at the ceiling, wondering if Dad had hoped his ashes would become combined before they were scattered, a strange sobering analogy for the end of his life: that it would be Mum and I who put him back together again.
Holding the box in front of me, I realise my fingers are trembling.
Mum notices too and steps in closer, putting a hand on my back.
‘It’s okay,’ she tells me. ‘It’s time to let him go.’
‘I . . . I don’t want to,’ I admit, my voice wavering, hot tears stinging my eyes.
She turns to smile at me. ‘He’s not gone, Megan,’ she reminds me gently.
‘The people we love, and the people who love us, become a part of who we are, even when we don’t realise it.
He’ll be there in things you say and things you do, in the way you move, in your expressions, in small unnoticeable mannerisms, in how you think—’ she pauses to exhale, her forehead creasing as she looks out at the spectacular view outstretched before us ‘—and he’ll be there in the love that you go on to give. That’s how it works.’
A small sob comes out before I can stop it.
‘You can do this,’ Mum adds calmly. ‘I’m right here with you.’
I nod, taking a couple of deep breaths. I’m glad I’m not alone.
A bell chimes in the distance, as though ringing just for us, marking the moment.
Looking out at the sea glittering in the early morning sunshine, I feel a sense of calm, as though he’s here between the two of us admiring the view at the same time, a hand on my shoulder, his soothing voice in my ear: ‘Not bad, is it.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I whisper, opening the lid of the box.
‘Goodbye, Henry,’ Mum says.
As the wind carries his ashes away into the air, I find myself smiling, tears streaming down my cheeks. I find Mum’s hand and hold it tightly in mine.
How lucky I was to know you.