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[ladydreadedstardust-blog]

Newton Faulkner Fan Fiction

This Town 

Sara Anne Mawdsley

So, here it goes. Ever wondered what Newton Faulkner was like when he was a teenager? No? Well I did. And here it is. 

I’m so sorry, but I have written another version for his point of view and I’ll post it if this gains any traction. Enjoy.  

  First – It’s hard to see the light when the fridge door is closed…

 New girl.  

In all my life, I have never been the new girl. I had always been there, from nursery to infant school, to junior school to high school. Now I have to start again, halfway through. The new school is a prestigious music academy. They thought it would suit me. Nothing will suit me here. The building is huge and imposing and so far away from home.

Home does not exist anymore, though. It stopped existing the day she took her last breath. Discussions began, what were they going to do with me? Who wanted to look after me? Where would I go, what would I do? I couldn’t stop to think, let alone grieve.

So now, I stand in front of this building. Teenagers bustle past me, chatting amongst themselves. I swallow, my throat dry, my eyes wet. My battered guitar in its equally battered hard case rests against my legs; the stickers I had childishly placed on the case were faded and peeling. The crowds of kids had thinned out, only a few stragglers remained, ambling towards the various entrances.

I sighed and bent to pick up my guitar. I held it like a briefcase and made my way into the school grounds. On my induction day, I was shown where my form room was and I was also given a crude map, detailing the vast expanse of land the school was situated in. I know I am going to be late, but I am struggling to care. I don’t want to be here.

I approach the classroom to see my new form teacher waiting outside. She gives me a sympathetic smile; the corners of her mouth wrinkle.  

“Did you get lost?” she asked, gesturing with her hand.

“Yes, miss.” I replied, not quite meeting her eye and instead, fiddling with the broken handle on my guitar case. My rucksack suddenly felt very heavy.

“Well, you may be in luck today. The first day back after summer, we stay in our form rooms. You can get to know your classmates, maybe even get out and look around the school. Do you think that will help?”

No. But I smiled slightly to offer some semblance of a reply. She nods, and opens the door for us both to enter. The hubbub inside the room quietens. Every desk seats two students of the opposite sex. Boy girl, boy girl. Everybody looked amazing; creative and interesting. I felt very bland with my brunette hair with chunky blonde highlights. I always wanted to dye my hair black, but mum would never let me. I suppose she doesn’t really have a say anymore. Everybody stared, eyes boring into me.

“Alright everyone, let me introduce you to Julie Harlow from…”

“It’s Jules,” I interrupt.

“Excuse me?”

“My name, its Jules. Not Julie.”

“Oh, my mistake. Everybody, meet Jules Harlow from Fairhaven. That’s in the north, isn’t it Jules?”

“Close to Liverpool, miss,” I respond. I decided it was much easier to say I lived near to a big city, rather than to say where I actually lived. Now people could talk to me about The Beatles and other Liverpudlian trivia. Or just make fun of my accent. Whichever came first.

“Jules, would you like to tell us about yourself?”

My throat dries again. What do I even say? “Hey, I’m here because my mum died and my dad doesn’t know me so I live with some distant relative I’ve been told is my aunt but I’m not too sure.” That would sure break the ice. I place down my guitar case and search for a friendly face in the small sea of people to focus on while I talk. Nobody jumps out at me, so I look at the art on the back wall; bright hues against a black backing board. I couldn’t make out what it was about, but it was good to focus on while I made small observations about myself.

“Well, my name is Jules. I have never been this far south before but I guess I’m here to stay right now. I play guitar. My favourite colour is orange…I’m sorry, I’m a bit nervous,” I looked at the teacher, I had already forgotten her name from my introduction. She nods again, and looks into the crowd herself, wondering where to seat me. She points to an empty seat next to a boy with wavy ginger hair and the beginnings of a beard across his cheeks and chin.

“There, you can take a seat next to Sam. He plays guitar as well, I’m sure you will have a lot to talk about,” she smiles again.

I take the seat next to the boy, Sam. He pushed his rucksack onto the floor from the seat to allow me to sit, and smiles very widely at me. His two front teeth overlap and he looks gawky and awkward. Good, I have someone to be gawky and awkward with. The class begins to chatter again, students twisting in their seats to talk to their friends behind them. The teacher doesn’t seem bothered by this, she just settles behind her desk and brings out a stack of papers that she begins to read through. Sam is talking to the boy and girl in front of us, laughing about things that happened over summer, what they would choose for their electives, what they were going to do that weekend. I didn’t know how to join in, I just felt overwhelmed. I didn’t know anybody.

I watched the clock as it ticked slowly through the minutes. The hubbub around me just became noise, noise mixed with the ticking clock and my pounding heartbeat.

I was alone.

“So, what brings you to the south?”

I snap back, painfully aware that I was staring into space. I hope my mouth wasn’t gaping.

“Huh? What?” was all I could manage.

“Why did you move here?”

It was Sam. I don’t know if he was reaching out the throw me a lifeline or if he was just that kind of guy. His eyes looked soft and comforting.

“Erm, family circumstances changed and now I live with my aunt,” I explained, “and everything is different here. It’s a lot cleaner.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty clean around here,” he smiled again, “what do you play?”

“Play?”

“Yeah, acoustic, electric? Weird sized mandolin?”

“Oh, acoustic mainly. I like to write my own. I like to think they’re good, don’t know what other people will make of them.” I smiled too, it was nice to speak to somebody.

“Maybe you could show me sometime,” that smile was there, bigger. I nodded, maybe I blushed a little. After that the conversation flowed easily. He told me about his brother and sister, about his parents, about his musical preferences. I think I gave the usual nods and made the correct noises. I just liked listening to him. He didn’t probe me, he asked me some open ended questions; my favourite food, my favourite song to play, do I like to sing. He even had me laughing a few times.

“Well, you two have hit it off,” the teacher was here, standing beside our desk.

“Just want to make our newcomer feel welcome, Mrs Davidson,” Sam replied, raising his eyebrows and shooting her a cheeky smile.

“Hmm, well maybe you’d like to show her around, seeing as the school will be quiet today. Good to get your bearings.” Mrs Davidson motioned for us to leave. Sam seemed happy at this prospect and I felt all too eager to oblige too.

 We left the classroom. Sam asked to see my planner. I handed it to him and his flipped through the pages to my timetable.

“We have science, music and French together,” he told me. This made me happy as well, and I could feel my ears blush. I bowed my head and asked him what his favourite subject was.

“Music, obviously. I’ve tried drums and piano but I seem to be pretty good at guitar.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” I replied.

“Good job we’ve got music together, you’ll see tomorrow,” he grinned.

He showed me every classroom I’d be attending, he introduced me to a few teachers, he showed me where the canteen was, where everybody hung out. I hoped I could remember all of this because I wasn’t really listening. I don’t know how I felt; it was like a mixture of excited and sad, apprehensive but eager. When Sam suggested we go back to Mrs Davidson’s class, I really did not want to go. I just wanted to hang out with him and talk to him. He smelled nice; he smelled like home.

We did go back to class though. Mrs Davidson was leaning against her desk, reading aloud from a poetry book. Sam and I sat at our desk and listened with the rest. This wasn’t your typical poetry; it wasn’t Wordsworth or Shakespeare, it was a poem about a woman, a woman who rises again. I feel it particularly appropriate for my situation.

When Mrs Davidson had finished, we rapped for a while about what the poem meant. The class had healthy discussions and conflicting points were made. I could feel myself easing into this sea. It was warm and welcoming. The solid weight of my guitar case reassured me.

I could get to like this.

Second – Feel like a Muppet with a drunken puppeteer…

The first day of school was good. Leaving was good too. I felt physically and emotionally drained. The poetry slam lasted until the bell dinged for lunch. I stuck with Sam again and we ate lunch together. We laughed and spoke like we’d known each other years. When the school day ended though, I lost him in the crowd. Again, new and peculiar feelings arose within me and I was having trouble dealing with them.

I arrived home a little after 4pm. My aunt had left a note on the fridge;

“Out for the night, dinner in the fridge xoxo.”

I opened the fridge to be confronted by a £20 note on a plate, with another note that read “Treat yourself, order in.”

I took the money and closed the door. I sighed, not really know what I wanted to eat. Twenty pounds was a lot of money for food for just one person. I walked back into the hallway to look into the big, gilt mirror that hung there. Blue eyes, pale face, brown hair with chunky blonde highlights. Twenty pounds could change the way I look. I went upstairs to my bedroom, changed out of my uniform and walked back downstairs, out the door and around the side of the house to grab my bicycle. I cycled to the nearby supermarket and browsed the health and beauty aisle. I could dye my hair black, like I always wanted, but other colours were available. I could go completely blonde, but that might make me look washed out. Red would probably come out auburn and I knew I’d prefer a pillar box red. Maybe black would be my best option? It would definitely reflect the way I felt right now. I picked out what appeared to be a good quality dye and went to look at the make-up and nail polishes. I took advantage of the offer spanning across the nail polishes and selected a few deep colours and a top coat. I started to feel excited, like I was truly reinventing myself. I had nobody to answer to. I was going to find me.

 Coming home to an empty house felt unusual. I was so used to coming home and being greeted by my mum that to come home to nobody was unnerving. I had some money left over so I grabbed a pizza on my way home; vegetarian, with extra peppers. I ate it in front of the TV while trying to decide what colour to paint my nails.

When it came to dying my hair, I spent a long time looking into the bathroom mirror. I was ready for this, but I felt scared. I had to do it. I watched my hair slowly darken, wrapped it up in a bun and let it develop. I painted my nails a deep burgundy red and watched TV in the darkness.

I rinsed my hair and sat in the bath, under the shower. Black streams fell over my shoulders and pooled in front of me. I felt so ready for this. I daydreamed about my new hair; about walking into school tomorrow, about sitting next to Sam, about him commenting on my hair, how bold and deep it was.

Sam.

I hadn’t thought about him much since returning home but now he was all I could think about. His wonky smile and hazel eyes. He certainly caught my attention. I hoped he liked my hair.

 Waking up the next morning, the house was still quiet. I checked my aunt’s room; the bed was made, it didn’t look slept in. Who goes out all night on a Monday? I dressed and went downstairs to find my aunt sat at the breakfast table, head held in her hands while she looked into a mug of coffee.

“Morning Aunty Bea,” I greeted her. She lifted her head and smiled at me.

“Sorry I didn’t come home last night. Time got away from me. How was school?” she replied.

“It was okay. Nice kids, nice teachers, well the one I’ve met is,” I fiddled with a section of my hair, trying to get her to comment. It worked.  

“You dyed your hair, it suits you,” she smiled again and took a swig from her coffee. I nodded.

“I’m going to get going now, see you after school?” I asked.

She grinned and passed me a piece of buttered toast. I didn’t know if that was a yes or a no but I didn’t care either way. I held the toast in my mouth as I left, deciding to cycle to school today. My guitar was heavy on my back but again, its weight reassured me.

The school was bustling when I arrived; students chatting and walking leisurely into the grounds. I could see Sam, sat on some benches with a gaggle of other people. He had his guitar on his lap, strumming a melodic tune. I smiled in his direction and he nodded back. I parked my bike and walked up to the form room. The door was open so I sat at my desk, brought out my guitar and decided to strum as well. I wasn’t really concentrating, just letting my fingers flick up and down the strings.

“I almost didn’t recognise you.”

I stopped and looked up towards the door. Sam was here, smiling his wonky smile.

“Don’t stop on my account, it’s really good,” he sat down on the desk next to me with his own guitar. “Maybe we could play together?”

I clammed up. All of a sudden, my fingers didn’t work and I could feel my ears blushing. I started to hate that he could do this to me, but I liked it too. He settled his guitar on his lap and strummed something beautiful.

“Something I’ve been working on. It’s not perfect, and it has no words, but I like playing it,” he worked his fingers up and down the neck then began to slap the sides of the guitar, working in a drum beat as well as the descant tune. He continued to play even as the classroom filled up with students, people either oblivious to his playing or so used to him playing that they just ignored it. I was his only captive audience member.

“Okay Sam, put it away,” Mrs Davidson had arrived and was stacking some papers on her desk. She smiled at us. “Right, I think it would be a good idea for you two to stick together, you seem to be getting on okay,” she motioned for the rest of the class to take their seats while she filled out the register.

“It’s music first period,” Sam whispered to me, “are you ready for that?”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, fiddling with my hair.

“Why did you dye it?” he asked, propping his head against his hand and leaning on our desk.

“I just fancied a change, y’know. New school, new house, new people, new me kind of thing,” I said. It seemed a good enough reason as any.

“I’ve always wanted dreadlocks. Something about them has always appealed to me. Might be the transient lifestyle associated with them,” he smiled. I looked at his hair, wondered what it felt like. I thought about how he would look with dreadlocks, then I said it before I could stop myself.

“I can dread your hair,” I told him. Why? I didn’t know how to dreadlock hair, but it looks like I was going to learn.

“Really? That would be great! We’ll arrange a day, I’ll bring the snacks and the movies,” his smile was even bigger now. I definitely needed to learn how to dreadlock hair now.

Our time in the form room lasted ten minutes, then we had to start our lessons. I followed Sam to music and learned some piano techniques. We went our separate ways until fourth period, where we met again for science class. Everything felt better with him around, which felt bizarre to me because I barely knew him. We sat together at the same pod for science and he laughed and joked with everyone at our table. I wondered if he was just being nice because he was nice to everybody. I felt disheartened at this, but I continued to laugh and quip back to him. Towards the end of the lesson he pushed a small note over to me, slung his backpack over his shoulder, winked at me and left. I grabbed the note and opened it in one swift movement.

His telephone number.

It was a landline, obviously. Not many kids our age had mobile phones yet. I folded the note again and put it in my guitar case for safe keeping. I had one lesson left for the day; English. I liked English and my teacher happened to be my form teacher, Mrs Davidson. I was eager to see what she had in store for us, but when I arrived at the classroom, all I could think about was Sam.

This could either be exceedingly beautiful, or brutally painful.

 Third – And I don’t mind anymore…

Something happened that I never thought would. School became my favourite place. That evening, after I had eaten and read the various notes Aunty Bea had left me, I settled in the living room, strumming my guitar. MTV blared on the television in the corner. Massive Attack’s “Teardrop,” began to play. I played along with it, the lyrics taking on a whole new meaning to me.

“Love, love is a verb, love is a doing word, fearless on my breath,”

I sang too. I did not feel so lonely in the house tonight. I felt as if I had company; company that brought comfort. I smiled more. I laughed more.

Going to bed that night, I felt excited for the day ahead. I felt excited to see Sam.

Sam approached me as I came into the form room.

“You didn’t call me last night,” he said. I’m not sure if he was disheartened or annoyed. I apologised and he grinned. “You don’t need to apologise. I didn’t tell you to call me, I just implied that you should. Even then, I think if I told you to call me, you wouldn’t have done. You seem very hard headed.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be offended at his comment or not. I think he realised this and added;

“Don’t worry about it, I like strong women,” he winked at me, “maybe I should take your number instead, we can arrange a day for you to do my hair.”

Ah, crap! I had completely forgotten about that. I grabbed my pen and a notebook and scrawled out the landline number for Aunty Bea’s house and handed it over to Sam. He tucked it into his pocket and we sat at our desk together. The cacophony of voices around us dulled and I focused on just him, just his words. The way he threw his head back to laugh, the way he looked the person in the eye as he spoke to them, his wonky smile.

School seemed to pass in a whirlwind. I cycled home and logged onto the computer immediately as I arrived home. I had to research how to make dreadlocks so I could arrange a date with Sam. Aunty Bea traipsed about the house, asking me questions intermittently.

“How was school?” she began.

“Fine,” I replied, eyes flicking backwards and forwards across the screen.

“You settling in okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I worry about you, you know?”

I faced her. Aunty Bea was nothing like my mum, her sister. She was tall and slender and she smoked thin cigarettes. She wore figure hugging clothes and her hair was a crazy curly perm that strangely suited her. Mum was tall too, but she a bit heavier and she never smoked. Mum dressed the way she liked, which was like a biker. Her hair was short towards the end; the chemotherapy made it fall out in clumps.

“You never talk about what happened, I don’t think it’s healthy, Jules,” Aunty Bea pulled up a chair next to me and cupped my face. “I bet you miss her.”

This felt like a redundant statement. Of course I missed my mum, but I didn’t miss her illness, or her pain.

“You look so much like her,” she told me. This was an outright lie. All my life, mum told me I looked more like my dad. Very dark, quite severe, pointy even, with sharp features.

“Your eyes. So blue, just like hers.” Aunty Bea smiled wanly. I didn’t understand her. She was never around when mum was poorly, when she worsened or when she died. She came to the funeral and told me if I ever needed anything, I could ask her. I think she imagined, like many others around me, that my dad would look after me. When she discovered I was in foster care, she came to get me. Discussions were had and my dad signed over custody of me to her, then she moved me down to Surrey. Did she feel guilty?

“Shall I make us something to eat? What would you like?” she placed her hands on her thighs and waited for me to respond. If I had learned anything while growing up, it’s that the women on the maternal side all had their own take on potato hash. I had never tried Aunty Bea’s version.

“Potato hash, Aunty Bea. Do you know how to make it?”

Aunty Bea smiled mischievously.

“I make the best potato hash!” she declared. She got up and went into the kitchen. I could hear pots and pans being bashed about while she hunted for the utensils she needed. I continued my research, deducing that I would need a small crochet hook and a lot of tail combs. And a lot of time.

Aunty Bea and I ate together and made small conversation. I went up to my bedroom afterwards to prepare for school the next day. I didn’t hear the phone ringing or Aunty Bea answering it, but my ears pricked when she said my name.

“Jules? Yes she’s here. I’ll just shout up for her,” I heard her lay the receiver down on the phone table as she approached the staircase to shout for me. There was no point in this; by the time she reached the foot of the stairs I was already halfway down them.

“Jules, there’s a boy calling for you…”

I blitzed past her and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” I answered, twirling the phone cord in my fingers.

“Jules? Hey, it’s Sam!” I could hear him smiling down the phone. I smiled too. “So you didn’t give me a fake number, then?”

“Obviously not, how’s it going?” I replied, taking a seat at the phone table. When would Aunty Bea update this phone to a cordless? I needed to mention that to her.

“It’s going. How about you? School go okay for you today?”

“It was okay, learned some stuff I didn’t know, relearned some stuff I did know, the usual,” my cheeks hurt, I was smiling so much.

“Cool good. So I was wondering if you were free this weekend. Thought we could hang out, I could show you around town?”

It sounded like utter perfection. I had hung out with the kids at my old school, we’d hang around town and go to the park and sit and keep ourselves to ourselves, but we were still referred to as nuisances. Sam wanted to hang out with me. How do I say yes without appearing too desperate?

“Yeah, sounds good to me. Where do you want to meet?” I replied, trying not to sound too keen but trying not to sound bored either.

“Just catch the bus into town, I’ll meet you at the bus station. Meet at about eleven?” he made it sound so easy. I was nodding in agreement at everything he said, then I realised he couldn’t see me.

“Sounds good to me Sam, I’ll see you Saturday,” I eventually replied.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jules,” I could tell he was smirking. I felt like slamming my head into the wall. We still had three days of school left, I would see him every day leading up to Saturday.

“And I’ll see you tomorrow as well, Sam.”

We said our goodbyes and hung up. I went to speak to Aunty Bea to ensure it was okay I went out on Saturday. She was very keen that I did go out on Saturday, going as far to provide me with cash to go out with. Aunty Bea wasn’t a great mother, but she was a fantastic aunt. I went to bed extremely happy that night.

The days leading up to Saturday felt like torture. Sure, I saw Sam every day, but I wanted to see Sam alone, not surrounded by other people. The days were slow, the lessons seemed to melt into one, continuous drone of monotonous information. I felt like I had crawled to Saturday.

When the day finally arrived, I awoke way too early. My body just couldn’t seem to sleep past six am. The dreams I had were bizarre. I felt like I had control in them and I took it to my advantage. I’m pretty sure they call this lucid dreaming. I remembered jumping over high buildings and walking down a street, summoning an ice cream cone from thin air. The only weird thing about it was the ice cream was coal black. I woke up to birds twittering in the trees outside. I lay there for a little while before my impatient bladder forced me to get out of bed.

I crept about the house, very aware of my aunt sleeping in her bed, snoring, one of her feet sticking out from under the covers. I pulled her door closed and went downstairs. I tried making myself some breakfast but I had no appetite. I tried to watch television but nothing could keep my attention. I fidgeted and moved about, feeling very restless. I finally settled with my guitar, making up a tune as I went. I really enjoyed what I was hearing and thinking, so I grabbed my notebook and began to write as I plucked the strings.

“Off to the land of sleep again I go,

I’m gonna take my shoes off at the door,

I’m gonna go where dreams like rivers flow

Whoa, when the alarm goes off I just won’t go.”

I sang the words over and over again in different keys and tones. I adjusted the way I played and tried adding percussion with the guitar like Sam does. Maybe I would show him. I think he’d like it.

Aunty Bea came downstairs several hours later and ruffled my hair.

“Morning chuck, you’re a bit of an early bird. You don’t get up this early for school, let alone on a Saturday,” she walked into the kitchen and began clattering things about.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep Aunty Bea, weird dreams,” I replied, following her into the kitchen. I felt like I could eat now.

“Mmm, nothing to do with this Sam, is it?” she looked at me coyly. I felt myself blushing again. Blushing felt like my new pastime; Aunty Bea made me blush, Sam made me blush, a teacher asking me a question made me blush.

“I knew it. Be careful, young lady. Young men only want one thing,” Aunty Bea took a frying pan out of a cupboard and placed it on the stove top. “Fancy pancakes? I really fancy pancakes.”

“Sounds great, Aunty Bea,” I settled on a stool at the breakfast table while Aunty Bea mixed up some pancake batter. “I want blueberries on mine, please.”

“Your wish is my command,” she poured the batter into the pan and it sizzled when it touched the hot metal. “So, what’s the plan for today? You guys doing anything special?”

“I don’t think so Aunty Bea, I think Sam just wants to show me around,” I replied, watching as she flipped the pancake perfectly.

“But you already know your way around,” Aunty Bea pointed out. I had lived here since June and it was September now.

“Yeah I know, but it’d be good to be shown some places I might not know about,” Aunty Bea placed a plate down in front of me; blueberry pancakes topped with more blueberries, yoghurt and a bit of honey. “Thanks Aunty Bea.”

She soon settled down across from me with her own pancakes, made with chocolate chips with yoghurt and honey dolloped on top. We made more small talk, laughed and joked with each other. After breakfast, she placed our plates in the sink and came and stood behind me, playing with my hair.

“You would look nice with waves. Or even crimped hair!” she said, lifting my hair up off my shoulders and twisting it into a tight bun.

“Didn’t they crimp their hair in the eighties?” I asked, shaking my hair free again.

“Yeah, you used to ask me to crimp your hair when you were little! Your mum hated it though, telling me I was damaging your lovely hair. I used to do it in secret when I babysat you and wash your hair before she came home,” she smiled and began to plait my hair instead. I don’t remember Aunty Bea looking after me when I was little, let alone crimping my hair. As far as I remembered, I only met Aunty Bea when I was ten, and that was only four years ago.

“You looked after me?” I asked, brushing my fringe out of my eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“Yeah, you probably don’t. When you were first born, your mum got really sick. Like, she was in hospital a lot. She didn’t want you going to your dad because, well, he’s a bit useless isn’t he? And he didn’t show any interest while she was pregnant with you so why would he show interest now you’re here?” Aunty Bea was now telling me things I had no idea about. “So, I moved into your house for a bit. Well, a bit turned into about twelve months. Then your mum felt she could look after you by herself and she’d be an outpatient at the hospital. She occasionally had to stay in overnight, so I’d crash with you. You loved playing hairdressers; you’d do mad stuff to my hair all the time. I’d put your hair in ringlets or crimp it or put mousse on it so it would dry wavy. You went into nursery everyday looking different every time,” she laughed about this, “I swear, those poor nursery workers thought I was your mum until I told them the situation. Then your mum got better and didn’t need me so much anymore. Next thing I knew, I hadn’t seen you in five years. Then your grandma died and I saw you at the funeral. Your mum always kept close tabs on you, which made it worse when she got sick. She wouldn’t let anyone help her, despite us trying so hard.” I heard her voice waver. The enthusiasm she had when she first started playing with my hair slowed and she let it slowly drop from her hands so it fanned out around my shoulders. “You should go get ready, kid. You can’t leave Sam waiting.”

Aunty Bea left the kitchen quickly after this. I followed her advice and decided to get ready; showering slowly and methodically; making sure I shaved and scrubbed and lathered and leaving the bathroom like a small, impromptu sauna. I blow dried my hair, moisturised and began to delicately apply some make-up. I wish I could say this was a change from my routine, but I did this every day. The only difference I made is I put on some perfume. I threw some outfit ideas onto my bed and stood with my towel wrapped around me, trying to decide what to wear. It was the tail-end of summer and still pretty warm outside. I selected a short black pinafore style dress and a short sleeved t-shirt and teamed them with some natural denier tights and Doc Marten boots. I left my hair lose; falling about at my shoulders, slightly curled at the tips. Should I take my guitar? Would he bring his guitar? I looked at my old, battered acoustic; leaning silently on its stand. I grabbed it and put it in its soft case, deciding it would be easier to carry like that. I checked the time, looked myself over once more then left for the bus stop.

 The bus ride into town felt long. I kept checking my watch and gazing out the window as all the trees and houses passed by. The bus driver was playing music on a small radio; Lou Bega’s “Mambo No 5,” blared down the empty walkway of the bus. My stomach felt tight, queasy but not completely unpleasant. It was a new kind of excitement, an eagerness I have never felt before.

The bus slowly pulled into the bus depot before creaking to a stop. The hydraulic suspension released air and the bus’ nose dipped to be level with the platform. I departed briskly, my guitar bumping against my back with every step I took. I looked for Sam in the station, but I couldn’t see his poofy ginger hair or hear some sweet melody flowing throughout the building. I took a seat on a cold metal bench and placed my guitar beside me before checking my watch again. It was only five past eleven, maybe he was running a bit late.

I took my guitar out and tuned it slightly, turning the pegs and feeling the tension change on the strings. I strummed across the frets, beginning to play the tune I created this morning. Instead of singing, I hummed the limited words I had written.

“Sounds good, what’s it called?”

A voice interrupted my playing. Sam settled down beside me, smiling his wonky smile.

“Hi,” I smiled, motioning to put my guitar down.

“No! Don’t put it away, show me what you’re playing…hi, as well,” he went to grab my guitar and place it back into my hands. “Show me, please.”

“I’m suddenly shy, Sam,” I replied, dipping my head so my masses of black hair covered my face.

“I know you can do it, it’s only me,” he chucked me under my chin, lifting my head back up. “Prove me right.”

I wanted to, but my fingers wouldn’t work. They touched the right strings, strummed in the right order, but I couldn’t make it sound right.

“Take a breath, hold it, let go of it slowly. Try again,” Sam said. His reassurance was the kick I needed. I played, swallowing the water that had accumulated in my mouth and began to sing softly.

Off to the land of sleep again I go

I’m gonna take my shoes off at the door

I’m gonna go where dreams like rivers flow

Whoa-oh, when the alarm goes off

I just won’t go

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye; he was smiling, nodding along.

Won’t you

Come with me

Won’t you

Before they’re gone in the morning

“That’s all I have so far,” I grinned, lowering my guitar and relaxing into my seat.

“It was great. What are you calling it?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s a work in progress.”

“I think you should go with Gone In The Morning. Memorable lyric, sticks in your mind. Look, look at that woman over there,” he pointed towards a young woman with a pram, smiling at us. She nodded her approval. “I like it when people smile.”

“Yeah, people should smile more,” I replied, putting my guitar away.

“Words to live by, Jules,” Sam stood up from the bench and held out his hand to me. “Come on, let’s go.”

I took his hand and he pulled me up from the bench. He didn’t bring his guitar with him, but he took great joy in picking mine up and slinging it across his back. We walked side by side, close together but not touching. I tried remaining cool and aloof but I was worried that I would appear disinterested. Sam kept his hands tucked into his pockets and walked with a slight bounce in his step.

“Where are we going?” I asked eventually.

“To get supplies,” he responded, a small smirk on his face. The vagueness of his answer intrigued me and I followed him eagerly. We passed a haberdashery and I excused myself to go inside. I needed to find a small crochet hook to do Sam’s hair. I made my purchase and joined Sam again, tucking the hook into my pocket.

“Ready?” he asked, before offering me his hand to hold. I quickly wiped my hand down the side of my pinafore and took hold of his, smiling inanely. He made me feel so weird inside; like I wanted to puke but it was a good wanting to puke feeling. I didn’t want to say anything stupid or do anything embarrassing. I just kept quiet and had a loose grip of Sam’s hand; I didn’t want to appear too desperate or clingy. However, Sam tighten his grip, which was the most reassuring, loveliest feeling in the world to me. We walked around the town centre for a while, window shopping and making small talk. He stopped off at small shop to buy snacks and a small blanket before taking me to wonderful park. We sat facing each other, the food Sam had purchased spread between us. We ate and talked and laughed for hours. I explained to him why I had moved down south; all the little issues and big problems that brought me here. He nodded sympathetically and mused with me. He understood that pain of losing my mum was still raw and fresh and he didn’t press me for more information but I felt compelled to tell him about the most vulnerable moment of my life.

I told him about the morning I woke up and my mum had been distant and grumpy for a while, so when I accidently knocked my cereal bowl off the counter top and strewn cereal all over the floor, I panicked whilst I cleaned it up, very aware that mum could come into the room at any point and see the mess. She did catch me in the midst of clearing up my mess, but she didn’t get angry. Instead, she took me by the hand and led me to the breakfast table and had me sit down across from her. She held my hands from across the table. At this point my anxiety was sky-rocketing; she had never acted like this before. She took a deep breath, then said with an uncompromising strength in her voice.

“I have cancer.”

Cancer.

I felt the colour drain from my face, my mouth dried up and tears welled in my eyes. My grip tightened on her hands and she squeezed back. Everything changed from that day on; there were hospital trips and surgery and drains and chemotherapy and radiotherapy and wrist supports. There were tears, vomit, wigs and hair in the toilet. For five years, my mum battled the disease but it was unrelenting; once the doctors thought they had eliminated it from area, it would show up somewhere else, stronger and meaner. From her breast to her sternum, to the lining of her lungs to her brain. It played to win, and it won. Hard. The chemo didn’t work anymore, it would just prolong her life by mere months and she was tired now. So, she was made comfortable, dosed up on morphine all day, every day. Catheterised, degraded, eventually unconscious. The day she took her last breath will be burned into my memory forever. The whole world seemed to fall silent and time slowed down. In a second, she was gone and my life would never be the same again.

Sam’s eyes watered as he reached over to grasp my hand.

“I don’t what to say, other than that I am sorry, I truly am.” He took a deep, shuddering breath to compose himself. “I’ve never had anything like that happen in my life. My upbringing has been pretty standard; mum and dad are still together, a brother and a sister, I’m the middle child, we’re all pretty creative and weird but we like it that way,” he moved closer to me, turned and lied down, his head nestled in my lap. I began to play with his hair, twirling it in my fingers. “I should probably try and have some experiences,” he wondered aloud. “Get to know the big bad world and what it does.”

“You’re being very cheerful,” I replied. Despite telling my story, I didn’t feel too sad. I felt like things were getting better, especially with Sam around. Sam smiled up at me, raising his eyebrows in an “I know,” manner.

“People should smile more, right?” he replied.

“Exactly right,” I smiled too, feeling quite warm inside. Sam suddenly sprang up and grabbed for my guitar, taking it from out of its case and working his fingers up and down the fret; figuring out how it was tuned, feeling the tension on the strings. He began playing a buoyant melody, his fingers moving delicately up and down.

People should smile more

I’m not saying there’s nothing to cry for

But you’ve got everything laid out for you

Just close your eyes, take a deep breath and start another war

I loved it instantly. The smooth, soft vocals: the cheeriness of the tune and the meaningfulness behind the lyrics.

Keep buying, keep moving, this city

Is sitting next to me

We’re laid out, it’s gonna come

And one thing is certain

And now it felt he was singing about us and my heart pounded so violently. I wish I could have some input!

I can’t change the world

Because trying to make a difference makes it worse

It’s just an observation I can’t ignore

That people should smile more

“Sam,” I whispered. He looked at me, smiling, he looked so pleased with himself, with everything. “I love it.”

“Thanks. For the compliment and the inspiration,” he responded, his fingers still working up and down the neck of the guitar. “Anyway, what’s her name?”

“Her name?” I replied, a bit confused.

“Your guitar, what’s her name? She is a girl, right? She looks like a girl to me.”

I hadn’t named my guitar, it never occurred to me to do so, but now Sam had mentioned I felt silly for not naming her sooner. She was rough; a bit ragged around the edges and stained with various things: coffee, sprinkles from art projects, stickers, permanent marker. She was like an eclectic gypsy.

“Esmeralda,” I stated.

“Esmeralda, I like it. She looks like an Esmeralda,” he placed her back into the case and zipped her away.

“Do you not want to write down your lyrics?” I asked. I always wrote down mine, too scared of forgetting them.

“I won’t forget them, but I promise to write them down when I get home,” he smiled his wonky smile, got up and held out his hand for me again. We packed up and headed towards the pavilion, where he treated me to an ice cream. We talked for hours, comparing our likes and dislikes, our dreams, our wants from life. I could have stayed there forever but eventually we had to go. We walked back to the bus station hand in hand and he waited with me for my bus to arrive. Just as I was about to board after we said our goodbyes, he grabbed my hand again and spun me around.

“One more thing,” he said as his hand slid up my back to pull me closer. His lips met mine and we shared something so wonderful that I could never put it into words.

He kissed me.

 Fourth – And everywhere I look, everything is looking so good…

High.

I wanted the bus ride home to last forever; the blur of the trees, the people in their cars, the pedestrians enjoying the sunny Saturday evening, I felt as if they were all joining me, feeling this exuberant, exciting, enthralling feeling that had taken over me; mind and body. When I walked into my aunt’s house, I still felt like I was floating. My stomach had a pleasant tenseness about it and everything felt light and bright. Aunty Bea noticed the dreamy smile on my face immediately.

“Good day?” she asked as she settled down on the sofa in the living room.

“Very good day,” I replied, taking a seat across from her. “We went to the park, he bought me an ice cream.”

“Ah, just the two of you, was it?”

“Yeah, it was really nice. We played guitar and laughed and joked about stuff. I like him,” my gaze turned to her “and I think he likes me.”

Aunty Bea smiled warmly at me. “I’m glad, you need something to make you happy. Just don’t go getting your heart broken.”

I took heed to Aunty Bea’s warning. We relaxed into the sofa and watched mindless TV. I opened my note book and began jotting down ideas for lyrics and songs. I had boundless inspiration now and I didn’t want to waste it.

I was deep into my writing when the telephone rang. Aunty Bea went to answer it but I jumped up and blocked her.

“It’s probably for me, Aunty Bea!” I stammered, making a beeline for the phone. She laughed after me and sat back down. I snatched the phone out of its cradle.

“Hello?”

“Seems you have a sixth sense,” a voice replied.

“Hi Sam,” I replied, my smile making my cheeks ache.

“Hey. Did you get home okay then?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely fine. I’m just hanging out with my Aunty Bea and writing some stuff. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks,” he laughed “I forgot to ask you about tomorrow. Do you want to come over to my house? I was thinking we could make a start on my hair, if you want?”

Go to his house. I would meet his mum, his dad and his brother and sister. I felt awkward just thinking about it, but I wanted to see him. I felt like I always wanted to see him lately.

“Sure thing, I’ll just double check with Aunty Bea, hold on,” I placed the receiver down on the table just as Aunty Bea shouted from the other room.

“It’s fine by me!” she yelled, stifling laughter. I picked the phone back up.

“She says its fine.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Sam was laughing too. “I’ll meet you at the station again. I still have plenty of snacks leftover. Are there any films you’d like to watch?”

None came to mind, so I just said the first film I thought of.

“Labyrinth?” I asked.

“I might have a copy of it somewhere,” he replied, then he exhaled noisily down the phone. “Better we start early tomorrow! Meet you at the station at ten. Have a great evening beautiful. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Sam,” I responded. He called me beautiful. Now I felt even higher.

Aunty Bea teased me all night, making kissy faces and cooing at me.

“Sam and Jules, sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G!” she sang before chuckling to herself. “I’m happy for you kid. Fancy a takeaway?”

This was code for “I want a takeaway and need you to justify it for me.” I nodded and went to grab some take-out menus from the kitchen. We chose to order a pizza and settled in for the evening.

 My dreams were chaotic again that night. I felt like I was traversing the land, exploring and discovering little realms of my subconscious.

Won’t you, come with me…

Over and over again it played in my head, the wanting to leap into something new and follow my dreams.  

I awoke a little after eight on Sunday morning and made a start on getting ready. I plaited my hair into two pigtails, made up my face and packed a small bag of dreadlocking supplies. I left the house while Aunty Bea was still asleep. She got a little wine-drunk last night so I felt it better to leave her alone. The bus ride into town seemed to take forever again; apprehension gripped my stomach and my mouth dried out. I prayed my breath wouldn’t smell; what if Sam wanted to greet me with a kiss? Why did everything feel so difficult? I sometimes hated my teenage brain.

Sam was already waiting when I departed the bus. He greeted me with his arms wide open and huge wonky smile on his face. Seems coy, but I felt so safe in his embrace.

“Good sleep?” he asked.

“Very good, weird dreams again but I’m getting used to that,” I replied.

“Good inspiration, dreams,” he mused. This embrace was lasting a long time. I could feel him smelling me. Good sign. “Come on, the next bus to mine leaves soon.”

He was holding my hand again as we boarded the bus; he put his hand on my thigh while we rode the bus, reverting back to holding my hand as we departed the bus. We walked a short distance to his house.

“It’ll just be us for a while, parents are out visiting their parents. Lottie went with them, don’t know where Toby is. We can hang out in the living room,” he said as he opened the front door to his house. I was greet by bohemian design, mismatched furniture and lots pictures and prints. I felt immediately at ease and followed Sam inside. He went into the living room and settled on a big, cushiony couch.

“So, how we going to do this?” he asked.

“Huh?” I replied, slightly mesmerised by him and his house.

“The dreads,” he laughed “where do you want me?”

“Oh,” I scanned the room. The easiest thing would be for him to sit on the floor while I sat behind him on the couch. He piled some cushion up on the floor and made himself a little pillow island whilst I took my position behind him. He turned on the TV and began to flick through the channels while I sectioned and separated his hair. It felt kind of wiry, not as soft as I imagined.

“Sorry,” he said, sensing my bewilderment. “I read online it’s best to stop conditioning your hair if you’re going to dreadlock it. Soft hair doesn’t lock too well.”

“Good shout,” I replied. I clipped some sections to the side and began.

Hours passed and I was making slow progress. My hands hurt, my back hurt, I shuffled about so much that Sam was cracking jokes that I had ants in my pants. I powered through though. Sam really suited dreadlocks, almost as if they completed his personality.

“Thank you for doing this. I bet you could find far better ways to spend your Sundays,” Sam said after a while.

“No, not really. And it’s no problem. I like hanging out with you,” I replied.

“I like hanging out with you too. Do you fancy taking a break after this one?” he asked. “My butt is going numb.”

I laughed and tried to finish up quickly. He groaned as he got up and stretched out, his t-shirt lifted slightly and I could see his stomach; the definition of his hips. It lit something alight inside of me. He held out his hand to me.

“Let’s go and get some fresh air,” he suggested as he lead me through the house to the back garden. We stood in garden, listening to the birds caw and the gentle wind blow. I closed my eyes and let the sunshine warm my face. I could sense Sam approaching me and my skin bristled; the hairs on my arms stood on end and my breath caught in my throat. His hands were on my hips but my face was still pointing up, towards the sun and my eyes were still closed. I felt his fingers on my chin, pulling my face level with his. I opened my eyes to look at him as he pulled me closer.

“You drive me absolutely mad and I have no idea why,” he whispered.

I felt my knees waver. He was so close to me. No one had ever been this close to me before. Even when we shared our first kiss, it wasn’t this intense or full on. This was a whole new level. I could feel the tension growing, enveloping us both. I wanted to say something or do something, anything for a bit of relief. His fingers were still on my chin, but they fanned out to cup my face. A million thoughts were racing through my mind; how does he really feel about me? Does he do this to every new girl? Or am I really that special? I wanted to be that special. I wish my mind could switch off and I could do this with my eyes wide shut, but Aunty Bea’s warning buzzed around my head like an angry little wasp.

Don’t go getting your heart broken.

What would be his next move? I felt his hand press against the back of my head; pulling my face closer, and my body relaxed into his.

“I really like you, Jules,” he murmured, finally landing his lips on mine. It was a soft, delicate kiss that was slowly but surely becoming more intense. I didn’t know how to kiss, I had never done it before. However, Sam seemed to know what to do and in turn, my body, my mouth responded. His hands went lower, first to my shoulder blades, then to the small of my back, resting gently above my buttocks. My hands settled on his hips before circling around him, intertwining my fingers behind his back. “I really, really like you,” he interjected as he pulled away “and I think you really like me too.”

“What gave you that impression?” I smiled. He lifted my hands to his face and kissed my sore, throbbing fingers.

“This, for a start,” he replied, pointing the raised, pink skin on the sides of my fingers. “It must hurt. I can’t imagine you doing that for someone you hated.”

“Well, I guess there is something about you…” I smirked at him, allowing my fingers to curl around his. His hands were warm and slightly calloused from playing guitar.

“Stop being modest. I don’t think there’s any point in that anymore. You’ve really caught my attention Jules, I don’t think I’ve ever been more distracted yet focused and I don’t want it to stop,” he sucked his lip and took a deep breath “so, what do you say?”

“What do I say to what?” I replied.

“What do you say to being my girlfriend?” he asked, albeit a bit apprehensively. I felt rocked to my core; my heart pounded so hard I could feel the blood drumming my ears. I licked my lips and tried to answer as aloofly as I could, but failed miserably.

“I’d really like that,” I stuttered, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat and answered again. “I mean, I would love to be your girlfriend Sam. Thank you.”

He laughed. It broke the intensity immediately.

“You don’t need to thank me! I should thank you!” his face creased into a massive grin and he kissed me again. “I’m feeling inspired. D you think I could mess around with my guitar while you do my hair?”

“I don’t see why not. Go get it, I’m just going to use the bathroom,” I let go of his hands and made my way back into the house to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and I just could not contain myself anymore. I squealed in absolute joy; my whole body felt warm, my eyes shone with such intensity. I felt as if I were a helium balloon, floating up, up and away. I was Sam’s girlfriend.

And Sam was my boyfriend.

After everything was said and done, I fell back into the sofa and sighed deep and long. My fingers throbbed, my eyes hurt, my nail beds cried out in pain. I gently massaged my hands, trying to get the blood flowing again. Sam’s hair stuck out at jaunty angles; some dreadlocks stuck out in such a way that he fathomed a unicorn. Or an angry porcupine.

“Finished?” he asked, twanging the strings on his guitar.

“Mmmhmm. All done and dreaded,” I replied, closing my eyes. My back ached, my legs ached, my wrists ached. Sam stood up and went to look in a nearby mirror. I heard him laughing at his reflection.

“Oh man, am I going to get some comments at school tomorrow,” he guffawed. I heard him place his guitar down before jumping onto the couch next to me. “All thanks to my gorgeous girlfriend.”

I opened my eyes and gazed at him silently. Now that we could talk without fear of stabbing myself with a hook, I had a million questions to ask.

“When is your birthday?” I asked.

“11th January,” he replied. “You?”

“Ha, you’re going to love this,” I replied.

“Go on, is it the same day?”

“No, it’s April 1st.”

“So you’re an April fool?” he shuffled closer to me and place an arm around me.

“Damn straight. And I’ve heard all the jokes and had all the pranks done to me, so don’t go getting any funny ideas,” I said, maybe a bit too grumpily.

“As if I would. I’ll treat you like a queen, whether it’s your birthday or not,” he pulled me closer to him so my head was resting on his shoulder. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” he asked.

I checked my watch and frowned.

“It’s a bit late for dinner, isn’t it?” Sam checked my watch and frowned at me.

“What are you on about? It almost half past five. What time do you eat dinner?”

I felt like slamming my palm into my head. I was so used to being northern that I had forgotten that dinner meant tea in the south.

“You know, I’d love to stay for dinner, let me just call Aunty Bea to make sure it’s okay,” I got up and headed for the phone. Sam’s family has a cordless phone. Now I really needed to persuade Aunty Bea to catch up with technology. I spoke to Aunty Bea for a short while and she was ecstatic for me.

“Anything that makes you happy, love,” she said. I think I could hear her smile down the phone. “Just be back for a decent time, okay?”

“I will do, Aunty Bea. See you soon,” I replied before placing the phone back in its charging port. Sam was waiting for me; stood in the doorway to the living room.

“All good?” he asked, approaching me and holding me from behind.

“All good,” I uttered back.

“I think mum and dad want to go out for tea. Are you okay with meeting everybody?”

“I’m sure I’ll cope.”

He nodded over my shoulder and tapped my side.

“Come on, I want to show you my room.”

He turned and began ascending the stairs while holding my hand. I was fully expecting a boy cave full of posters of scantily clad women and pop groups but I was pleasantly surprised by what greeted me; a bed that was made, two guitar stands, arty posters and cassette tapes, some of them were homemade mixes, some of them were of classical artists. The only pop poster he had was of a band called Green Day. I had heard of them, but I hadn’t really listened to any of their music.

“It’s nice but it’s not what I was expecting though,” I told him, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

“Expecting naked girls and twenty guitars?” he asked, sitting down beside me. I smiled at him.

“Maybe.”

“And you were wrong. It’s not my style. Although I do appreciate the female form, I don’t see a need to display it around my room.”

He lied down on his bed, one leg on the ground, one leg bent at the knee on his bed, his hands behind his head, eyes closed.

“I feel like I can be me around you,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know how I felt inside until I met you. Sort of empty. But you, you’ve gotten right under my skin, like an itch I can’t scratch. A lot of the kids at school, you know, they’ve had a go at being in relationships but it only ever lasted like a few weeks at most. People that used to be friends try being more than that and it doesn’t work, then they don’t just lose their boyfriend or girlfriend, they lose their friend too,” he looked at me. “Not us though. I’ve got a good feeling about us. I know you’ll catch me when I fall.”

I lied down next him and wrapped my arms around his chest and back.

“As long as you catch me too,” I responded, holding him close to me.

We stayed like that for a while, the sun casting a sliver of light across his bed. He twirled some loose strands of my hair in his fingers while I drummed the rhythm of his heartbeat against his chest with my fingers. I had never felt such an instant connection to anyone in my life and it was both the scariest and the most amazing feeling in the world. It was like a force of nature; every nerve, every hair, every fibre of my being was stood to attention and eager for more, eager to continue. I didn’t feel my age, I felt so old but yet so young all at once.

We heard a car pull up into the driveway and an inpatient beep followed. Sam tapped me on the bum and made to get up.

“Come on, sleepy head. Mum and dad are here to take us out. Grab your stuff, we can probably drop you off on the way home,” he pulled me up after him and it was then I realised that I was falling asleep while holding him. I wiped my eyes groggily and yawned.

“Everything is downstairs,” I replied.

We descended the stairs together, diverting into the living room to pack up my supplies and return cups and mugs into the kitchen. My stomach was growling and at this point I was no longer worried about meeting his parents or his siblings, I just wanted a good meal with my boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

My hunger was replaced with butterflies, swirling and diving inside of me. Sam walked towards the front door, motioning for us to leave. His hair was still sticking up here there and everywhere but it suited him. The wildness of his hair matched his untamed, attentive, compassionate personality.

“Ready to go?” he asked, again offering his hand to me. I took it and we left together.

The meal was interesting. Sam’s family was very eccentric and his parents were very involved in all of their children’s lives. They knew their friends, their passions, their worries and their achievements. They welcomed me warmly and asked me simple questions. Sam had already filled them in about my home life and why I had moved down south, why I lived with Aunty Bea. They told me I was always welcome in their home. Any unease or anxiety I felt melted away as we laughed and joked over dinner, regaling each other with snippets of stories and naughty limericks.

When I arrived home, Aunty Bea was waiting for me. She pounced on me, asking me countless questions: what happened, how it happened, how I felt. She was acting more like a sister than an aunty and I felt so close to her in that moment. We chatted as the sun set outside. As I was about to go upstairs to ready myself for bed, she spoke up.

“Just be careful young lady, I’m too young to be a great aunty,” she smiled, then moseyed into the kitchen.

I hadn’t even thought that far ahead my relationship with Sam. I wondered if he had any experience in that department but thought better of it. We were only fourteen. We had a lifetime ahead of us. I stood with one foot on the bottom step, ready to head upstairs and climb into bed when the phone rang. It was getting late but I answered it quickly.

“Hello?”

“Good night, beautiful. Sweet dreams,” his voice replied.

“Good night Sam, see you tomorrow,” I responded. We disconnected at the same time and I swear, I floated upstairs into bed.

 Fifth – See you as a decant soul in the setting sun…

Our whole lives were ahead of us, that much was true. School was heaven for me, I loved seeing Sam every day. If he was ever sick, I would miss him like crazy. I would mope and sulk all day. I’m not sure how he was when I was off from school, but he would call me as soon as he got home to check on me. We spent our weekends exploring or hanging out at each other’s houses. He met Aunty Bea and won her over quickly with his cheeky charm and I think his wonky smile helped as well. We played guitar together and wrote songs together and discussed our wants and desires together. He held me when I cried, when my grief overwhelmed me; he held me when I laughed so hard I felt like I was going to collapse in a heap. He held me on lazy Sundays when I would nap on his chest, safe and content in his arms. Everything became serious so quickly, but it suited us. We were our best selves together.

The months passed us by. Christmas was rapidly approaching and I racked my brain for the perfect present for Sam. I didn’t have much money to spend and I didn’t want to ask Aunty Bea for more hand outs, so I decided to offer my dreadlocking services to the public. Two clients later, I had £200 to spend. I wanted to get Sam a new guitar but I had no idea what he would like. I wanted to get him a fancy notebook to write down his lyrics and tabs. I wanted to get him some chord books so his could expand his knowledge. I wanted to get him something meaningful, something to show him how I felt about him.

I browsed the aisle of an instrument shop in town. They had Christmas sales on but I didn’t feel like being thrifty. I held various guitars and tried to imagine Sam playing some sweet melody on them but nothing stuck out to me, until I noticed a sitar. Sam could play all kinds of different string instruments, but I had never seen him with a sitar. I picked it up and knew instantly that I wanted to gift it to him. I chose a hard case and made my way to the counter to pay. It was there I noticed a pot full of stainless steel plectrums, along with a sign.

“Engraving available.”

This was too perfect. I picked up the shiniest plectrum in the pot and added it to my other items. The cashier scanned through my purchases and asked what I would like engraving on the pick.

“S + J Forever,” I replied. When it was done, she gave it back in a little black box. I couldn’t wait to give it to Sam.

As Christmas day approached, excitement overwhelmed me but, it was tinged with sadness. This would be my first Christmas in the south, my first Christmas without my mum. I know having Sam around will help, as well as Aunty Bea, but every now and again I found myself feeling blue. More so when I came home from my Christmas shopping trip to find Aunty Bea at the kitchen table, head bent over a letter. Her eyes scanned across it so quickly I thought they would roll right out of her head.

“What’s wrong, Aunty Bea?” I asked, placing my bags down and taking a seat across from her.

“Nothing is wrong love, I’m just trying to get my head around this. It’s from your mum’s solicitor, saying they’ve sold off the last of her assets. The money has been put into trust for you, it will become available when you turn twenty one. So, yeah. It doesn’t say how much there is though but they’ve sold her house and her car so I bet it’ll be quite a bit. They said I’m due some too, which is nice of her, you know, to put me in her will.”

She mulled over the letter for a bit longer, then looked up at me.

“So, it looks like you’ll be pretty set for money by the time you’re twenty one. I do hope you’re sensible with it though love, it’ll be a lot of money for a young girl,” she noticed the bags in my hands. “Christmas shopping, love?”

“Yes Aunty Bea, some stuff for you and Sam,” I replied.

“I won’t look!” she smiled, pulling a chair out for me to sit on while she grabbed some mugs from a cupboard. “Fancy a hot chocolate? Whipped cream and mini marshmallows?”

“Sounds lovely, Aunty Bea,” I sat at the table and watched her scurry around the kitchen. I was trying to process the information she just gave me. My childhood home was gone, sold to another family. The car that mum and I named Frieda who always got us from A to B, sold to maybe another single mother who needed to ferry her children about. What about her jewellery? Her clothes? Her ornaments? I wondered where they were now. When I moved into the foster home, all I could take were my clothes and a few sentimental items. My guitar was on the top of that list, closely followed by pictures of my mum and the life we had before she got sick. I didn’t want to take pictures after she got sick; I didn’t want to remember that.

Aunty Bea placed a steaming hot mug of hot chocolate in front of me, topped with whipped cream and pink and white mini marshmallows. She had even added a glace cherry to the top of the whipped cream mountain. I plucked it off and ate that first, chewing thoughtfully.

“How’s Sam then? Have you seen him today?” Aunty Bea asked, interrupting my thoughts.

My head snapped up to look at her. She was sat across from me, spooning whipped cream into her mouth.

“No, I haven’t seen Sam today. Or spoken to him. I’ll probably call him later, or he’ll call me,” I replied. I joined Aunty Bea, spooning the cream into my mouth too.

“You’re a cute couple. Very well suited,” she grinned at me “like you balance each other out.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, a bit perplexed by her comment.

“He seems very happy-go-lucky. You’re very much a pessimistic optimist. Odd to place those two words together, but that’s just how you are. He makes you more optimistic and it’s wonderful to see. I was so worried when you first moved here that I would wake up one morning and you would have done something in the night…”

She trailed off. I swallowed hard and questioned her.

“Something like what, Aunty Bea?” I quizzed, although I knew the answer. She was right to think that because I seriously considered it.

She took a deep breath and looked me in the eyes.

“I was scared you wouldn’t wake up. I was scared that you would have overdosed, or cut yourself, or…” I saw her bottom lip beginning to tremble as a solitary tear slipped down her cheek. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving me. I’d wake up in the night and check on you. It was like when you were a baby again. I just wanted to protect you with every fibre of my being, I still do.”

“I don’t feel like that Aunty Bea, not anymore,” I looked down at my hands, twiddling my fingers. “I thought about it, but something kept stopping me. It was never more than that. Never.”

Aunty Bea nodded. She took another deep breath to compose herself, then pasted a smile onto her face.

“Good. You’re alright kid. You’ll come through this, stronger and better than ever,” she got up from her chair and came around the table to hug me. We held each other for a while, our hot chocolate quickly becoming lukewarm chocolate.

I spent my evening wrapping presents and watching some quality television. Aunty Bea had spread herself over the couch and drinking wine by the box. We hadn’t said much to each other since our earlier conversation but the silence between us wasn’t awkward. It was sort of welcome. A good silence, only broken by the shrill cry of the telephone.

“It’ll be for you,” Aunty Bea mumbled, half asleep.

I got up from the floor and went into the hall to pick up the phone.

“Hello, Bea residence,” I said, twirling the phone cord in my fingers as I usually do.

“Hello beautiful,” Sam replied “did you have a good day? I missed you.”

“Hi gorgeous. Yes, I had a very good day, I went Christmas present shopping, had hot chocolate with Aunty Bea, and it’s been alright.”

We spoke for a while, just our usual chit-chat. Eventually it was time to go.

“Good night Sam,” I said.

“Good night Jules, I love you,” he replied.

That caught me off-guard. I was shocked to silence.

“Jules?” Sam asked, sounding worried.

“I love you too, Sam,” I eventually replied.

“Good. See you tomorrow,” he said. I could tell he was smiling down the phone.

“See you tomorrow,” I hung up the phone feeling lighter than light, only for the mood to come crashing down when Aunty Bea started whooping in the living room.

“I heard that! Whooooo!” she shouted.

Drunk Aunty Bea was fun, but she had a mouth on her. I went back into the living room, placed my wrapped presents under the tree, kissed Aunty Bea on her forehead and made my way upstairs. I needed time to absorb what had just happened. I love Sam.

And Sam loves me.

Christmas day was rapidly approaching. We finished for half term the week before and Sam and I relished in being able to see each other when we wanted. The Christmas lights and the carols just made the time seem so magical and I drifted through the days with a permanent smile on my face.

We went out for lunches and had dinner dates; we would go into town and enjoy a coffee together, we went to the cinema and watched films together, in the darkness, in the back row. We even started busking together; standing on street corners singing Christmas carols together, then donating the money we collected to the nearest charity box.

When Christmas day arrived, Aunty Bea and I had a lazy morning in her bed; watching television and eating buttered toast with a cup of tea. Neither of us could be bothered to go downstairs to unwrap our presents so we just laid there in bed, chatting and munching on our bed picnic. Eventually we decided to gather up our presents and open them in bed together. I had bought her a dainty jewellery set consisting of small, delicate necklace and some drop earrings, a chunky waist belt and The Best of Cher album. I’m not sure if Aunty Bea liked Cher, but her hair fathomed Cher’s so I thought it would make a good joke present. Aunty Bea had bought me some more black hair dye but also a lightning and streaking set, some moody punky clothes, a pair of Doc Marten boots and other little bits and pieces. We hugged and thanked each other before settling back into bed, watching Christmas films.

Just before lunch time, the phone rang. Aunty Bea answered it as I was pottering around my room, finding space for my new additions. I could hear her laughing downstairs and assumed it was one of her friends or another long distant relative until she mentioned my name.

“Yes, Jules having a lovely day, love. We spent most of the morning in my bed eating toast and drinking tea. She’d love to talk to you, I’ll just shout up to her,” the next thing I knew, Aunty Bea was hollering up the stairs “JULES! SAM IS ON THE PHONE! HURRY UP AND GET DOWN HERE!” she started laughing again and picked up her conversation to Sam again while I skittered about upstairs. “Yeah she’s coming Sam. What did you all get? Oooh, sounds lovely. We’ve nothing planned for lunch love, no. We didn’t really want to make a big deal out of Christmas, think we were just going to find somewhere to order in from…what? Don’t be silly love, we’ll be okay. Well, if you’re sure, just ask your mum first.”

At this moment I had reached the bottom of the stairs and was holding my hand out for the phone. Aunty Bea held up a finger to me and told me to shush while she nodded at whatever was being said on the phone.

“Uh huh, yeah, right. Well if you’re sure, we’d love to join you. What time do you want us? Okay, no problem, we’ll see you then. Lovely talking to you Sally, see you soon!” Aunty Bea hung up the phone.

“Aunty Bea!” I wailed. I was looking forward to talking to Sam.

“Oh, don’t fret. Looks like we’re having Christmas lunch with the Faulkner’s. Go on, go and get ready, I said we’d be there by one o’clock,” Aunty Bea started pushing me up the stairs. I turned to look at her and managed to reply.

“Really? They’ve invited us to Christmas lunch?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sam didn’t like the idea of us just ordering in from Domino’s or something and asked his mum and she said they had plenty to go around, so there we go. All the fun of a Christmas meal without any of the mess!” she beamed at me.

I nodded and returned to my room, wondering what to wear. The clothes Aunty Bea had bought me had come from Camden market and were all safety pins and tartan bondage trousers. I didn’t really feel they were appropriate for a Christmas lunch with my boyfriend’s parents. I rifled through my drawers and came across a long, summery dress. Teamed with my new black Doc Martens and a leather jacket, I can still be punky but be cute about it at the same time. I dressed quickly and waited for Aunty Bea to finish pruning herself. She added so much hairspray to her crispy perm that I think a hot potato would set her alight. When she eventually finished, we collected my presents for Sam and his family, she linked my arm and we walked out together. Aunty Bea had an old, beat up, yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She mentioned a few times that she wanted to paint black stripes on it so she could be a Bea in a bee. It was cute and it suited her personality well.

We drove along happily, listening the Christmas songs on the radio and singing along shrilly. I felt so happy and excited but nervous as well. Sam’s mum and dad had met Aunty Bea before, although they were very fleeting meetings. I hoped she wouldn’t show me up.

Or drink a box of wine.

Or drink a box of wine then show me up.

“Don’t worry, I’ll behave,” Aunty Bea laughed, placing a hand on my knee and squeezing it. “I know this means the world to you.”

We arrived at Sam’s house a little before one o’clock. I released a big sigh, unaware that I had actually been holding my breath. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I had been to Sam’s house lots of times but this time, it felt different. Maybe it was because it was a special day, or that Aunty Bea was joining me. We exited the car and I gathered up the presents. As we walked up to the house, the front door opened and Sam greeted us.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he smiled, motioning to help me with the presents.

“You too, gorgeous,” Aunty Bea replied, smirking. I gave her the side eye before returning my attention to Sam.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” I smiled back. He took the present containing his sitar and held the door open for us.

“Come in, we’re all in the living room. We’re still opening presents though,”

And now they had more to open. We sat in the living room and watched each other open our presents. Sam unwrapped his sitar with gusto and squealed with glee when he laid his eyes on it. Toby and Charlotte made fun of him but he didn’t care. He became so fixated on it that I had to persuade him to open his next present; the plectrum I had engraved for him. He opened the box and took out the pick. He held it in his hand, then closed his fingers around it and looked at me.

“I hope so,” he said, a small smile spreading across his lips.

“I know so,” I responded, smiling back.

For next few hours, we exchanged stories, we feasted and joked and enjoyed each other’s company. Sally kept refilling Aunty Bea’s glass and pretty soon, all the adult were merrily tipsy. We kids retired to living room to play board games and chat amongst ourselves. Despite the year I had had, this was the best Christmas I had ever had. I felt like I belonged here. Sam and I got cosy on the sofa and watched television, happy and content.

Eventually, Aunty Bea came into the living room, a bit worse for wear.

“Mmm, Sally said we can stay for the night if you’d like, Jules? Julie Jules. Juliet. Sam and Jules…” she slurred.

I felt Sam’s hand tighten on my shoulder. He looked at me and a nervous grin appeared on his face.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked.

“If you don’t mind?” I replied.

“Of course I don’t. Just wondering what the sleeping arrangements would be,” he mused.

We didn’t have to wait long to find out. Sam’s parents and Aunty Bea were fine with us sharing a bed, as long as we “behaved ourselves.” They didn’t need to worry about that; Sam and I hadn’t even discussed that part of our relationship. When we got ready for bed that night, Sam leant me one of his t-shirts to sleep in. He got into bed and I climbed in beside him, cuddling up to his chest.

“Have you had a good day?” he asked, pulling me close.

“It’s been perfect,” I replied, sighing happily.

“And is this the perfect end to the perfect day?”

“You know it is.”

He shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable. He rolled over to face me.

“I have been thinking though, about the next step for our relationship…” he began.

“Mmm, and what’s that?” I replied coquettishly.

“You know what,” he said, brushing my hair away from my face. “I don’t want to rush into anything, but I think I’d like to, y’know, lose it to you.”

I nodded, thinking about what he was saying.

“I think I’d like to lose it to you too,” I replied. “But we need to be sensible about it. I think we should both really think about it, think about what we want to do. We’ll be turning fifteen soon. Well, you will be anyway.” I twiddled one of his dreadlocks in my fingers. “It’s a big deal, losing your virginity. You only get to do it once.”

“Yeah, but once you do, it gets easier to do it more,” he said cheekily, pulling me close and kissing me. “Now, shut up and make out with me.”

We kissed for a while and touched each other more than we had done before. I explored the shape and feel of his body, all the while trying to keep my breathing under control while also trying to stay quiet. His hands were all over me; my breasts, my stomach, in my hair, his fingers caressed my lips while he kissed my neck. My body responded so positively, pressing against his, longing to become a part of him. He rolled over onto his back, taking me with him so I straddled him. His hands rested on my back but they slowly made their way under my borrowed t-shirt, before lifting it off me completely. Sam had never seen my naked body before and he examined me closely; his hands going to places they had never been before, his lips landing on parts of me that sent shocks through my body, making my breath catch while I bit my tongue to stop myself from appreciating his touch verbally.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his hands stopping rest on my hips. “But if we carry on at this rate, we’ll end up doing what we said we’d wait for…”

I leant down low and put my forehead against his, trying to catch my breath.

“Do you care?” I asked.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, before responding.

“Not really,” he laughed quietly, before shifting so I fell off of him and landed beside him in bed. He began kissing me again, his hands going below the covers to remove my underwear. “Only as long as you’re sure,” he said.

“I’m sure,” I replied “I love you.”

“And I love you too.”

He positioned himself on top of me, still kissing me deeply. When we connected, it was like a bolt of electricity shot through us, pulling us closer and closer together.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” I replied. “I’ll tell you otherwise.”

“Okay,” he responded.

We didn’t have much rhythm and we didn’t really know what we were doing. We asked each other if this was okay, if that was okay, does that hurt. We ended up laughing a lot in the beginning but then everything seemed to become far more intense. Our bodies became intertwined and for a short time, it felt as though we were one. Our breathing was heavy, our bodies were sweaty, and the air was electric. Sam was getting a bit louder, a bit faster.

“I’m close,” he whispered, before stifling a moan. He slowed right down and rested on top of me, panting. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning up and looking me in the eye. “I probably should have pulled out.”

“It’s okay,” I replied, planting a soft kiss on his mouth. “We got caught up in the moment. It’ll be alright.”

We parted and lied down next to each other. I leant up against the pillows, one hand playing with his hair. He walked his fingers delicately up and down my stomach.

“That was pretty great,” he murmured.

“It really was,” I replied. “I just hope we were as quiet as thought we were.”

He laughed at this and pulled me close, holding me against his chest.

“We can deal with the consequences in the morning,” he said, before leaning over to his bedside table and switching off the lamp. We fell asleep holding each other.

 Sixth – And I know you’re gonna be alright, and I hope you find your way and your future’s bright…

Christmas came and went. I celebrated the New Year with Sam and his family. Aunty Bea was invited too and we shouted the countdown together. I was ecstatic to ring in the turn of the millennium with Sam and his wonderful family. We kissed as the clock struck midnight and we all sang Auld Lang Syne before we all eventually retreated to our beds.

Time seemed to move so fast. We were soon celebrating Sam’s fifteenth birthday, Valentine’s day following a month later. There was always something to do, something to enjoy. We were hardly ever apart, but it worked for us. We helped each other and supported each other. We believed in each other even when we didn’t believe in ourselves. Sam became more and more involved in playing guitar and over time, began playing bass in a Green Day tribute band. I tried to attend every single gig he played, knew the set list by heart and became his very own personal groupie. However, what I loved the most was when we were alone and I heard him sing. He had the most beautiful voice, so full of emotion and longing. We would write together, drawing on our experiences, our pain and passion. I believed he could go the distance and I wanted to be there every step of the way.

The years passed and we were always together. You never got one of us without the other. We were a team, a partnership. We finished high school and proceeded into college. I worked a part-time job as a barista in a coffee shop. Over time my style had changed, my once black hair went through a whole array of colours; from black to red, pink to purple, blue to orange. I could never settle on one. Sam was used to my erratic hair colours and fashion choices and embraced each one. After years of maintaining his dreadlocks, I took the plunge too and dreadlocked my own hair. Aunty Bea often laughed about this.

“You know when owners start to look like their dogs…” she would giggle.

Aunty Bea wouldn’t accept rent or board from me and insisted I kept my money for myself, so I decided to put it to good use and saved to buy myself a car and driving lessons. I yearned for more freedom and could imagine Sam and me cruising all over the country, discovering new places, making amazing memories, meeting new people. On my eighteenth birthday, I took my driving test and passed. We celebrated by going out for a meal, in which I was the designated driver for Aunty Bea and Sam. By this time, Sam had formed his own band called “Half a Guy,” and they were recording their own material. I knew big things were going to happen for him and I was so glad to be a part of that with him. We bounced ideas off each other all the time but we began to get burned out. I suggested that we took some time off and go away for a little while. So, in the summer after we finished college, we drove to Brighton and stayed in a campsite for a few weeks. I had an incredible realisation. I wanted to do this full time. I wanted to go out and drive and discover myself in new, exciting places. I babbled all of this to Sam while we laid out under the stars. He listened quietly, interjecting with the occasional “sounds great,” and “it’ll be fun.” I don’t know if I was too excited to notice, but he wasn’t on board with what I wanted. He never was.

Sam’s musical career started to pick up speed. He spent a lot of time writing and playing and perfecting. I spent a lot of time serving coffee and making plans. Whenever we could, we would meet up and talk about what we were doing and do couple-y things, but our dynamic was changing and neither of us noticed.

In the November before my twenty-first birthday, a letter arrived for Aunty Bea. She called me at work and asked me to come straight home. When I arrived, she grabbed me by the shoulders.

“It’s happening, Jules,” she said seriously.

“What’s happening?” I replied, confused.

“Your trust has matured. Your money will be in your bank account on the first of December,” she said, not breaking eye contact.

“Oh,” I responded. “How much?”

Aunty Bea took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Around fifty thousand pounds,” she eventually replied.  

She caught me completely off-guard. I knew I would eventually receive my inheritance but I expected a few thousand pounds, not fifty thousand. Aunty Bea was sucking on her top lip, making her look like she was missing her teeth. I looked at her face and noticed how much she had changed in the last six years; her curly perm has been replaced by sleek, short bob cut, she had toned down her eyeliner and she had a acquired some wrinkles around her eyes. I thought about myself, about how I had changed. I thought about Sam, about us and our relationship. And then I thought about my dreams and ambitions and how I could finally achieve them now.

“Well, I think I should start looking for a campervan, Aunty Bea,” I said, smiling.

I called Sam later that night and managed to catch him relaxing for a change. I told him about my impending small fortune, about my plan to buy a campervan. He was very quiet throughout the conversation.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked.

“Sounds great babe. Really great,” he replied, although he didn’t sound too sure.

“I mean, it won’t be for a while yet. I’m not just going to get up and go, it takes a bit of planning, but I’m so excited,” I chattered.

Our conversation felt stilted and one-sided. I felt a feeling of dread pool into my stomach but I tried to ignore it. I loved Sam and I was certain he still loved me. We just both had a lot going on and we weren’t joined at the hip anymore.

December came around slowly and I finally saw my bank balance increase. Aunty Bea and I began scouring the local area for the perfect campervan for me to purchase. I had decided I wanted to buy a van I could make my own and tailor to my preferences.

When I found her, I fell in love instantly. She was an old style campervan that I affectionately named Betsy, complete with a double fold out bed with a toilet/shower combination. I had everything I needed in her., but I still went about fitting her out with all the mod-cons I felt I needed. Pretty soon I handed in my notice at work and began to plan my route around the country. Sam joined me occasionally but never wanted to talk about my departure. I often asked him to come with me, but he wanted to stay put. He wanted to see where he was heading with his music. It had never occurred to me that this new adventure I was about to embark would end our relationship, but as my departure day began to creep closer, Sam seemed to drift further and further away from me.

I confronted him only once. We sat on his bed and spoke about what was bothering us and how we felt; about each other, about ourselves.

“I feel like you’re abandoning me,” Sam began. “I thought we would be together forever.”

“We still can be,” I replied.

“But we won’t be. You’re going away, you’re going to do something you’ve always wanted to do, just like me. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

I held onto his hands, trying to control my breathing and my rapidly beating heart but failing miserably.

“What are you saying, Sam?” I asked, my tears beginning to spill over and roll down my cheeks in silent protest.

He bit his lip and refuse to look me in the eye. We stayed silent for a while, gripping each other’s hands, neither of us wanting to speak, to confirm what he was saying, what we both were thinking. For six years, we had been each other’s constant companions. For six years, we went to school together, woke up together, joked together and loved each other. Neither of us wanted that to end. Neither of us wanted to be the one to end it, but we were growing individually, without each other. We held each other for a while and tried to forget the world, but we had both made our decisions.

When I left later that day and climbed into my beat up little car, I couldn’t hold back the pain anymore. I wailed like a wounded animal. I took my frustration out on the steering wheel, my face contorting into an ugly grimace while I held my aching forehead. I wanted to run away from the emotions flooding through me, I wanted to go back inside and tell Sam I wouldn’t leave, that I would stay with him and see him through his ambitions. But somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, was niggling sense of doubt. If I gave up on my dreams, on my plans, I would always, always regret it. I drove home in stoic silence. I climbed into bed and hid under the covers, not wanting to be bothered by anyone or anything. The pictures of me and Sam that I kept on my nightstand stared at me, judging me. I slammed the frame down and rolled over in bed, falling into a fitful sleep.

The day of my leaving arrived and Aunty Bea stood with me while I loaded up my van. She clutched a tissue in her hand and shook her head woefully.

“I’m going to miss you,” she choked, dabbing at her eyes. I tried to remain upbeat, tried to vamp up my excitement in the hopes it would rub off onto Aunty Bea.

“Come on Aunty Bea, I’m not going away forever, I’ll come back and visit,” I replied cheerfully.

“I know love, but…I’m just so worried about you too. Please, please call me when you can and let me know how you are,” she persisted.

“I will Aunty Bea, I promise. And I’ll send you postcards,” I walked over to her and held her hands. “If I don’t like it, I’ll come straight back with my tail between my legs. I’ll call you whenever I can, I’ll video call you too. I’ve got to do this Aunty Bea. I need to see this big bad world, I need to see what it does,” I clasped her hands and pulled her towards me to embrace. She buried her head into the crook of my neck and inhaled deeply.

“I won’t touch your room,” she said sadly, sniffing.

“Good. I’ve got to go, Aunty Bea, I need to beat the traffic,” I said, my voice cracking a little. I tried to hide it but Aunty Bea pulled my face close to hers.

“I know you Jules. I lived with you for seven years. You don’t always need to be strong. I can take some of the weight sometimes. Never forget that,” she kissed my forehead and let go of my hands. “I love you, kid. Go and see the world.”

I smiled but stayed silent. I knew if I tried to talk, the tears would fall and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to stop them. I climbed into the driver’s seat of my van and rolled down the window, trying hard to compose myself.

“I love you too, Aunty Bea. I’ll see you soon. Look after yourself,” I said, turning over the ignition.

“Oh, and Jules?” Aunty Bea said over the diesel roar of the engine.

“Yeah?”

“Make it right with Sam,” she replied, before backing away to wave me off.

I stared straight ahead and pulled away from the curb. Aunty Bea was right. Sam and I hadn’t spoken since our last encounter when we endured an unwanted break-up. As I left the neighbourhood I had called home for the last seven years, I reminisced about the years I had spent with Sam; how we had grown as people together. I drove by the park where we had our first date; I drove past the bus station where we shared our first kiss, past the academy where we first met. I could feel my heart shattering more. Aunty Bea was right; I couldn’t leave without making this right.

I parked up on Sam’s driveway, the sun was glinting over his house. I had to work up the nerve to knock on his door, but he was watching me from his bedroom window. He answered the door before I even got a chance to knock.

“Hey,” he said softly. He was barefoot, wearing blue jeans and plain black t-shirt. His hair was a mess and his eyes were dark and puffy. He looked like he had had a hard time sleeping.

“Hi,” I replied, just as softly.

He nodded towards my van.

“You’re going today?” he asked.

I looked back at Betsy, ready and waiting to go. I looked at Sam, before directing my gaze to the pebbles at my feet.

“I’m meant to be,” I replied. “But I had to see you first. I had to say goodbye.”

He nodded and took an interest in the pebbles I was looking at. I tried my hardest to manage my feelings. I didn’t want to make this any harder than it already was.

“I wrote you something,” he interjected. “I had to put it onto paper. It’s helped. I’d like to play it for you.”

He motioned for me to follow him inside, so I did. We went up to his bedroom and I took a seat on his bed. He pulled out one his oldest guitars, played with the pegs a little before clearing his throat. He wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t blame him. He began to play a slow melody, finally raising his gaze to mine.

 I should know by now

I should see somehow

How to bring her round

How to breathe…

I thought he sang with emotion before, but this was absolutely tearing my heart out. He focused his attention on the strings; watching his fingers walk up and down the fret.

I don’t make a sound

Splinters hit the ground

Silence screams so loud

As she leaves

I couldn’t help it now. My eyes filled with tears that threatened to flow at any moment. My hand twisted around his bed covers. I needed to ground myself. I so wanted to run out of the room. I didn’t want to listen to his pain, but I had to.

As the torch light shines

Through the heavy skies

Autumn waves her hand straight at me

See her world fall down

As the trees turn brown

As she drifts away and leaves

 As the lights go down

She won’t leave this town with me…

 I could bear it no longer. I jumped up from the bed and kissed him. He put down his guitar and kissed me back. It felt so desperate, so genuine. He pulled my body so close to his; it felt so good to have his touch again and I felt so foolish that I didn’t realise before how much I yearned for it. Our hunger for each seemed insatiable as we tumbled into bed.

“I love you,” I cried, literally. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replied, still planting kisses all over me.

The sun was setting over the house and a darkness crept into the room. We were so focused on each other that nothing else seemed to matter. For just a few hours, we were Jules and Sam again and we were both relishing in it. We would spend the night together for one last time.

  Seventh – You’re stumbling in the dark, stumbling in the dark…

I awoke early the following day, just as the sun was rising. The birds were singing outside and I could hear the quiet hum of traffic as people made their way to work. Sam’s arm was draped across me and I heard him snoring softly behind me. I gently lifted his arm off of me and got out of bed slowly, creeping around to gather up my discarded clothes. I didn’t dare look at Sam, in case he was awake and watching me leave. I didn’t want him to see me leave, I didn’t want him to think that last night changed anything. I had to go.

I dressed quickly, picked up my boots and headed towards the door to leave. I looked at Sam then, his body draped in a duvet, his arm still reaching out for me. I swallowed, turned and left, closing the door softly behind me.

I climbed into Betsy and hoped she wouldn’t shout like she normally did when I started her up. I wanted to make a clean getaway, no looking back. As I turned around in the drive way, I looked up at Sam’s bedroom window one last time. He looked back at me; his hand pressed up against the glass. He watched me leave.

As I headed out of town, I had a little weep. It took everything from me to keep me from turning back. I joined the motorway going north. I decided I would start at the top and work my way back down, seguing into Wales on the way. I was in for a long drive to Scotland.

The miles rolled past and I drove on steadily. When I reached the border between England and Scotland, I pulled over to make camp. I was looking forward to spending my first night in my van and climbed into bed eagerly. I stuck pictures around my bed space, of me and Aunty Bea, me and Sam…

My body ached when I thought of Sam. I knew I had to stay strong and carry on, I knew I had to distract myself. I snuggled up under my covers and sang to myself for a while, recalling the lyrics I had written all those years ago.

Off to the land of sleep again I go

I’m gonna take my shoes off at the door

I’m gonna go where dreams like rivers flow

Whoa, when the alarm goes off

I just won’t go…

I fell into a restless sleep. My dreams were plagued by Sam; seeing his face peering down on me while I fell into a big black abyss, reaching out for him, screaming silently.

I woke with a start. Someone was pounding on the door. Sunlight slithered through a small crack in my curtains. I wiped the sleep away from my eyes and approached the door, peeping through the privacy blind at the person outside. A man looked back.

“Alright duck? Are you okay to have a chat?” he shouted through the door.

I opened it and greeted him.

“Hi?” I said, a bit confused after being awoken abruptly from my slumber.

“Hi duck, listen, you can’t park here overnight! Rozzers will come and clamp you. You need to go a bit further off the beaten track. It’s lucky we got her before anybody called the council about your van!” he said. He had a very thick Yorkshire accent, but he seem pleasant enough.

“Oh right, thank you for telling me,” I replied, yawning and stretching simultaneously.

“Sorry if I scared you, duck,” he added, flashing me a toothy grin. “Why don’t you come with us? We’re going to site just over the border. Well, it’s not a site, more like a clearing in the deep dark woods, but nobody bothers us. What’s your name, duck?”

“I’m Jules, though I do quite fancy changing my name to Duck after speaking to you,” I replied, smiling back. “I’d love to come with you. I’m quite new to all of this so it would be nice to learn some things.”

“By all means, duck. We’ll be leaving in half an hour or so. We’ll give you a beep before we set off,” he turned to walk back to his van.

“Hang on, you didn’t tell me your name!” I shouted after him. He turned back to me, comically hitting himself in his forehead with his palm.

“Where are my manners?!” he announced to no one in particular. “My name’s Benji, duck. I’m travelling with my lovely wife, Bernie, and our doofus dog Maggie.”

He pointed towards his van. I could see a short, stout lady stood beside the rear doors, holding a small, yappy dog on a lead.

“Maggie needed a bathroom break,” he grinned “and it’s good for us to stretch our legs. Go on duck, go and get ready.”

I retreated back inside to get changed out of my pyjamas and to make myself look half decent. I checked the time; it was 5:43am. I groaned internally and began to brush my teeth. By the time I was ready, Benji was heading back over to my van.

“We’re thinking of having breakfast before we go, duck. Do you fancy joining us?” he asked. I looked over at his wife. She had pulled out a small barbeque and preparing some sausages for grilling. I looked back at Benji. “Don’t worry, we cater for all sorts. We have veggie sausage available too.”

I smiled at this admission.

“I would love to join you and Bernie. And Maggie,” I replied. I grabbed a jacket and walked across to my new neighbours van. I introduced myself to Bernie and sat down in one of their camping chairs. Bernie smiled but didn’t reply, instead she quietly flipped the sausages. Benji sat in the doorway of their van, watching Bernie.

“Bernie is deaf,” he told me. “She can lip read, but if she makes this sign, it means she wants you to repeat yourself,” He held up two fingers in a V shape and twisted his wrist backwards and forwards. “Don’t worry, I can translate if she asks you anything,” he added.

Benji and I made quiet conversation while Bernie cooked the sausages. Maggie had decided that my lap was a comfy place to be and had settled there. I stroked her soft, silky head, glad that she had taken to me.

“So, where are you heading?” Benji asked, taking a sausage sandwich from Bernie and taking a big bite out of the corner.

“I’m going up to the top and making my way down,” I replied, accepting a sandwich from Bernie.

“Alone?” Benji looked at me, concern etched on his face. “A young girl like you? It’s very brave duck, but it’s a lot to take on.”

I nodded at Benji while taking a bite out of my own sandwich.

“I want to get away from it all. I want to see the world, y’know?” I replied, chewing thoughtfully.

“Hmm. Listen duck, I’m going to worry about you. Can I give you my mobile number? That way, if you’re ever stuck, you can just call us. We’ll help if we can and if we can’t, well we have friends everywhere. We’ll point you in the right direction,” he pulled his mobile out of his shirt pocket. “Here, give me your number and I’ll call you so you have mine.”

I gave my number to Benji happily. It was nice knowing that despite only just meeting, he cared about me. Bernie was signing at Benji and he was watching her intensely, nodding and signing back occasionally. I focused my attention on Maggie; she was small, black dog with a moustache. I think she may have been a Scottie dog, or a weird West Highland Terrier. She dozed on my lap; her paws twitching occasionally.

“E’re duck, Bernie’s asking how old you are?” Benji interrupted.

“I’ve just turned twenty-one, Benji,” I replied, finishing the last few bites of my sandwich.

“And how long have you been driving?”

“Three years.”

He nodded at this and seemed satisfied, then he slapped his thighs and stood up.

“Right,” he began “I think it’s time we packed up to go. Get your things together duck and follow us.”

I moved Maggie from off my lap and returned to my van, packed my bed things away and closed the roller-door. I climbed into the driver’s seat and positioned myself behind Benji and Bernie’s van. I tooted my horn and Benji stretched his arm out the window, giving me a thumbs up, then we set off into Scotland.

We drove for a few hours through woodlands and the countryside. I marvelled at the picturesque scenery; the tall skinny trees, the vast blue sky, the vivid green grass, it was all so amazing. Our little convoy pulled off down a dirt track, travelling further into the thick Scottish wilderness. We soon came to a stop at a small clearing beside a slow-moving river. I got out of Betsy and took in a deep, long breath, closing my eyes and smelling the flora and fauna that surrounded me. I could hear nothing but the flow of the river, the tweets of the birds and the yaps of Maggie. Benji stood beside me, his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath for himself.

“Home,” he attempted to whisper, but I don’t think he quite knew how to. “This is the life, right here.” He spread his arms out, as if to greet the view. One of his arms came to rest across my shoulders. “What do you think, duck?”

The early morning sun was rising further into the sky ahead of us, the sunrays bursting through the cracks in the dense forest, landing at our feet and spreading before us. Wild garlic grew all around us, peppered with daisies and other wild flowers. The smells enveloped me and I smiled my first genuine smile in a long time.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

Benji squeezed my shoulder then returned the Bernie. She was unpacking their van while Maggie was on her lead which was attached to the tow bar at the rear of their van. Together, Bernie and Benji began to erect an awning around the side door of their van. I left them to it and went towards the river where I began skipping stones. I sat silently by myself, watching the water stream by. My chest felt heavy, my stomach felt low and my head had thoughts flooding through it.

You made a mistake you made a mistake you made a mistake…

I tried to block it out. I tried to ground myself. I took my shoes off and buried my feet in the soft, damp soil. I spread my hands across the rocks around me. I bent my head back and let the sunshine hit my face. My head quietened, but still persisted. I remained composed and looked over at Benji and Bernie. I had only known them a few hours but I already knew that they had a beautiful, compassionate relationship. It made me miss Sam more than I already did. I swallowed hard and headed back over to the couple. I helped them set up their awning and we all piled underneath; stretching out and welcoming the cool shade. A mild breeze teased the leaves around us, scattering them all around. Benji and Bernie were signing to each other and it occurred to me that all their conversations are very private. I ignored them while I stroked Maggie, grateful for her comfort. I felt a hand touch mine and I looked for the owner. Bernie had reached out and taken my hand, holding it close to herself. She looked into my eyes and I felt like she was boring into my soul. She pulled me into her chest and wrapped her arms around me. Without saying a word, she knew how I was feeling and offered me comfort.

“Tell us about it, duck,” Benji said as quietly and as softly as he could. “Sometimes it’s best to talk to a stranger. What are you running from?”

I sniffed and inhaled deeply, sighing as I exhaled.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I replied, sitting up and wiping my eyes. I noticed that Benji was signing what I was saying for Bernie. “I don’t think I’m running. If I am, I’m running towards something, not away. Life has been difficult but it’s not been overly bad. Bad things have happened though; I lost my mum when I was fourteen.”

Bernie’s hand flew to her mouth and she let out a little gasp, then patted me on the shoulder.

“No, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. I’ve grieved. I’m not better, but time has made it easier to talk about. She was sick and suffering and now she isn’t. That’s the best way to look at it,” I sighed again and crossed my arms across my chest. “I went into care for a few weeks. My dad…well, he isn’t a very good dad. He didn’t want me to live with him and his wife and his children, so he called social services and they put me in a care home. I had nobody. No grandparents, no siblings, no mum, no dad. All I had was myself and the possessions I could carry. I always wondered what was wrong with me, what had I done wrong?” I looked over at the couple. Benji was listening intently while signing for Bernie. Bernie watched his hands, occasionally glancing at me, looking sad and dejected. “But then there were other kids there who had been abused, or their mum had run off with a man and left them, or they had lost their parents in some horrible accident. We all had stories and we were all broken. I remember the day my Aunt came to get me; I came home from school after having a rubbish day and she was sat in the office in the care home, arguing with the lead carer; saying I was her niece and she had come to get me and that I could live with her if my bastard father didn’t want me.”

I smiled at this memory, remembering Aunty Bea going red in the face and announcing my dad’s name with such venom that a little bit of spittle flew out of her mouth. I remember her black curly perm bouncing with every turn of her head while I stood in the doorway, wondering who this woman was.

“That’s how I was reintroduced to Aunty Bea. I hadn’t seen her since my grandfather’s funeral when I was ten. Things moved quite quickly after that; the home spoke to my dad to see what he made of the situation. He didn’t care and sent over paperwork stating the fact. I was officially signed over to my Aunty Bea nine days later and she moved me into her house in Surrey. That was a culture shock, I’ll tell you!”

“Where did you move from?” Benji asked.

“Fairhaven, in Blackpool. We’re known for our lake,” I smiled, thinking about sailing on the lake in the summer in small rowing boats or the occasional swan boat. I thought about the seaside and the days spent at the Pleasure Beach; riding rollercoasters and eating junk food. Even through the rough times, there were good memories. I regaled Benji and Bernie and told them about life growing up, and that meant telling them about my first and so far only true love; Sam. When I sat next to him at school and stared into space for what felt like hours before he asked me why I had moved. The day of our first meeting will forever be etched in my mind. I never in a million years thought that it would lead to this. Was I happy it did? Of course. But I also hated how much I missed him. I hated how numb I felt.

“Sam. For six years he was my world. I know he’s going to be so successful and I really hate that I’m not there to see it. We did everything together, we grew together…I honestly thought that we’d be together forever,” I sucked in my bottom lip in an attempt to compose myself and took a deep shuddering breath. “But I had plans and dreams and so did he. We built them around each other but they weren’t compatible, so we parted ways and here I am now, with you two lovely people,” I tried to show a reassuring smile but I think I looked like a melting candle; my face crumbled and I began to cry. Benji and Bernie gathered around me and held me like a little girl. Even Maggie offered her paw to console me. I felt so pathetic, crying over a boy, but he was my boy. My Sam. In this whole world, he was the only thing that made sense to me and I left him behind and I felt like the world’s most horrible person. My heart was lead, my stomach was full of angry bees, my limbs were wooden. I reasoned with myself that it had only been a day and it would get easier, like it did when my mum died. I just had to keep moving. I decided I wouldn’t stay long at Benji and Bernie’s camp. Forwards was the only way.

 The rest of the day took a light-hearted turn. We laughed and joked together and spoke about the good memories we had. Benji told me how he and Bernie met and how they managed her disability together. They met outside a pub in Birmingham. Bernie was trying to explain to a doorman that she wasn’t drunk, she was deaf but he kept turning her away. She was alone as all her friends were inside, so Benji intervened as he knew basic sign language. He comforted Bernie and had her laughing in no time at all. Since that night, they had been inseparable, taking up travelling as their pastime a few years later after investing a lot of time, money and love into their van, Bruce. The pleasure and joy on Bernie’s face was infectious and soon I was smiling and laughing along with them. We later foraged some wild garlic and made potato and wild garlic soup for our evening meal. I was so used to calling it dinner that when Benji called it tea, I was thrown back into my northern upbringing and relished in it slightly. We sat around the dwindling fire, ate our soup and made conversation. I was glad Benji and Bernie found me, but I had made my mind up. I had to leave them too and sooner rather than later.

I spent another day with Benji and Bernie and Maggie and enjoyed their company immensely. I brought Esmeralda out and we played corny songs and sang along together. I appreciated their hospitality but I needed to go. I woke up early on the third day and went about packing up my things and storing them away safely. I wasn’t great at goodbyes so I penned a small note;

Dear Benji, Bernie and Maggie,

Thank you so much for your company these past few days! I feel so lucky to have met you. Hopefully our paths will cross again, but for now I need to go.

Take care,

Love Jules

XxX

I kept it short and sweet and placed it under their windscreen wiper. I hoped Betsy wasn’t as loud as I thought she was when I pulled away from the camp but I’m pretty sure her deep diesel growl would have woken up everyone in a mile radius. I joined the main road again and took off for the far north of Scotland.

My destination was Dunnet Head, around two-hundred miles away at the very tip of Scotland. I was excited but nervous to be driving so far in such an old van but Betsy hadn’t let me down yet and I had plenty of money to get her fixed if she needed it. I enjoyed driving along, listening to the radio, the wind blowing through my dreadlocks. This was finally starting to feel like the freedom I craved. I didn’t think about Sam or Aunty Bea; in fact I didn’t think about anything. I just focused on the road ahead of me.

I stopped off in Inverness on the way for fuel and food. The vastness of Loch Ness blew me away and I pulled over to look at the river, feeling a deep sense of happiness and awe overwhelm me. The sunlight glinted off the water and blinded me slightly, but I welcomed it. I was alive and this is how I chose to live. When I finally started moving again with both mine and Betsy’s tanks full, I kissed the air goodbye. I progressed further into Scotland, the roads twisting and turning and with every mile that passed me by, I felt the weight being lifted.

When I finally arrived in Dunnet Head, I was exhausted. I found a campsite I could stay in for a few days and fill up my reserves of water for my shower and toilet. I took a quick nap to recharge myself and set about making Betsy habitable for the next few days before taking a deckchair outside and relaxing, watching the other people mill about the campsite. They were mainly young families and elderly retirees, but everyone waved and smiled at each other. I smiled at my surroundings and settled into my chair, closing my eyes, feeling the sun beat down onto my face.

I was beginning to doze off when a voice broke through the serenity.

“You’re a wee one, ain’t ya?”

It was a man, very Scottish, very abrupt. I opened my eyes and squinted in the harsh sunlight. I could make out a silhouette of a tall guy with wild hair, broad shoulders and a slim waist. He was standing over me, looking down. My eyes adjusted to the light and I could see him properly. His hair was light brown, almost blonde; he had brown eyes and a short, stubbly beard.

“Hi,” I replied eventually, sitting up in my seat.

“Ach, don’t get up on my account. Just came over to welcome you to the park, introduce myself and all that,” he squatted down beside me and smiled. “I’m Rory.”

He offered me his hand to shake. It was tanned and rough, but I took it and gripped it solidly.

“I’m Jules,” I replied “charmed.”

Rory laughed and sat down on the ground.

“You’re a wee southern lassie! That’s precious. Where did you come from? And why did you come to Dunnet Head of all places?” he asked, looking genuinely interested.

“I’m actually from Blackpool but I’ve lived in Surrey for the past seven years and now I’m just travelling around, seeing what I can find. That’s pretty much it,” I looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “How about you?”

“Well I live here, I’m the groundskeeper. Had nowhere to go and Mr McCreedy here took pity on me and offered me his old, banged up caravan and a place to park it as long as I looked after things here. Made a home here now,” he looked at Betsy then back at me. “I take it you’re one of those transient types?”

I smirked and relaxed into my chair again.

“Something like that,” I responded, closing my eyes again. “I just started. Spent most of the day driving here from Dundee. I stopped off in Inverness and tried to spot Nessie but she was hiding.”

He laughed and gave me a playful shove.

“Don’t mock our culture and our lore, lassie,” he looked at Betsy again. “You’ve a beautiful machine there. If she needs any work doing to her, just give me a shout.” He got up and stood beside me for a while. “It was nice meeting you Jules, enjoy your stay here.”

I watched him walk back towards a ramshackle static caravan; its paint fading and peeling away, revealing mildewed wood underneath. A rusted, squeaking rotary washing line spun slowly in his yard; various garments hanging limply from it. The grass on his lawn was mowed and colourful plants exploded out of flowerboxes placed around his home. I tried to look at it as if I was Rory; it may not be much, but it was home. He disappeared inside and I went back to people watching, again drifting off.

My time spent at Dunnet Head was truly an awakening. The night sky was so clear here that there seemed like there was no space between the stars. I could have stayed out there forever, gazing at those stars. I explored too and did the usual tourist things; visited castles and local villages as well as Easter Head. It was wonderful but I so wished, in fact I ached for someone to share the experience with.

On my last night at the campsite, Rory joined me for dinner. He presented me with flowers he had picked out of his garden then wrapped in a sprig of rosemary. I liked his company. He was rough around the edges but he worked hard and appreciated what he had. So many people did not appreciate their life, but Rory…he had seen a lot of the bad things life had to offer but he turned his head and politely said “no, thanks.” I cooked us macaroni and cheese and we settled outside, each with a bowl, and watched the sun set over the valley.

“Have you enjoyed yourself?” Rory asked, dunking garlic bread into his cheesy pasta.

I nodded and grunted as I had a mouthful of pasta.

“Good, I’m glad. Girl like you needs to enjoy herself,” he looked at the descending sun, the fire reflecting in his eyes. “I don’t really know you, I know, but I think you deserve the world.”

“Why?” I asked, setting down my bowl and looking at Rory intently. We had only had a few conversations, mainly about what to do around here.

“I don’t know lass. I think I’ve just taken a shine to you. You’re a beautiful girl Jules.” He flashed me a smile and continued to eat. I had lost my appetite and dwelled on what Rory had said. I couldn’t help feeling that the whole reason he introduced himself was because he was attracted to me. I felt complimented, but not intrigued by it. “I wish I could do what you do but unfortunately, my van doesn’t have wheels.”

He nodded towards his decaying caravan. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was his home.

“Maybe one day, you can,” I replied.

“Maybe. I’d have to start earning money first though. Right now the work I do pays for rent, amenities and food. Occasionally McCreedy will give me a bonus, but it’s usually a trip to the pub,” he grinned and placed his bowl down beside him and turned in his seat to look at me. “If you ever fancy a companion, let me know. I’ve nothing tying me here.”

I swallowed. I didn’t know how to respond that. I liked Rory, but I didn’t think I’d enjoy having him around all the time.

“I’ll think about it, Rory,” I replied. “It has been nice, having someone to talk to. I’ve really appreciated your company.”

At this point, Rory sat properly in his seat, picked up a can of beer, cracked it open and sat back.

“I know, I’m not the one for you. Someone already has you, don’t they?” he said into the air in front of him.

I shook my head.

“No, not anymore,” I replied dolefully.

I didn’t feel like crying this time, or bringing up Sam, or home, or anything relating to that. I couldn’t move forwards if I kept thinking about the past. It was better this way.

“I take it that it’s still pretty raw?” Rory asked, turning to me again. “Whatever happened…it was recent, right?”

“I don’t want to talk about it Rory. There’s no point dwelling on it. I’ve decided to chase my dreams,” I stood up from chair and began folding it away. “I suggest you do the same. Life is what you make of it, and it’s too short to sit around wondering what to do.” I slid my chair back into Betsy and turned to Rory. “I decided to not let anything hold me back, no matter how much it hurt. You’ve got to believe in yourself.”

Rory looked back at me quizzically.

“I didn’t realise you were giving a seminar,” he smirked, before standing and folding his chair away too. “I suppose this is my cue to exit?”

“I need to be up early,” I replied, taking the chair from him and putting it away.

“Can we keep in touch?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah I can give you my phone number,” I answered, reaching for my mobile.

“No can do, I don’t have a phone. I’ll give you the exact address for my van, maybe you can write me?” he took out a small pad and a pen and quickly scrawled out his address. “I would say ‘don’t be a stranger,’ but you already are. I’d like to get to know you better, Jules.” I took the note from him, folded it and placed it in my pocket, then I offered my hand to him. “Nah, c’mon Jules. Give me a hug!” he said, before yanking on my hand and pulling me into an embrace. Despite my apprehensiveness, I welcomed the hug and embraced him back; my face pressed against his chest, just beneath his shoulder. I breathed in his light, earthy scent and relaxed into him. “You’ll be okay, lass,” he whispered, running his fingers through my hair, separating my dreadlocks apart. “I can see you, years from now, you’ll have it all figured out.”

“Thank you, Rory. I know you will too,” we parted and I returned to my van. I climbed into bed and took out my phone. I had a message from Benji.

           Hey Jules, hope you’re okay duck! We left you alone for a few days because we didn’t want to distract you. Just checking in, making sure you’re safe. Text us back when you can!

I tapped back a quick reply;

He Benji, I’m okay and I hope you, Bernie and Maggie are too. I’m leaving Dunnet Head tomorrow. Not sure where I’ll end up next but it is in the spirit of adventure. Take care, chat soon xox

I looked at my phone, opening up the photo album and scrolling through pictures and videos of life back home. About ninety-five percent of it was of me and Sam; having ice cream fights or giggling at some obscene, childish joke or playing guitar or just hanging out, curled up together on a couch. I started looking through old messages between me and Sam, the last dated at the end of April. They were so simple. They were sent just after our break up.

I’ll always love you

I know…

He was so busy during that time, so fraught, charging about, sitting, thinking, a pen constantly clamped in his hand. He rarely got dressed. His sleep was always interrupted. He was working so hard to make his dream a reality, just like me, but mine didn’t feel nearly as tense or nerve-wracking. I wondered what he was doing now. Was he at home? Recording? Sleeping? Writing? I wondered when he would start doing gigs again. Would I go to any of them?

No, this wasn’t the plan. I had to stop thinking about things that could have been, could be or could happen. I wanted to leave my future unwritten and just go wherever the roads took me. I placed my phone down on the shelf next to me, rolled over and went to sleep.

Eighth – I’m gonna master all kinds of kung-fu…

Leaving Dunnet Head came very easily. I woke up early and pottered around Betsy for a bit, placing things back into their correct spot and securing everything. I didn’t bother putting any make-up on, I just brushed my teeth and enjoyed a cup of coffee in the early morning light. I watched the sun rise over the valley, a vivid orange approaching me, the cool night air dispersing as the first rays touched down at my feet. It was a very sweet goodbye and I waved off the site as I vacated. I decided to stick close to the coasts and occasionally venture inland. I made my way down A and B roads and ended up in the coastal town of Wick. I managed to find a place to camp beside the sea and settled in for the next few days, watching the sea and the birds and the families. I felt content and free, despite my appetite still not returning. A simple, small bowl of cereal was all I could eat most days, but I felt fine. I met a lot of people, locals mainly, who showed me all the aspects of their town that they were proud of. I never realised how many castles were in Scotland and I took great pleasure in visiting them. I went candle-making, joined in crabbing with the local kids and had beachside barbeques with other tourists. I busked in the streets and mingled with other street performers. I loved being in a small town, it had a really homely, welcoming feel to it. I felt sad when I decided to leave but I hoped that wherever I ended up next would surprise and fulfil me as much as Wick had.

Driving Betsy became easier as I became accustomed to her quirks. I became adept at knowing how to crank her engine so she started up somewhat quietly and how to easily slide her gears into the correct position. She hadn’t broken down yet but I planned to get her checked out in the next town I decided to stay in. As I drove down the coast roads and passed through small towns and villages, one arm draped out of the window, singing along absent-mindedly with the radio, I could feel my anxieties disintegrate and ebb away, out of the window and into the sea. I would zone out and watch the white lines in the road speed past me as the radio blared away.

“And now a single from an up-and-coming album by Newton Faulkner…”

I snapped back to reality and glared at the radio. Newton Faulkner. Newton was Sam’s middle name. Is that the name he decided to use? I turned the volume up and listened. And then I realised that this was a song I had heard before. Not exactly the same, but close enough.

I need something

To believe in

“Because I don’t believe in myself,” I sang softly to myself. It was Sam. They were his sweet words that he wrote when he genuinely believed that he wouldn’t achieve what he set out to do, but I pushed and pushed and pushed him because not only did I believe he could do it, he had to do it.

And I’m sick and tired

Of getting nowhere

I guess it’ll all work out

And I don’t mind anymore

I sang along to a song not many people had even heard of. When I finally stopped in the next town, I hunted for the single in HMV. I bought it and felt it was a prized possession immediately. I played it over and over again. I so wanted to text Sam – to congratulate him and send him my best, but I felt too awkward. I decided to jot him a letter instead, then I could decide later to post it or not.

Dear Sam, or Newton. Or Ginge.

I want to start off by saying CONGRATULATIONS! I heard you on the radio today and I went straight into town and bought your single. I love it Sam, I really do. I’m so proud of you.

I hope you’re okay and that everything is going well at home. I made it to Scotland in one piece; I’ve been to Dundee and Inverness and Dunnet Head and I’ve just left Wick and arrived in Dunrobin. I’ve not explored much here yet but I look forward to it.

I sat back, placing my pen in my mouth and sucking thoughtfully. I didn’t really have much to say. I didn’t want to drone on and on about the people I had met or the places I had been to. It wouldn’t really make for good reading. But I also didn’t want to stop writing, despite the fact that even if I sent the letter and Sam read it, he wouldn’t be able to write me back because I no longer had an address. I suppose he could always text me or call me. But then what would happen? Would we chat like old times? Crumble and come running back to each other? Argue? I decided to keep the rest of my letter vague.

Give my love to everyone. And congratulations again. You did it.

With love,

Jules

 I sealed the letter away in an envelope, addressed it and stamped it. I put Aunty Bea’s house as the return address. I didn’t want time to think about sending it, instead I immediately posted it and then I went back to Betsy and called Aunty Bea. She picked up almost immediately.

“Hi love!” she practically screamed down the phone.

“Hi Aunty Bea, how are you?” I replied. I knew she was wondering around the house while talking to me; I could hear things clattering in the background. She told me about work, about a new man she had been talking to, about her new gym regime. I listened politely while she gabbed on about how great things were going for her.

“Anyway love, how are you? Where are you? Are you enjoying yourself?” she babbled in one breath.

“I’m in Scotland Aunty Bea, travelling down the coast. I’m okay, the people I’ve met have been lovely. I heard Sam on the radio today,” I added softly at the end. “He’s released a single.”

“Oh wow, he’s actually done it! Well done him, I’ll have to keep an ear open for it.”

We chatted for a while longer about things that didn’t matter. Aunty Bea seemed happier than she ever had been before. I couldn’t help taking it a little personally, but I was glad she was happy. We said our goodbyes and then I was alone again. I was always alone recently, but it never occurred to me before how lonely I actually was. There was always somebody else around, whether it be Rory or the kids in Wick or Benji and Bernie. I still went to bed alone, but there was always someone to see, to talk to, physically. I shook myself off and exited Betsy and took a walk along the beach while the sun set. I thought about the life I left behind. Wake up, eat, work, see Sam, sleep, repeat. Everything was predictable and that’s what I hated. But what if I had stayed with Sam and joined his adventure? I sat on the sand and watched the sea foam frolic onto the sand before disappearing between the crevices, leaving nothing but damp patches as a reminder. Would Sam have wanted me to join him? Things were strained towards the end, but was that because we wanted different things? Maybe it was easier to be mad at each other, to drift apart. It wouldn’t hurt so much.

Then why did it hurt so much?

I could hear Sam’s pain in the song. He didn’t need to cover it up, it was supposed to be emotional. It would be easy to tap into his sadness. I recalled the look on his face as he watched me drive away, effectively driving out of his life, one hand pressed against the glass, the other hanging limply at his side. I wondered what he thought when he woke up and I was gone, or was he awake the whole time, listening to me creep around his room to pick up my clothes. Did he expect me to stay? Why did he keep how close he was to releasing a song secret? Maybe he was scared it wouldn’t happen. I was so deep in thought that I didn’t realise the sea had crept so close to me that it was licking my toes. I just hugged my knees and stared off into the distance.

“Hey! Are you okay?!” a voice above me yelled.

I peered up the sea wall behind me. A young couple stood there, looking down at me. I then realised the sea was ebbing closer and closer to me. I stood up and walked away, towards some steps that lead up the sea wall and back onto the promenade. The couple walked towards me, looking concerned.

“Are you alright?” they asked again. I nodded and wiped my watering eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay, thank you,” I replied. “Just working through some things.”

“Oh, you’re shivering,” one of them said, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders. I pulled it close to me and thank them again. “Don’t worry about it. I’m Marc and this is my partner Andy.” He offered me his hand to shake. I took it limply and introduced myself.

“I’m Jules.”

“Are you here alone? What’s wrong?” Andy probed, taking my other hand. These strangers were being so unbelievably kind to me, just as Benji and Bernie had been.

“Argument with the boyfriend? Or girlfriend?” Marc asked. They stood on either side of me, holding my hands.

“No, neither. I’m travelling alone. Seemed a good idea a few weeks ago,” I laughed weakly.

They cooed around me, trying their best to comfort me.

“Come for something eat with us. It might just cheer you up and if the food doesn’t, we certainly will,” Andy offered. “Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.”

He linked my arm and they pulled me towards a small Italian restaurant and cocktail bar. I didn’t quite open up to them but I enjoyed their company. They told me about their life, their “wee house,” their dogs and their jobs. I told them about Betsy and my plans to travel the length and breadth of the UK. I started to unwind more as cocktails became involved and I began to tell them about my mum and how I lost her when I was young. They both listened intently, their hands clasping mine. They gasped and tutted periodically. We were all becoming steadily intoxicated but it was pleasant, like a warm feeling spreading through us all. They told me how difficult it was to be an openly gay couple, even in the year 2007. People still judged them, still called them ugly names. Andy rolled his eyes.

“You see though, they say all this to us, that we can’t be together or we can’t get married or adopt children, but it doesn’t affect them. We’re happy together, that doesn’t affect them. We’re so happy that we’d like to get married, that doesn’t affect them. We may be so, so happy that we’d like a child to share our happiness with and guess what? That doesn’t affect them either.” He shook his head and downed the last of his cocktail. “We’re no different from a conventional couple, we’d just like the same rights. That’s all.”

I agreed with everything he said, nodding tumultuously along with every word. Marc began wavering from side to side, a soft smile on his lips.

“I love his little gay rights rants,” he giggled. “We’re the only gays in the village!”

“He’s kidding. There are quite a few same-sex couples around here. I think we’re just the most obvious,” Andy said, holding Marc steady.

“Flamboyant, you mean,” Marc hiccupped. “That’s why we’re attracted to shiny, bright things, like Jules.” Marc leant in close to me. “Even your name reflects you. You’re a little gem, y’know. I’m glad we stumbled across you.”

We talked for hours about anything and everything that popped into our drunken minds. We decided that Marc and Andy would get married and I would be their maid of honour. We fed each other cherries and pistachios and tried to throw them in the air and catch them in our mouths. We left the bar and continued the festivities in Betsy, mixing our own cocktails and listening to music. I played them a few songs on Esmeralda, my inebriated fingers not quite managing to hit the right notes but Marc and Andy applauded me every time I finished.

I woke up hanging off my bed. Marc was flat out behind me, Andy was on the floor with a blanket thrown haphazardly over him. I flipped onto my back and rubbed my forehead, covering my eyes with my hands. Last night got away from all of us. My mouth was dry, my body ached and I desperately wanted a shower. I got up slowly and edged around Andy, cracked open the bathroom door and slipped inside. I hadn’t quite figured out how to effectively shower myself in my tiny bathroom but I was eager to wash away last night’s antics and freshen myself up. The water took a while to heat up and remained lukewarm throughout. I didn’t care at this point; I let that water splash down onto my face, washing away drunk Jules and welcoming sober, hung-over Jules back.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Andy had joined Marc in my bed and they were snuggled up close together. I nodded at them and sat at the table, cradling my head in my hands.

“Still drunk or hung-over?” Marc asked, stretching his arms above his head and groaning loudly.

“The latter,” I mumbled.

“I think you need your bed back,” Marc replied, standing up and pulling Andy up with him. “If you feel up to it later, we can meet up again. I’ll leave you my number.”

They clattered about my van, picking up discarded shoes and moaning about their aching heads and empty stomachs. Marc left his number on a scrap of paper then they left. I climbed back into bed and fell back asleep for a few more hours.

My limbs were heavy, my eyes felt stapled shut. My brain felt pickled in brine; the liquid lapping up against it, making my head spin, my ears throbbed with the pulse of my blood. A whisper of a guitar, twanging sadly, the notes off-key, the voice singing bitterly.

Catch me when I fall…

Breathing was hard, my stomach was tense, I was pinned. I wanted to move, I needed to get free from these invisible binds, my mouth opened into a hollow scream, but nothing came out, just the ever-encompassing darkness flooding in.

My eyes pinged open and my stomach lurched. I scrambled out of bed and threw open my side door and vomited all over the pavement. I was on my hands and knees, emptying myself into the gutter, my eyes watering, gasping and wailing with each retch. I wanted to go home. I sat back, my back pressed up against the side of my bed, trying to catch my breath, trying to compose myself. Tears slid in protest down my cheeks as I held my chest and rasped manically. I covered my eyes with my hands, trying to slow my breathing.

“Come on, you’ve got this, you’re just hung-over, that’s it, that’s all this is…” I whispered to myself “if you get up and get dressed and eat something, you’ll feel better.”

I moved like a slug in salt; everything felt dull and painful and hot. I dressed slowly and poured myself a small bowl of cereal. I sat over it, watching the milk seep into the cereal, creating a soggy, chocolate-y mess that lost all appeal with each passing second. By late afternoon, I was lying flat on my back in the centre of Betsy, looking through the skylight, watching the birds flitter by overhead. I left the side door open to let in a welcome breeze, to cool my aching, hot body. Time seemed to move so slowly, everything passing by so lazily and deliberately.

“Evening, stranger,” a voice called out. I turned my head slowly to face my open door. Marc and Andy were peering in at me; their shirts were clean and pressed, their jeans wrinkle free, their faces freshly shaved. They looked like they each had a good night sleep and had woken up in a cosy bed under a duck down quilt. I looked like hell. I closed my eyes and turned my head back to look out the skylight again.

“That bad?” Andy asked, sitting next to me and wiping loose hairs away from my eyes. He stroked my face so tenderly, so lovingly.

“I had a nightmare,” I mumbled, feeling stupid.

“Oh. Nightmares are no fun. You need a distraction,” he picked up one of my hands and rubbed it soothingly. “And we’ve come to offer you such a distraction.”

“Mmmhmm, we’re thinking a pub lunch, or tea given the time and then we’d like to introduce you to some of our friends,” Marc added. “If you fancy it, mind.”

I didn’t really fancy it but I felt like I was coming down with cabin fever. I looked at Marc, then back to Andy, then out of the skylight.

“I’d like that,” I said, although a bit uncertainly.

“Well c’mon, the pub is calling!” Andy said cheerfully, pulling me up into a sitting position. “You need to eat something, get some meat on your bones!”

We linked arms while we walked to the pub. It felt nice having these two guys as my friends; I felt as though they genuinely cared for me and I cared for them. Once we arrived at the pub, we sat in a booth, ordering classic dishes. We ate and joked amongst ourselves and admittedly, I began to feel better. Andy and Marc were adorable together and I felt a sense of pride that they chose to take me under their wings.

“So, where are we meeting your friends?” I asked, finishing the last dregs of my soft drink. I decided it was probably better if I didn’t get too tipsy tonight.

“In the next place, it’s a bar down the road. You’ll love it, it’s well up your street,” Andy replied, grinning inanely.

I started feel quite dubious but I trusted them. Soon, we left the pub and ventured down to the bar Andy had described. The sun was setting and a flock of people were gathered outside; smoking and chattering and drinking. The air was warm and light, the sea was quietly encroaching the sands and the streetlights flickered to life. Andy and Marc greeted various people as we approached the entrance to the bar. We traipsed down some steps and emerged in an underground nightclub. Music pulsed and people bounced about on the dance floor. The atmosphere was electric, fizzing all around me.

“Have you ever been to a gay rave before?” Marc yelled over the pounding music.

I shook my head at him. “NO!” I yelled back “But I think I’m about to!”

The dance floor vibrated with bodies. People jumping, their arms in the air, the smell of sweat wafting between noses. I made my way through the crowds with Marc and Andy at either side of me. There was a small platform in the centre and we climbed onto it and joined the other patrons already dancing there. Bodies bumped and grinded against each other, people were screaming and whooping. It was madness, chaotic almost, but it so damn fun.

Marc and Andy paired off after a while, dancing seductively against each other, they’re bodies appearing connected at the groin, their lips brushing together occasionally. I watched them as I danced amongst the others, feeling a tinge of jealousy, longing for someone to dance with, to enjoy the evening with, not knowing that I had already been noticed.

A girl danced up beside me, her arms and legs seemed disconnected from the rest of her as she moved jerkily around. She was small, slim and had a very young looking face. In fact, if it wasn’t for her septum ring and tattoos snaking around her arms, I would have said she was in her early teens.

“Why the long face?!” she shouted over the music. I nodded towards Marc and Andy dancing together and she looked over at the two, then looked back at me. “You’re in a gay bar, you won’t find a straight guy in here!” she yelled. I laughed and nodded.

“I know! They’re my friends!” I told her. “But they’re a bit wrapped up in each other right now!”

She made a face at me, as if to say “oh, duh!” and she smiled.

“Fancy a drink?” she asked, hooking a thumb behind her shoulder and pointing it towards the bar. I nodded yes and we made our way over to the bar. Away from everybody else, I cooled down and exhaled loudly.

“Phew!” I sighed. I felt tired and sweaty and despite the banging music, I felt relaxed. I turned to my new companion and offered her my hand. “I’m Jules,” I said, introducing myself.

She took my hand and shook it with vigour. “Gabby,” she replied. “So Jules, what brings you to a place like this?”

“Marc and Andy, they brought me to cheer me up,” I replied.

She nodded apathetically. She ordered us some drinks and some shots, holding one up to me and taking one for herself.

“To new friends!” she held up her glass to me and we toasted.

“To new friends,” I replied, taking the shot and trying not to grimace. Gabby laughed at my rubbish shot poker face and nudged into me.

“You’re gorgeous,” she told me, her hand closing over mine. “Like, really gorgeous, you’re stunning. I don’t normally get flustered but wow, you’re beautiful.”

I could feel myself turning red. The only other person who had ever given me this much attention was Sam, and even then that felt like a long time ago, long before we broke up. It was nice. I liked it.

“Thank you,” I replied bashfully. “You’re not bad yourself.”

“Trust me to come on to the only straight girl in here,” she said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

“How do you figure that I’m straight?” I asked.

She looked me up and down and sighed, shaking her head yet again.

“You’re not registering on my gay-dar. You could always prove me wrong, though,” she replied cheekily. My mouth hung open at her audacity, but I laughed anyway. I liked her; she was saucy, confident and just a bit cocky. “Think I might need to buy you a few more drinks first, though,” she added, pushing a vodka and coke in my direction. I sipped it politely, gauging her. Her clothes were loose and hung off her small body, she wore an oversized baseball cap and American style sneakers. She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense, she was almost rugged. But I felt a tingle when her hand held mine as we chatted at the bar; like a little itch under my skin, wanting to hold her hand too, but she pretty much already had it covered. I felt at ease with her, despite her relentless flirting. The crowds were starting the thin out as people made their way out of the club, either to move on to the next place or amble on home. Marc and Andy approached us; sweating and panting.

“I see you’ve met Gabby,” Marc said, hooking an arm around Gabby and kissing her on the head. “Resident ultimate lesbian.” Gabby laughed and playfully punched Marc in the chest and he feigned injury, clutching his chest and stumbling back a few steps, laughing too.  “We’re going to head off now, Jules. Do want us to walk you back to your van?” Marc asked.

I looked at Gabby and she looked back at me, her eyes shining.

“No, I think I’ll hang out with Gabby for a bit longer,” I replied. “Thanks though.”

Marc smiled and nodded, then left with Andy. Gabby linked her arm through mine.

“C’mon, let’s go get some fresh air,” she said. We made our way outside and walked along the sea front, talking about nothing in particular. We held hands, we laughed and shoved each other light-heartedly. I felt quite happy in her company and as we approached Betsy, I had made a decision. We sat on the door frame at the side of my van, star gazing and musing, pointing out constellations and other shapes we could see. We giggled like naughty children, cracking dirty jokes, drinking cheap cider out of tea cups. And then it happened; she looked at me in a way that made me want to kiss her. It wasn’t a special look or a flirtatious look, it was just a happy, contented look. I took the lead, which was weird to me. I felt it should have been the other way around but it didn’t work out that way. I think I took Gabby by surprise when my lips took hers, kissing her gently at first but moving on to be quite forceful. She kissed me back eagerly; I could feel her smiling against my mouth, her tongue jabbing into my mouth blithely, her hands sliding up my hips, towards my chest. Things began to become more heated and we climbed into bed together, kissing heavily, our hands exploring each other.

“So this is what you wanted?”

My head turned quickly to see where the voice had come from. Gabby didn’t notice, she just started a trail of kisses down my neck, over my torso to the tips of my thighs.

“Well, I don’t want to stand in your way. Never have, never will, Jules.”

“Sam…?”

“Sam? No, I’m Gabby…” Gabby stopped her kissing assault on my lower body and sat up away from me. “Who’s Sam?”

I wiped my mouth and averted my gaze.

“An ex. The only ex,” I said, trying to remain aloof. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gabby didn’t seemed convinced and began adjusting her clothes.

“Boy or girl?” she asked.

“Do you really want to talk about this?” I replied, sitting up and looking at her. “I thought…well. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about. I don’t know what this is or what we’re doing here but I feel like you’re hurting. I think that’s why I came on to you. I like damaged goods,” she laughed half-heartedly. “Wish I didn’t though. For once I’d like to just meet a nice girl who has her shit together, who likes me and wants to be around me and…well, I’ve set myself up to fail here. You’re straight. And clearly not over your last somebody, this Sam person.”

“We were together for a long time. Almost seven years. He was my first love and so far, my only love,” I told her. “And he’s doing great things. Like, absolutely amazing things. And I’m doing my own thing, travelling around, meeting people, exploring and living the good life. But I can’t stop thinking about him and it’s tainting everything.”

She looked at me, saw the tears forming in my eyes and wiped them away with a swift swipe of her finger. She lied down next to me, propping herself up and looking at me intensely.

“Tell me,” she said softly.

So I did tell her. I told her how Sam and I met, how our relationship grew, how we spent every spare moment we had together. I told her about his voice, how beautiful it is, how talented he is, how much I loved him. How much I still love him and the reason why I left. I wanted to see what was on offer to me and I knew I would regret it if I didn’t take this opportunity and run with it; run as far away as I could with it.

“Then why are you looking back?” she asked. “I thought you were doing this because it was your dream and yet you’re letting it be ruined because you can’t stop thinking about Sam. You may as well go home. Harsh but true.” She yawned and stretched out. “What’s the point in doing all of this, spending all this money, going all this way, just to be sad?”

It was the wake-up call I needed. She was totally right. Sam was a huge part of my life, he was my whole past. I need the present to be just for me. The future, as I always wanted, was to be left unwritten.

“Here,” Gabby raised her finger and thumb, touching as if they were clamping some invisible object. “This is a pin. You’re going to take Sam and put a pin in him. You can come back to him later. For now, you live in the moment, take everything as it comes. You are you, Jules. Just you. Do what makes you happy instead of remembering what makes you sad.”

Gabbys invisible pin beckoned me. I held out my hand and she unclenched her fingers, mimicking dropping the pin into my palm. I looked at the pictures of Sam and me surrounding my bed. I looked at Gabby.

“I think we need a real pin,” I told her, before cracking up laughing. She laughed with me and cuddled up close to me.

“You’ll get through this. I know you will,” she said, almost forceful with her words. I rested my chin on top of her head, smelling her sweet hair.

“I hope so…”

 Ninth – The routine daydream starts as I get off…

I stayed with Gabby for almost two weeks. After our heart-to-heart, I realised I needed a distraction and she offered one to me. It wasn’t just sex either; it was companionship, someone to joke with, to see and to just hang out with. There was no routine. Sometimes she would bang on the door of Betsy and yell at me to get up and come play with her. Sometimes she would leave chocolates and a book on my windshield and other times, she’d turn up and listen to me play guitar or plan my routes. She was always quiet when I planned and I couldn’t help feeling a tight sensation wrap around my chest. She didn’t want me to go, but she knew I had to. On my last night, Gabby took me out for dinner. She held my hands over the table and told me everything I had made her feel during my time there. She wished me the best and hoped that I would come back one day and see her again. I took her address and promised I would write to her.

I visited many more towns and cities in Scotland but I tried not to become too involved with the people I met. I felt like I was leaving a trail of destruction and broken hearts and I didn’t want to be responsible for that. I crossed over the border and back into England at the start of August and milled about the border towns, usually just staying a day here and there. I stuck to playing CDs to avoid hearing any more of Sam’s music but I couldn’t avoid him completely. I bought his album when it came out and listened to it from start to end. I cried a lot. I stroked his pictures. I wrote him hundreds of letters that I packed away in a little shoebox. I dedicated a day to mourning him before putting the invisible pin back in and moving on. I returned to my first home in Fairhaven, expecting things to have changed but they had remained very much the same. I went to my old house where I had grown up. I parked outside for a while, the new family who lived there not taking any notice of the old, geriatric campervan lurking outside. Watching them; the mum, dad and two little girls play, it really hammered home to me that the only place I really belonged was with Betsy. She was the only thing that was mine.

I wrote a letter to Gabby and told her where I had gone. I hoped she was okay and told her about my endeavours and adventures I had had on my way. I signed off by telling her I was thinking about her and that I would never forget her or the time we spent together. I drummed my pen against the table and sat back in my seat, sighing. Keeping in touch was hard because I didn’t have much to say. I messaged Benji occasionally to let him know how I was and where I was and he didn’t press me for any more information and I appreciated that. Evenings were spent in bed, looking at the ceiling. It couldn’t be exciting all the time, I knew that, but I didn’t feel like I was being challenged anymore. The further south I travelled, the more I felt like I wanted more. I crossed into Wales and meandered around the country but everything seemed to have lost its lustre. I began to consider stopping in a town and getting a job, to see if being settled helped me feel better, but it was no use.

I decided that I had seen enough of England and the UK. I visited an internet café and began looking for my next adventure. I could get the ferry to France and drive across Europe. I could park Betsy up at Aunty Bea’s and go further afield; like Australia or Japan or even America. There were many opportunities; it was just deciding which one to take. Travelling Europe seemed like my best option because I could take Betsy with me, so I found travel insurance for myself and Betsy and booked myself onto the next ferry across the channel. I camped at the port and soon, I was off across the sea. Destination: France.

The ferry ride was rough. The sea was not our friend during the crossing and I spent most of my time on board hugging the railings. My sea legs were none existent. Arriving in France, I just about made it onto dry land before my stomach betrayed me. I stayed in the port overnight again, hoping a good night sleep would cure my sea-sickness. Waking up in a foreign country felt bizarrely natural; native speakers were all around me with a spatter of English speakers thrown in. People laughed and joked amongst themselves and I felt happiness return to me.       It was time for a new adventure and time to get used to driving on the right, which was an adventure in itself. I made my way inland towards Paris to see the typical touristy sites like the Eifel Tower and the Arc De Triomphe before heading away from the mainland and out into the sticks. I drove by chalets and castle ruins; I drove through scenic countryside’s and quaint little villages, I camped on top of mountains and deep within forests. The adventure I craved had arrived and I was savouring every last bite. If travelling the UK was a starter then this was definitely the main course and I wasn’t even thinking about dessert yet. I decided to head towards Belgium, spend a day driving across and journey into Germany. I travelled to Berlin and signed the wall, I tried German beer and bratwurst, I delved into the history and tried to converse with the locals and failed miserably but I made some good friends. The whole time I was there felt like a montage, showing only the good times because that’s all I had; positive experiences playing over and over again, with different people in different towns in different countries.

However, despite it all, Sam was never far from my mind, I just didn’t let his memory stop me. His songs were playing everywhere, they were easy-listening so anybody could enjoy them and I felt immense pride knowing who he was and how he started. It felt like he was following me wherever I went and it brought me comfort. I wondered if he had read my letter. I wondered if he thought about me; where I was, how I was, if I was happy. I hoped he was happy, more than anything in this world, I hoped he was happy.

I was sitting in a garage workshop in Switzerland, having Betsy serviced. The weather had cooled off and I was welcoming winter again. I was making sure Betsy would be ready for the colder climate and planned on purchasing a woodstove to keep my nights in the van toasty warm. I was sending an email to Aunty Bea on my mobile when I was approached by a tanned, surfer-looking man. He smiled at me and showed a set of brilliantly white teeth. He looked like a model that had been manipulated to look perfect, but here he was, in the flesh, looking perfect.

“Hey,” he said. Not Swiss. Australian.

“Hi,” I replied, pocketing my phone and giving him my full attention.

“You’re not local either,” he said, taking a seat next to me and presenting his hand. “Michael.”

“Jules,” I responded, shaking his offered hand. “I’ve travelled from England.”

“Ah, I should have realised. You’re a true English rose,” he flashed his perfect smile at me again.

“Is that just a nice way of saying I’m pale?” I questioned, laughing.

“I guess it is,” he replied, laughing with me. “What brings you to Switzerland?”

“Adventure, you?”

“Much of the same,” he pointed towards a 4x4 car parked close by, snowboards adorning the roof. “We don’t get much snow in Oz.”

So that explained the tan; a snowboarding Australian. Also his physique…I couldn’t help noticing his muscles, taught against the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Do you often talk to strange women?” I asked.

“Only the ones that pique my interest,” he replied cheekily. “Are you in for a long job or do you expect to be on your way soon?”

I looked over into the garage and saw that Betsy had two wheels off and a mechanic was elbow deep into her wheel well, changing the brake pads.

“I don’t think I’m going any time soon, no,” I replied. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

“Nah, not really. Just wanted to make conversation. Not often you find someone who speaks the same language so far away from the tourist hot spots. It’s refreshing,” he inhaled deeply, as if my very presence filtered the air to make it more appealing. “Plus, you’re a beauty.” I blushed and dipped my head, making my dreadlocks fall across my face. Handling compliments were not my strong suit. “Aw, you’ve gone all shy now. Don’t worry, I’ll try to insult you instead.” He was so cocksure and cheeky that I wasn’t quite sure how to take him.

“So what brings you here?” I asked him, trying to recover from my embarrassment.

He pointed to the rear of his car. I hadn’t noticed before but the bumper was dangling off.

“I lost it coming back down the mountain, spun out and hit a guard rail. My insurance company told me to come here to get an estimate. I don’t really care about the damage, as long as my boards are okay,” he explained. “So, looks like I’m sticking around here for a while. Was planning on finding a hostel to stay in but they’re few and far between here and the hotels are expensive so I might end up sleeping in my car.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing. I sleep in my van,” I said, nodding towards Betsy.

“Yeah, but yours is made for sleeping in, mine isn’t,” he looked back at his car and shook his head. “Bloody thing, couldn’t handle a bit of black ice.”

We sat back and continued chatting, mainly about our native countries and how things are different. He had me laughing on multiple occasions and I liked having his company. When Betsy was finished and had her wheels back on, I left Michael my number and continued on my way to a local campsite, nestled under the Alps. Tall pines and bushy oaks fanned out above me as I set up camp and settled in for the evening. I was relaxing with a hot chocolate when my phone vibrated with a text message.

 “Hey, it’s Mike from the garage.”

I looked at it and quickly responded.

“Hey, Mike from the garage. It’s Jules at the campsite.”

I pressed send and waited for his reply.

“So this may seem a little full on, but I’m a bit stuck here and I could use a hand.”

“What’s up?”

“They won’t be able to fix my car for a few days and I have nowhere to go. Do you mind if I crash with you?”

I was a bit taken aback. I had only met Mike a few hours ago and I didn’t know a thing about him. I wanted to help but I wanted to keep myself safe too. I pondered for a few minutes, then another text pinged through.

“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot here, obviously if I had any other option I’d take it. Forget about it, I’ll figure something out.”

Now I felt terrible. I frowned at my phone and tapped out a reply.

“Where are you?”

“I’m still at the garage. They’re closing for night. They’ve offered to drive me to a hotel in the town.”

“Tell them to bring you here, we can arrange something.”

I added the address and pressed send before I could think about any further. I held my phone against my lips and wondered if I had made the right decision. My phone buzzed against my mouth.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be there soon.”

The light was fading fast and I had to work out how to house Michael and keep myself safe at the same time. It was such a shame that I felt I couldn’t help a stranger in need without thinking I was putting myself in danger. I remembered that I carried a tent in Betsy, affectionately named my “bug out,” tent, in case I had to bail out of Betsy for some reason. I set about building it. Michael could always hang out with me and sleep in the tent. It would be safe and dry for him, and I would be safe knowing I could lock myself in Betsy.

By the time Michael arrived, the tent was built and I had a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him. He climbed out of the tow truck and greeted me with a massive smile, throwing his arms around me in a warm embrace.

“You’re the best, thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” he burbled, all the while clamping me close to his chest while I precariously held his mug of hot chocolate. He soon noticed the tent and took a step back. “I guess that’s where I’m sleeping?” he asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m sorry but I don’t know you that well and I felt I would be more comfortable if…well, you know…” I stammered out my weak explanation but his smile didn’t falter.

“It’s okay, I understand. As long as we can chill out together, you can get to know me, maybe feel a bit more comfortable with it all. Don’t worry,” he took the mug from me and drank deeply. “Mmm, that’s good. All they had at the garage was an ancient vending machine and a cracked coffee maker that took about six hours to brew one cup.”

I helped him throw his belongings into the tent and pump up the air bed, then we hung around in Betsy for a while, chatting about where we were going next. We joked around a lot and the conversation flowed easily. I compared him to a Greek Adonis and he laughed very hard at this statement, thanking me. As the hours passed and the sun finally sunk behind the trees, I stretched and suggested that we went to bed. Separately. I watched him climbed into the tent and zip himself away before heading to bed myself. I hoped it wouldn’t be too cold for him while I wrapped myself in the duvet and bedded down for the night.

A few hours later, the whistling wind awoke me from my light slumber. I peeped through the window and saw that snow was falling think and fast, whizzing around the empty site as it was being whipped by the wind. I looked at the tent as it was buffeted about by the icy whirlwind. I slid open the door and yelled into the darkness, calling for Michael. Stranger or not, I couldn’t let him spend the night outside in this. He didn’t respond, my voice was being carried away by the howling flurry. I stumbled out into the blizzard and unzipped the tent. Michael was curled into the foetal position, his breath fogging in front of his face as he shivered ferociously.

“Come on!” I said urgently, tugging at him.

He didn’t need telling twice. He jumped up and followed me outside and into Betsy. I slammed the door behind us as we panted, glad to be out of the cold.

“Thank you,” he stuttered, his body physically shaking. His lips were pale, his nose was red and his eyes were watering from the harshness of the gale.

“We’ve got to warm you up,” I said, rushing around Betsy fervently, gathering blankets and wrapping him up like an Egyptian mummy. I climbed into bed and pulled him under the covers with me, using my body heat to warm him up to a human temperature again. His breathing was sporadic and he tried so hard to get it under control while I soothed him. I don’t know how long we stayed like that; with me spooning him to warm him up, but when we woke in the morning he was back to normal, save for his red nose, which was running very unattractively towards his top lip. I made him a cup of coffee while I sat on the edge of the bed, sipping demurely. He rolled over onto his back and smiled.

“Mornin’,” he said, stretching his arms out and yawning deeply.

“Good morning,” I replied, handing him his coffee. He sat up and took it from me with gusto, testing the temperature with a flick of his tongue before gulping down most of it in one swift movement. “That was a bit of a wild night.”

“I know. I’m glad you didn’t leave me to freeze to death though. You can never tell when the weather is going to turn here. One minute it’s serene, the next you’re a human snowman,” he placed his mug down on the table beside the bed. “Seriously, thank you. I know you were concerned about yourself but you still came and got me. I appreciate that, I really do.”

I smiled, took his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back and I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time; butterflies, fluttering away deep within my stomach. I turned away so he wouldn’t see me blush and took a big swig from my cup before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I think we should collapse the tent. As long as you behave yourself, I don’t mind you staying in here with me,” I said, staring into my empty cup. “Y’know, as long as you’re comfortable with that too.”

“Alright, as long as you’re sure,” he grinned and sat up in bed. He’d taken his shirt off sometime during the night and his chiselled, tanned chest tempted me. I just wanted to touch him, but I restrained myself. I wasn’t thinking with my brain or my heart but something much more south across the border. Goosebumps prickled my skin and I shook myself, trying to regain my composure.

“So, what do you want to do today?” I asked nonchalantly.

He shrugged, still grinning at me.

“The only things I know how to do is snowboard and drink a man under the table. And surf, obviously, but we’re not that close to the sea here,” he responded, swinging his legs out of bed and standing up, stretching his arms high towards the ceiling and bending at the waist, really stretching out his gorgeous body. At some point during the night, he’d lost his trousers too.

“Did you end up too warm last night?” I asked, addressing his partially nude appearance.

“I think they call it paradoxical undressing,” he replied, winking at me. “When you’re so cold you think you’re hot, so you undress yourself to cool down.”

I nodded, seemingly agreeing with him. He looked through the curtain at the tent he spent part of the night in. “I should get my bag. I have some more comfortable clothes in there.”

“I dare you to go get it like that,” I laughed. He shook his head at me.

“It’s empty out there, I don’t think anyone will see me in my jocks,” he laughed back.

“I wasn’t thinking of you having an audience, just how cold it’ll be,” I replied. The snow laid thick on the ground, at least a few feet deep.

“Ah, that won’t bother me. Back in a tick,” he slung open the door and hopped into the snow, battling his way towards the tent. He returned shortly with a duffel bag and a sleeping bag. He pulled on a pair of drawstring joggers and climbed back into bed. “It’s good to just relax, isn’t it?” he mused, making himself cosy. He patted the bed next to him, inviting me to come and sit with him. Again, my attraction acted for me and I climbed into bed next to him. He hooked an arm around me and pulled me close. “You’re a diamond, Jules.”

He planted a kiss on my head, smelling my hair while he did. We chatted for a while, about how fortunate it was that our paths had crossed. He told me little anecdotes about Australia and his family, about his dream job to be a surf instructor in the summer and a snowboard instructor in the winter. I didn’t have any aspirations but I enjoyed listening to him talk about his so passionately.

“Well, teach me,” I said as he explained different snowboarding techniques.

“Seriously?” he replied, sitting up and looking at me intensely. “Because I will. Get dressed, we’ll go outside now and I’ll show you the basics.”

“Alright,” I jumped up and began pulling on the warmest clothes I had. I hadn’t purchased anything remotely appropriate for the weather here and Michael noticed.

“No, that’s not going to cut it. You need proper outdoor gear. You got any money to get some snow-clothes?” he asked, tugging at my thick thermal leggings and wispy jumper.

“Yeah, I do. Why, do you think we should go into town and get some things?” I pulled on another jumper and sat down in the driver’s seat. “Sounds like an adventure to me.”

We drove into town and browsed the skier’s shops. I purchased some appropriate snowboarding gear and we returned back to camp. Michael had brought his snowboards with him and he attached my feet to an old, faded board and pulled me up to a standing position, then dragged me over to a small hill. He set about trying to teach me basic manoeuvres, holding me at arm’s length while I kicked back on the board. Every time he let go of me and I slid down the hill, I ended up on my bum at the bottom. My balance was none-existent and I could tell Mike was getting slightly frustrated but he laughed with me every time I fell or wobbled.

“You’re definitely not a natural,” he laughed, pulling me back up into a standing position once again. “Either that or you need to improve your listening techniques.”

By the days end, I had managed to make it to the bottom of the hill and stop without falling over. Mike was so excited and proud of me, he high fived me and near enough knocked me over.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to get it! I’m so pumped right now!” his smile was so wide I was surprised he didn’t split the skin. His white teeth shone bright against his tanned skin. “You are amazing! Like, really amazing!”

I shrugged bashfully, unclipping my feet from the snowboard and stretching my legs. Mike scooped up his board and leant it against Betsy, wiping it down with his sleeve.

“I’m hungry,” I said, a little shocked that I actually had an appetite.

“Yeah? Well, do you want to go out for something to eat? My treat,” Mike replied, climbing into Betsy and taking off his jacket and thermal shirt, his taut chest flexing with each movement he made.

“What, like a date?” I asked, following him inside.

“No, not really. Like a thank you, for letting me stay with you. You didn’t have to do that,” he grinned at me. “Unless you want it to be a date?”

“I’m not sure what I’d like, to be honest,” I replied, taking off my jacket and undressing to my thermal underclothes. I put on some fresh clothes and watch him as he sauntered about the van, stretching his arms in front of any reflective surface he came across, making his biceps dance. The more he showed off his body, the less attracted to him I felt. I wanted to get to know him more, but right now his meathead persona was putting me off. He had every right to be proud of his body, but I didn’t need a demonstration every time he took off his shirt. I waited patiently for him to finish admiring himself and to get dressed, before asking him where he wanted to go.

We drove into town and spoke candidly about our day, joking about how useless I was to begin with. We went to a fondue restaurant and I genuinely enjoyed his company. He was boisterous but not overbearingly so. He was passionate about what he spoke about and used his whole body during conversations, his hands sometimes flailing with enthusiasm. My mind rudely began to drift and I began watching the television mounted on the wall behind the bar. It was playing a music video and I suddenly became aware that I was watching Sam; playing his guitar, surrounded by floating picture frames. And there was a woman. I couldn’t see her properly, but she was very pretty. My stomach sank. It was so bizarre and unfair of me to feel the way I did, but it didn’t stop the apprehension, dread or despair building up inside me. I had enjoyed a brief affair with Gabby and as much as I told her that I didn’t give Sam a second thought during that time, I did. I felt guilty throughout. I felt guilty sitting here with Mike.

“Are you still with me? Hello, Jules?” Mike interrupted. He followed me gaze to the television, watching Sam with me. “What? Do you like him? He’s big in Oz right now, Newton Faulkner,” he shook his head, laughing. “Delicate guys playing delicate guitars singing delicate songs.”

I gave Mike the side-eye but thought better of arguing with him. He was entitled to his opinion, especially seeing as he did not know Sam like I knew Sam. And he was right, Sam was delicate, but he was also hilarious and sweet and occasionally forceful. He knew what he wanted, he was confident when he needed to be, shy when wanted to be. The video ended and I gave my attention back to Mike, but he insisted on asking me about Newton Faulkner, if I liked music like that.

“Because to me, it’s like pandering ‘oh woe is me,’ music. I like my music to be heavy, I love a good beat, y’know,” he explained, downing another beer.

“Sam likes that kind of stuff too…” I began, before stopping myself. “I mean, me too. But I also like soft, delicate stuff. I feel like it speaks to me on a different level, like he’s reached into my life and taken my thoughts and feelings and my emotions, all the private conversations I’ve had, all the dreams I’ve dreamt and he’s understood them completely and wrote them into a beautiful, meaningful song. I guess that’s why I like him and his songs.”

Michael nodded, seemingly understanding, before delving back into the fondue. I sat back in my seat, still watching the television screen. Some girl band was singing about calling the shots now and I grimaced. It seemed pretty appropriate, given the situation. I hadn’t felt like wanting to go home for a while but now it came over me like a massive water balloon, exploding over me and dousing me in the realisation that no matter how far I go, no matter where I go or who I meet, my heart, body and soul will always belong to Sam. I turned my head slowly to face Michael. He was chewing aggressively, a long string of cheese dangling out of his mouth and in that instant, he repulsed me but for now, I was stuck with him. When we left the restaurant later that night, he put his arm around me as we walked back to my van. I smiled at him, but I wanted to run away.

“I’ll call the garage tomorrow and see where they are with my car. I’m hoping I’ll be able to pick it up tomorrow,” he chattered while I listened politely. I was hoping he could pick it up too. He blabbered on about things I just did not care about and he was fast wearing out his welcome, despite treating me to a lovely meal. It wasn’t his fault, I just had all these feelings churning around inside me and I didn’t know what to do. I was hoping to feel better after a good night’s sleep.

I woke up the next morning to an empty bed. I could hear a muffled argument occurring outside. It didn’t bother me and I stretched out in bed, relishing in all the room I had.

“No, no, no, it was an accident, and your policy states that accidents are covered and if cars cannot be driven after an accident then the rental company will supply me with another car so I can continue my journey!”

I sat up in bed and listened intently. He was quiet for now, listening to the person on the other end of the phone.

“How have I voided the agreement? It was sheet, black ice! To be honest, I’m surprised I didn’t do more damage!”

He was quiet again, occasionally grunting a response.

“Uh huh, right. Well I suppose you’ll be happy to know that you’ve stranded me here now. I have nowhere to go and no money to get there even if I did! There was no one else driving the car!” more grunts, more grumpy responses. “What in-car camera? No one told me about an in-car camera! Well, who reads the small print?! You know what mate, you can just eff off, thanks for nothing!”

With that, he flung the sliding door open and stomped inside. He saw me sitting in bed and laughed manically.

“Did you hear that?! They’re not going to give me another car! I have no idea what I’m going to do. I don’t get any more money into my account until after Christmas! I’m meant to be flying home Christmas eve…what am I going to do, Jules?”

He sat down in the middle of the van, his head in his hands. He looked so helpless, almost childlike. I reached out and touched him on the shoulder.

“Shush, it’ll be okay…” I said softly, trying to offer him comfort. “I’m not about to up and leave you. We’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah well, I just want to get away from here now, I’m pissed off with everything!” he raised his head and looked me in the eye. “I don’t even know why I am in here with you. I have a girlfriend at home and she would go absolutely nuts knowing I’m sharing a bed with a girl I’ve only just met, no matter how desperate the situation was.”

I was taken aback by his admission. In the two days we had spent together, he had never mentioned a girlfriend, not that it bothered me.

“Well, she doesn’t need to know,” I said, slinking out of bed and squatting down in front of him. “Just say you crashed in a hotel. Can you not ask someone to send you some money? See if you can get an earlier flight?” I asked. He grabbed my arms and pulled me down onto my bottom and gazed at me.

“She’ll know I’m lying and even when I tell her the truth, she’ll think I’m lying,” he sniffed and sighed. “I need to get home. I need to go now.”

I shook my head. He was gripping my arms so tightly it was beginning to hurt. I tried to peel his hands off of me.

“I’m sorry Mike but I can’t help you any more than I already have.” I stood up and walked over to my small kitchen to make us both a cup of coffee. “Is there not an embassy or something we can go to?”

I stood over the sink, stirring hot water into two mugs before dumping the spoon in the basin. I picked up a mug to hand to Mike, but he was no long sat on the floor like a petulant child. He was stood right beside me, his eyes flaming like fire. He hit the mug of scalding coffee out of my hand and pinned me against the sink and his body.

“You can help me. I saw your bank balance yesterday,” he said calmly, almost soothingly. “Just the cost of a plane ticket, that’s all I need.”

I shrank away from him, all the hairs on my body standing on end, adrenaline beginning to course through my veins, although it soon dawned on me that there was no way I could fight him and there was nowhere to fly to. I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat in an attempt to regain my composure, then I looked Michael in the eye. I had welcomed this man into my home in an attempt to help him and this was how he was repaying me. The fear didn’t fade, but anger joined it.

“That may be all you need, but I’m not giving it to you,” I said, trying to sound brave but seemingly sounding scared.

He smirked and pressed closer to me, so close I could feel his breath on my neck. I flinched and tried to pull away, but I was blocked by the sink behind me. I was barefoot, dressed in a long nightshirt, I had no weapons or tools nearby, just the dirty spoon in the sink. The sudden change in Michael was bizarre but he didn’t back off.

“I’ll need about a thousand dollars. You can spare a thousand dollars, I know you can,” he whispered sweetly, reaching up and brushing some loose hair out of my face. “You’ve been so lovely, helping me out, I just need this one favour.”

“Mike, I don’t know you. I met you three days ago and I’ve since let you stay in my home and treated you like an old friend. I cannot loan you the money,” I don’t know why I was so adamant that I would not give him any money; he had lit a fire deep in the pit of my stomach and rage was beginning to bubble up to the surface. “I think you had better leave.”

We glared at each other, our eyes un-blinking, breathing heavily. His biceps were tense but I watched as they slowly slackened and he dropped his arms by his sides.

“Fine,” he replied, moving away and picking up his duffel bag. He began cramming his clothes and other belonging into it, stomping about the van like an agitated bull. I didn’t dare let myself relax. I probably wouldn’t relax until I left Switzerland. My main focus right now was to get Michael out of here, then I would pack up and leave too. I slipped away towards my bed and began to pull clothes on over my nightshirt. I felt too exposed, too vulnerable and I was trying desperately to regain control of the situation. Michael was finishing up collecting his belongings and I finally felt some of the tension leave my body. He would be gone soon. He dumped his bag by the door and turned back to look at me.

“Hey, Jules?”

I looked up at Michael. He stood near the door, a rubber mallet in his hand. The next few seconds were a blur; he pounced on me and with one swift movement, he lifted the mallet and brought it down on my head. I fell to the floor and gasped in shocked. I tried to scramble away from him but my legs wouldn’t work, I just flailed helplessly on the floor. Michael stood over me, the mallet heavy and ominous in his hand. His face showed no emotion, his eyes were dull and dark. I tried with all my strength to scuttle away from him, but it was hopeless. He lifted the hammer again, far above his head. Everything went into slow motion; the hammer started coming down, I raised my arms to protect myself, I tried to scream out…

Black.

   Tenth – Seems all the world has gone insane…

It was warm. And sticky. And it smelled of stale disinfectant. There were voices, flowing up to me like a tide, getting louder, before slowly retreating back to the depths in which they had come.

Fading in. Fading out. The darkness would lift and I would see a soft, white light, almost swirling around me. Watching it made me feel nauseous and the darkness would take over, swallowing me whole again. There was no pain, no worry, nothing. On the rare occasion I was aware enough to make out conversations, I learned a little about my plight.

“Massive cranial trauma…”

“The CT scan showed bleeding on the brain…”

“Possible weakness of the limbs, memory loss, stroke…”

I didn’t feel any of these things. I didn’t feel anything at all. I had no sense of time or space or my surroundings. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know who was with me. Voices seemed to change, they came and went. There was no consistency.

“Not a coma…just a deep sleep…”

So I could wake up. I focused all my strength on my eyes, willing them to open just a little bit. It felt impossible, like the weight of the world rested on my delicate, bruised eyelids.

“Her fingers, they’re moving…”

Damn right they were moving. I flexed my fingers; they felt like lead weights, wanting to be pulled down, but I fought with them and exercised them until they shed their weight and moved freely. I tried raising my hands to my face but they were held back; two soft, gentle hands encompassed my own and pulled them back down to a resting position.

“Jules…?”

A voice. Familiar. Loving. I grunted and tried to shift my body, but the hands still clamped mine.

“Jules, are you awake? Squeeze my hand if you’re awake.”

I squeezed. It was weak and lasted mere seconds, but I squeezed. The voice grew more excited, the hands tightened on mine.

“She’s awake! We need some help in here, she’s awake!”

The sound of footsteps, various voices, thick foreign accents. I was poked and prodded, my feet were tickled and my eyes were opened. I small torch shone in my face and I squinted away from it.

“Reactions normal.”

“Blood pressure normal.”

“Breathing normal.”

“Welcome back, Jules.”

I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the bright lights in the room. A gaggle of bodies stood around my bed, watching me expectantly. I scanned every single face, trying to find that familiar voice and the person it belonged to. A sleek black bob, watering blue eyes, teeth tobacco stained.

“Oh, Jules!”

Aunty Bea wrapped me up in a massive, consoling hug. She wept openly into my shoulder, her small body shuddering with each breath. I was so overwhelmed that nothing happened, my body was too shocked, too tired to respond. Aunty Bea pulled back and cupped my face, stroking my cheeks with her thumbs. She looked as though she had aged ten years in ten minutes, her nails were short and jagged from nervous nibbling, her clothes were crumpled and mismatched, but she was here, in this Swiss hospital, holding me, crying and kissing my battered head. I tried to raise my right arm to feel my head, but I could only raise it so far before it fell back onto the bed with a thump. I changed tactics and used my left arm. My head was wrapped in a thick bandage, I had a tube up my nose and my right arm was encased in a cast. I looked at Aunty Bea, absent-mindedly poking at my bandaged head, and quizzed her with my eyes. She nodded and pulled my arm away from my head.

“He attacked you with a hammer. He fractured your skull and your wrist when you tried to defend yourself. He drove to the hospital, dumped you outside and drove away. The police found Betsy just over the Italian border. She’s safe and that bastard…that coward, has been arrested. The police are going to want to talk to you about what happened. Do you remember what happened?” She gripped my hand and her eyes bore into me, awaiting my response. I swallowed and opened my mouth, but it felt so dry.

“Water,” I whispered.

Aunty Bea nodded and passed me a cup of water, holding it to my lips so I could drink.

“Take it slowly, just coat your mouth with it and drink it slowly,” she urged, gently tipping the cup into my mouth. I drank with reckless abandon, ignoring Aunty Bea and her instructions completely. I was just so thirsty. Aunty Bea let me drink deeply, before carefully taking the cup away and probing me again. “Do you remember what happened?”

I rested back into the hospital bed and thought hard. An image of Michael conjured into my mind; his height, his muscular, tanned body, his wavy blonde hair. I recalled meeting him at the garage while Betsy was being serviced. I remember him frantically messaging me because he had nowhere to go. I remember being cautious and wary about letting him stay with me.

Why didn’t I follow my gut instinct?

I was so angry with myself.

“Jules…?” Aunty Bea questioned. I realised I hadn’t said anything, just stared into space while I silently berated myself.

“I wouldn’t give him any money,” I mumbled, embarrassed that all of this pain and heartache could have been avoided if I had just ignored my pride.

“And that’s why he attacked you?” Aunty Bea pressed. She was squeezing my hand so hard now that it was beginning to become painful. I winced and she slackened her grip but didn’t let go. “How much did he want?”

“A thousand dollars to get a place ticket. He’d fallen into some difficulties. I had already tried to help him, but he expected me to fund his misadventure and I wasn’t going to,” I groaned and closed my eyes, furious that if I had just given him what he wanted, I would probably be on my way to my next destination, a lesson learned, some knowledge gained. Aunty Bea hushed me, stroking my face delicately.

“It’s okay, you weren’t to know that this would happen. I’m just so glad that it wasn’t worse,” her lip trembled and tears threatened to fall again but she shook her head, as if to shake away the bad thoughts. She plastered a smile onto her face. “It’s good to see you again.”

I laughed weakly.

“It’s good to see you too, Aunty Bea. Tell me, what have I missed?”

“Well, you’ve missed Christmas and New Year and we’re part way into January 2008. I’ll tell you, it was bloody hard trying to get a flight out here over Christmas. Cost me an arm and a leg…” she stopped short and looked at me. My bandaged head and my encased arm were glaringly obvious. “Or should I say, an arm and a head?” She grinned and chuckled and I laughed with her. It was easier to make jokes, everything felt less serious. We chatted about what we had gotten up to these last nine months; she told me about her boyfriend, about the dog they had bought together, about her new job, how they were planning on decorating the house. I told her about my exploits around the country, about the nice people I had met, about the mostly good experiences I had had.

“And what about Sam?” she asked softly. I wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“What about Sam?” I replied, picking at some pulled threads on my blanket with my good hand.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I wrote him a letter when I was still in Scotland but other than that, no, I haven’t spoken to him,” I bit my lip and looked at Aunty Bea. She smiled sadly. Nothing more needed to be said.

Aunty Bea rarely left my side. Luckily there was a family room at the hospital and she was well looked after by the staff there. She would regale me with little anecdotes and helped care for me; washing me and helping with my exercises. I was monitored closely to ensure there was no more bleeding on my brain and that my fractures were healing nicely. I was told I would be moved to a rehabilitation centre once they were sure I wouldn’t have a stroke or an aneurism.

Aunty Bea and I were chatting one morning, happily joking about our trip back home when two police officers entered my room. They introduced themselves and took a seat on one side of my bed. We exchanged pleasantries for a while before they started questioning me. They asked Aunty Bea to leave the room.

“Tell us, how did you meet Michael Harris?” the first officer asked. He was a man, English accent, dark hair with blue eyes. His colleague, a female officer, was blonde with green eyes, a Swiss native.

“I met him at a garage while I was getting my van serviced,” I replied, recalling our first meeting at the service station. He seemed so pleasant then, so cheerful yet cocky.

“And did you form a friendship there and then?”

“We spoke, sure. We discussed why we were there and where we were heading. Nothing unusual, nothing that made me wary or uncomfortable.”

The officer nodded and wrote something down in his notebook, looked back a few pages then returned his attention back to me.

“How did Mr Harris end up staying in your van with you?” he asked, drumming his pen against his notebook. I shifted in my bed, beginning to feel uncomfortable, like I had done something wrong.

“I left him at the garage once my van was ready and headed to a nearby campsite. It was empty, I was the only resident there at the time. He texted me a few hours later, saying he needed help and asking if he could camp with me,” I answered honestly. Both the officers were now taking notes, glancing up at me occasionally.

“And what did you respond?” the male officer asked.

“I didn’t at first as I felt uncomfortable with the situation, but then he messaged me again, saying not to worry about it and he would sort something else out. I felt bad about his situation so I told him to come to the campsite and we would figure something out.”

“And what was that? What were the arrangements made?”

“I set up a tent for him to sleep in.”

“But he didn’t sleep in the tent, did he?”

The officer looked at me, his pen drumming against the notebook, his eyes burning into me.

“It’s not like that. Initially, he went to sleep in the tent. I woke up early in the morning and it was snowing outside, like a real blizzard had taken root and I was worried about him. So I told him to come inside,” I explained. “I didn’t want him getting hypothermia.”

I started to feel flustered. I felt like I was being accused, that all this was my fault. The female officer reach out to me and patted my arm.

“Don’t worry, we just want your version of events,” she said, her accent thick but understandable.

“My ‘version of events?’ I’m telling you what actually happened!” I cried, becoming increasingly frustrated. The male officer nodded, understanding my frustration.

“We can acknowledge that, but so far you and Mr Harris have given vastly different interpretations of your meeting and your relationship,” he clarified.

“Why? What has he said?” I queried, trying to calm myself down and collect myself.

“We are not at liberty to say at this time. We just need to know what happened from your perspective. What happened after you invited Mr Harris back into your van?”

“I wrapped him up in several blankets and…” I trailed off, remembering that I had held him to warm him up.

“And…?”

“And I spooned him, to warm him up. He was freezing. I was worried about him,” I replied. I had nothing to be ashamed of, I reasoned.

“And is that the point your relationship progressed to something more serious?” the female officer asked.

“What do you mean?” I questioned.

“Is that when you relationship became physical? Did you have sex?”

“What? No! We didn’t have sex. We never had sex,” I said indignantly. “I was attracted to him but I never acted upon that. I just held him to warm him up. In the morning he was just wearing his underwear, but that was as close as we got; an innocent embrace, to help him, to warm him up.”

The female officer nodded, writing down more notes. She motioned to the male officer and he began questioning me again.

“So, you met this man, no idea who he is, where he’s from or why he is there, and you allowed him to stay in your van with you, is that correct?”

“Yes, that is correct,” I replied, feeling ever more stupid for allowing this to happen.

“And you did not have sex?”

“We did not have sex, no.”

“So your relationship with Mr Harris was not physical?”

“No.”

“So how would you describe your relationship?”

“Platonic. He needed help and I helped him.”

“But you drew the line at helping him get home?”

“I did not feel like that was my responsibility. I offered to take him to an embassy, I made suggestions to him in regards to what he could do, but he was too angry to listen,” I replied coldly. I was getting annoyed at the officer, I felt as if he was blaming me.

“What happened the night before the attack?” he pressed, oblivious to my annoyance, or just not bothered by it.

“We went out for a meal. He wanted to thank me for helping him.”

“Was this meal considered a date?”

“We both agreed that it was not a date. It was one person taking out another person to thank them for their kindness.” I added emphasis to my words, I really wanted to stress to the officers that I had not behaved in any manner to justify such a beating. The officers continued taking notes, sitting silently in their chairs. I wanted Aunty Bea to come back, to tell me it was okay.

“Where you aware that Mr Harris had a girlfriend?” the female officer asked.

“I was made aware of that the day he attacked me,” I replied, remembering Mike yelling on his phone before telling me about his girlfriend at home.

“And were you upset by this revelation?”

I laughed at the thought. By that point, my attraction to Mike had worn off. Finding out about his girlfriend had surprised me, but it hadn’t upset me.

“No, I was not upset. Just surprised,” I responded. “He hadn’t mentioned his girlfriend before.”

“Were you surprised enough to attack Mr Harris?” the male officer interrupted.

“Excuse me?” I spluttered, taken aback. “Attack him?”

The officer nodded, flipping back a few pages in his notebook, reading a few lines, then returning back to the page he was currently writing on.

“You were angry that he wasn’t available. You wanted to start a relationship with him and he rejected you. So you attacked him with a rubber mallet. He wrestled the weapon away from you and to protect himself, hit you with the hammer to disable you,” the officer said, entwining his fingers and awaiting a response. I was dumbfounded. My eyes grew wide, apprehension and anger twisted my stomach.

“You want to know what happened?” I asked, staring the officer in the eye, unblinking, unflinching, my jaw set solid. He nodded, holding his hand out, gesturing for me to elaborate. “Okay. That morning I woke up and he was outside. He was yelling on his phone to the insurance company. They had revoked his rental car for breaking the agreement on his rental contract and he was angry, really angry. That’s when he told me he had a girlfriend, because he felt that she would be upset if she found out he had stayed with me and slept in the same bed as me, even though nothing physical had happened.” I waited for a reaction from the officer but he just sat stoically, listening to me. “That’s when he said he wanted to go home and he wanted me to pay for it. I refused to and offered him other options, such as going to the embassy. He said I wouldn’t miss the money, that I could afford to pay for his flight, that he only needed a thousand dollars, but I told him no. He had pinned me against the sink in my van, he had hit a cup of coffee I had made for him out of my hand and he stood over me and told me I was going to give him the money. He tried changing tactics, he tried being nice to me but I was angry. I was angry at how he was speaking to me, angry at how entitled he felt. I told him I had been more than accommodating for him over the last three days and I couldn’t help him anymore, then I told him to leave.” I took a deep breath to calm myself down. The closer I got to describing the attack, the tighter my chest felt. “He backed off at that point and started packing his belongings away. I got dressed and sat on my bed, watching him. Just as he was about to leave, he attacked me. He produced the rubber mallet from behind his back and struck me hard on the head with it, knocking me to the ground. I tried to get away from him, but he hit me again. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in here, being told I have a skull fracture and a bleed on my brain.”

The female officer swallowed and turned to address the male officer.

“Do you have all the information you need?” she asked, her voice sharp. He nodded, closed his notebook and left, thanking me for my statement on the way out. The other officer pulled her chair closer to my bed, opened her notebook and sighed.

“I’m sorry about him. He has just been transferred here and he’s still settling in. I will be making a report about his behaviour when I return to the office. However, there are some thing I need to discuss with you,” she told me. I relaxed a little, settling back into my pillows. “Mr Harris has made his own statement and it vastly contradicts your statement. I need you to confirm a few details.” I nodded and signalled for her to continue. “Mr Harris stated that the two of you had a physical relationship, that you had sex on multiple occasions. He also stated that when you suggested becoming an item and he rebuffed you, you attacked him with a hammer. Now, when we detained Mr Harris, he had no injuries and he tested positive for methamphetamines which would explain his violent behaviour. All of this will work against him in court…”

“In court?” I quizzed. “This will go to court?”

She nodded.

“Yes, this will go to court and he will plead either guilty or not guilty to the charges. If he pleads guilty, there will be no trial. If he pleads not guilty, it will have to go to trial and you will be called in to give evidence. Don’t worry, there will be a support system in place for you. If you do not want to face him, we can arrange for you to give evidence via video-link or from behind a curtain. We want to make this as easy as possible for you. Now, I’m sorry for going over this again but I need to confirm a few things; you said you never had sex with Michael Harris?”

“I did not have sex with him.”

“And you did not imply wanting to begin a relationship with him?”

“No, I did not.”

“And finally, you did not attack him?”

“I did not attack Michael Harris.”

“Thank you.” She stood up from her seat and began packing away her belongings. She smiled warmly at me as she turned to leave. “You have been very brave. I am handling your case so I will keep you informed of any changes and update you in regards to progress. It was nice meeting you, Miss Harlow.”

She left and Aunty Bea returned. She brought me a plastic cup of vending machine hot chocolate and sat quietly at my side. She had heard everything. And she was furious.

“That was victim blaming. That guy should not be a police officer,” she fumed while I sipped my warm chocolate. “Don’t you worry. We’ll nail that bastard.”

  Eleventh – But the lights are so bright that they blind you…

I was moved to a rehabilitation centre a few days after my police interview. It was high up in the mountains and it was so breathtakingly beautiful; the snow-capped hills, the tall thick trees, the serenity of the lodge in which the rehabilitation centre was based. I didn’t realise the extent of my injuries until I arrived. I had to learn to walk again, I had to learn how to spoon food successfully into my mouth and I had to do exercises to regain strength in my right hand. Frustration was a daily occurrence and I became so irritated with my broken body. Some days I didn’t want to move at all, I just laid in my bed, watching the snow fall so quietly to the ground. I felt so lost and lonely, despite Aunty Bea visiting daily. I didn’t regret my adventure, I just regretted being so trusting, so naïve.

One day, a new nurse entered my room and took a seat on the edge of my bed. She was an older lady, blonde with intense green eyes. She smiled at me, a sort of mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“I hear you’ve not been doing your exercises,” she said to me, resting her hand on my leg.

I stared at this woman; her roguish smile, her bouncy blonde hair, those deep green eyes. The last thing I wanted was this woman coming in here to berate me.

“I’m not going to make you do your exercises, that’s not what I am here for. I’m here to get you out of this rut,” she explained, peeling my covers back and exposing my weak, spindly legs. “Your legs are fine, you just need to walk more. It’s that hand I’m concerned about.”

I looked at my right hand. My fingers wiggled and I tried to clench them into a hard fist, but it was feeble and puny and it hurt, a sharp pain ebbing up my arm into my elbow. The cast was off now and instead I wore a wrist support.

“What do you suggest?” I asked.

“Writing. Write as much as you can,” she replied. She then ducked down by the bed and I heard her shuffling some things about. She popped her head up a few seconds later and produced a stack of paper and a ballpoint pen. She placed them on the table beside my bed, then pushed it over my bed. “Write about anything. Write a story, write your thoughts, doodle, anything that keeps your hand moving.”

“How about letters?” I suggested.

“Anything! You want to write letters, you write letters. I’ll get you some envelopes and stamps if you want them posting, but I’ll only bring them if you keep up with your leg exercises. Deal?”

“I suppose so,” I replied half-heartedly.

She smiled that mischievous smile again and pressed the pen into my hand.

“No time like the present,” she said cheerfully, before making her exit.

I stared at the blank, pristine sheet of paper. I had all the time into the world to pen all the feelings and emotions I had felt over the past few weeks and months. There was only one person I wanted to talk to about everything.

 Dear Sam,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can’t say the same for myself, unfortunately. I’m in Switzerland at the moment, in a rehabilitation centre. A nurse here suggested I write to strengthen my wrist and hand, and I couldn’t think of anything or anyone else I wanted to write to. Please don’t worry though, I’m on the mend I hope to be back on the road soon. Aunty Bea is here with me, so I’m not alone.

 I stopped to think. I wasn’t sure if I should divulge to Sam what had actually happened. I know he wouldn’t judge me, but I also just wanted to forget that it ever happened. Telling Sam would make it too real.

I was in an accident that fractured my skull and shattered my wrist. It was my own fault really; I misjudged my ability to drive in the snow! When all is said and done, I’m going to come back to England. I don’t think I can manage by myself right now; I’m having some memory issues and my fine motor skills are not the best, but I’ll power through. Anyway, how are you? You’re a big rock star now! I’m so proud of you and everything you have achieved. I’ve missed you so much, not a day has passed that I haven’t thought about you and our life. The pictures of the two of us hang proudly around my van and I fall asleep with you watching over me…

 This letter was beginning to sound very soppy but I wanted to stress to Sam that I hadn’t forgotten him. I would never forget him. I placed my pen down and sighed, rubbing my temples with my good, left hand. Everything I wanted to say to him these last few months had been knocked out of my head. I was struggling to remember the places I had been to, the people I had met. The most prominent memory I had was the rubber mallet swinging through the air, getting closer and closer…

 I love you, Sam. I never stopped and I never will. And it breaks my heart because I don’t know if you waited for me or if you hate me. I don’t know if you ever want to see me or speak to me again. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I chose a solo adventure over exploring our life together. I can’t even remember the experiences I’ve had, everything just feels futile right now and I’m wallowing in unrelenting grief.

I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you. It felt good to off-load. You keep doing what you’re doing, Sam. You’ll go really far and I’m so excited to see what you do next.

All my love,

Jules

I added the address of the rehab centre, added Aunty Bea’s house as the return address and folded the letter neatly and set it to one side. I then pushed the table out of the way and swung my legs out of bed. I needed to get better. I needed to get home to Sam.

The next few weeks were gruelling and slow. I posted my letter to Sam and regularly exercised my legs and hand. I even exercised my brain; completing word searches and riddles. Aunty Bea brought Esmeralda and I practised some chords, trying to strengthen my grip and improve my dexterity. I hadn’t received a letter back from Sam but I wasn’t worried, I was so far away. It would take time for a letter to reach me, but as one month passed since I sent the letter, I chanced a phone call to Sam. There was no answer, just the sad dial tone of a phone that had been disconnected. My heart sank. I wanted to speak to him, despite the anxiety that rose in my stomach while I dialled his number. I mused to Aunty Bea, telling her how rubbish I felt and how I wished I had never left.

“Don’t be silly. I would say adventure before dementia but you can’t remember the first six months of your travels anyway,” she laughed, jibing me. “You’ve done so much for a young girl. You shouldn’t regret any of it.”

“Even getting hit in the head with a hammer?” I replied coolly.  

“Even that. Now you know that even the nicest person can be a dickhead,” she leant back in her chair. “He’s going to court tomorrow,” she added casually. I turned to face her.

“Why did no one tell me?” I asked, apprehension bubbling away inside.

“You are doing so well with your recovery. Nobody wanted to jeopardise that, love. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll plead guilty. Then you can focus on getting better and coming home.”

I nodded, but my anxiety sky-rocketed. Aunty Bea tried to distract me with little anecdotes about her dog and her boyfriend, but nothing could tear my mind away from the thought of having to confront Michael in court. When Aunty Bea left later in the evening, I took out some paper and a pen. I needed to vent to somebody, even if that somebody didn’t write back.

Dear Sam,

I’m not sure if you received my last letter, or if you didn’t read it, or if you did read it and disregarded it. I’m sorry for writing again but I didn’t know who else to talk to. Things move so slowly up here and I feel as if I’m crawling towards a finish line. I can walk without a Zimmer-frame now, I just use a cane when traversing long distances. Aunty Bea said she will get me a pimp cane and I’m holding her to that. The TV in my room only shows Swiss soaps and sitcoms and I don’t understand a word of it. I had thought that being immersed in a culture would mean I would pick up on the language but I haven’t. They tell me to relax a lot. I do find it hard to unwind; I feel so tense, like a tightly coiled spring. One false move and I’ll ping away and I don’t know where I will land.

I think about you all the time. A nurse will see me and he’ll have a little beard, or they’ll say something that you say and my mind will jump to you. Wonderful you. Do you think about me? I bet you have a lot of girls flocking around you now. Lucky them. I hope you’re happy.

 I stopped writing and stuck my pen in my mouth, sucking thoughtfully. If Sam read these letter, I didn’t want him to feel bad or that he had done anything wrong, but I also wanted him to know that I wanted to come home to him. I felt so conflicted.

 Everything I’ve done, everything I have experienced, would have been ten times better if you were there to share it with me. I’m glad I travelled, I’m glad I explored what this world had to offer, but I should have realised sooner.

My whole world is in your arms.

 All my love,

Jules

 I printed Sam’s address very carefully on the envelope and triple checked the address for the hospital. I decided I would write to Sam once a day until I got a response, even if it was to tell me to leave him alone. When I went to bed that night, I thought back to our first meeting; how timid and wary I felt and how he, just by asking a simple question, put me completely at ease. I wondered if he knew back then where it would lead, if he knew he was going to ask me out, if he knew how long it would last. Questions swirled around and around in my brain and for the first time in a long time, I had a dreamless sleep. No nightmares, no thoughts, just a peaceful, deep sleep.

 Aunty Bea woke me quite late in the morning the next day.

“I have some bad news, love,” she said gently, patting my back. I rolled over and stretched in bed, yawning the sleep away. I already knew what she was going to say.

“He pleaded not guilty, didn’t he?” I asked.

She nodded and took a seat next to my bed.

“It’s going to trial, which is where the next issue comes in. The trial date has been set for next week,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “You need to testify.”

I gulped. I always knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t think it would ever happen. I thought he would come to his senses.

“How long will it last?” I mumbled, shrinking into my bed.

“I have no idea love. He might change his plea yet. There’s evidence, just no witnesses, so it’s mostly your word against his,” Aunty Bea replied. “So, you need to work hard and show him he hasn’t broken you, you’re just a bit chipped.”

I wish I could say I agreed with Aunty Bea but I was dubious. Every time I thought about Michael’s face, blank, focused, unflinching, I wanted to bolt. I wrote a long letter to Sam that night, just as I had planned. I didn’t tell him about the court case or the actual reason why I was in rehab, I tried to keep it light and vague, although I so wanted to spill out the angst and the dread I was feeling. I decided, if I was going to do this for anybody, I was going to do it for Sam.

 Over the next week, I was interviewed and prepped and molly-coddled by various different people. I went through my statement, I answered difficult questions and I exercised my legs and wrote my daily letters. Soon, the trail date was upon us and I was informally discharged from the rehabilitation centre. Aunty Bea and I were driven to the court by the same female officer that had interviewed me in hospital and I was so grateful for her support. The court was a big, old, imposing building consisting of an aged architectural design. We were ushered in and I took a seat next to the solicitor who was assigned to my case. We were introduced to each other while I was still in the rehabilitation centre and she was confident she could get a jail sentence for Michael. She smiled warmly at me when Aunty Bea and I arrived and began discussing the case notes with me while Aunty Bea took a seat behind us. She detailed the questions she was going to ask Michael and asked if I wanted to add anything. I shook my head solemnly, anxious about the day’s events. The room was filled with the dull sound of several people whispering and I kept looking around, awaiting the arrival of Michael. When it happened, he swaggered in without a care in the world and sat next to his defence solicitor, smirking smugly.

“All rise,” a young officer said, his hands behind his back, his posture unbelievably straight. The room stood as the judge entered, who then told us to sit. He began to look through the case notes, his brow furrowed, his glasses balanced precariously close to the end of his nose.

“We are here today to witness the trail or Harlow versus Harris with plea entered of not guilty on the side of Harris. Mr Harris, has your plea remained unchanged?” the judge began, before taking off his glasses and addressing Michael directly.

“It has not changed, Your Honour,” Michael replied, still smirking.

The judge nodded and returned the glasses to his face, looking at the notes again. He began reading aloud from the notes, detailing the aspects of the crime, stating that the charge brought against Michael was assault with a deadly weapon. I zoned out, my brain not being able to cope with the mass of information being fed into it. The judge’s words sounded like gibberish, the room was overbearing, the people were looking at me and I just felt so overwhelmed.

“Jules?”

A sharp elbow nudged me.

“Jules? It’s time for you to take the stand.”

My solicitor motioned for me to stand and to approach the witness box. When I was seated again, Michael’s solicitor began questioning me.

“Miss Harlow, could you please tell the court how you and my client, Mr Harris, met?” he began, his aloof demeanour causing my anguish to treble. I cleared my throat and began.

“We met at a garage,” I said softly.

“And what were you doing at the garage?”

“I was having my campervan serviced when Mr Harris arrived.”

“And who instigated the conversation?”

“Mr Harris did.”

The solicitor nodded and backed away, turning his attention to the jury.

“Do you regularly have conversations with strangers you meet in garages, Miss Harlow?” he asked, his eyes still on the jury.

“Not usually no.”

“So why did you speak to Mr Harris?”

“Because he approached me and seemed excited that there was another English speaker in the vicinity. He struck up a conversation with me, we chatted for about an hour and then I left,” I answered truthfully.

“But not before giving Mr Harris your personal mobile number,” the solicitor added for me, turning to face me. I nodded and waited for his next question. “Why did you give him your mobile number?”

“We seemed to hit it off and it was nice knowing someone who spoke the same language. At the time I did not feel threatened by Mr Harris. In fact I felt at ease in his company,” I replied coldly, suddenly feeling angry. I felt his questions were irrelevant.

“But yet when Mr Harris contacted you later in the evening to ask for your help, to ask if he could stay with you in your campervan, you insisted that if he were to come that he would sleep in a tent outside, is that correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“So if you, as you have stated, felt at ease in Mr Harris’ company, why wouldn’t you let him sleep in your campervan that first night?”

“Because even if I felt comfortable with Mr Harris, I was still a young female travelling solo and I needed to make sure that I felt safe. I felt safer with Mr Harris sleeping outside while I slept inside with the doors locked. I did not know Mr Harris well enough to allow him to sleep in my home.”

“However, you did allow Mr Harris to sleep in your home after that first night. Why is that?”

“Because it began to snow and I was concerned for Mr Harris’ health and wellbeing.”

Again, the solicitor nodded.

“So, you disregarded your comfort and safety and allowed Mr Harris to stay with you, in your bed, in your campervan, for his benefit. After this development, how did you feel in Mr Harris’ company?”

“I still felt wary, but I also couldn’t stand by and watch as he developed hypothermia.”

“So that is why you held him and cuddled him when you got him back inside you van?”

“That is correct, yes. I was concerned he would become ill.”

At this point, the solicitor returned to his table where Michael sat. He picked up a file and skimmed through it briefly, before addressing me again.

“If you were concerned for Mr Harris’ wellbeing, why did you not contact the proper authorities? Call for an ambulance, perhaps?” he quipped, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I did not feel like that was necessary. I was sure once Mr Harris was warmed up, he would feel better. The best way of warming him up, I felt, was to use my body heat,” I replied.

“And was it at this point that you and Mr Harris engaged in sexual intercourse?” he stared at me, his eyes blinking slowly and methodically.

“Mr Harris and I did not engage in any sexual activity at all. That night, I held him until we both fell asleep and upon awaking in the morning, I noticed that Mr Harris had stripped down to just his underwear,” I said, recalling his toned body. “I remember commenting about it and Mr Harris told me that it must be paradoxical undressing. I did not give it much more thought.”

“Miss Harlow, would you say you were attracted to my client?”

I swallowed and felt my throat close.

“I was attracted to him, yes, but that attraction waned after we had dinner that evening.”

“And why was that?”

This was my chance. This was my chance to say how I truly, irrefutably felt about Michael Harris.

“I realised during our meal that Mr Harris is an arrogant, pompous, cock-sure meathead of a man and my previous attraction to him was purely physical,” I said, finally looking at Michael and speaking directly to him. “As soon as that realisation hit, I was going to suggest to Michael that he seek some other form of accommodation but unfortunately, I did not get that chance.”

Michael stared back at me, his smug smile had dissipated and he sat with a stony look on his face. His solicitor continued to ask me questions about any physical interactions I had had with Michael and I rebutted every single one, although that did not hinder his view on what he had been told by his client.

“Listen, ask him to describe my naked body. He won’t be able to, because he has never seen it,” I suggested.

“You could have had sex while clothed,” his solicitor suggested.

“That’s not my style,” I smirked, feeling as if I was finally making headway within this case. The solicitor kept his cool as well and asked me one final question.

“Miss Harlow, my client has stated that on the third day after the two of you met, you instigated a physical altercation between the two of you after Mr Harris refused to have sex with you, stating he was in a relationship that he did not want to jeopardise any further. He claims you became angry, picked up a rubber mallet and proceeded to attack him. My client says he wrestled the mallet away from you and struck you once to disable you. Once he realised you were unconscious, he drove you to the nearest hospital and left you in their care. Is this how you recall the event?”

I inhaled deeply and prepared my reply.

“No, this is not true. I did not attack your client in any way, shape or form.”

“No further questions at this time, Your Honour.”

He slunk behind his desk and sat next to Michael. They whispered to each other while the judge motioned for my solicitor to stand. She smiled warmly at me as she approached me before turning to face the jury.

“Your honour, I won’t bore you by rehashing information that we already knew. Instead, I feel we should focus on the truth, and the truth is that Mr Harris attacked my client, Miss Harlow, with a rubber mallet. This was an unprovoked attack; it was not sexually motivated and it did not occur because my client attacked Mr Harris. Miss Harlow is and always will be an innocent victim of Mr Harris’ rage.” She cleared her throat and turned to me. “Miss Harlow, could you would please describe to the court the moments leading up to the attack?”

The jurors all turned their attention to me and waited for me to begin. I looked at Aunty Bea; she offered me a reassuring smile and nodded, egging me on.

“On that morning, I awoke to find that Mr Harris was not in bed. I could hear him outside on his telephone. He was angry as there was an issue with his rental agreement and the rental company would not provide him with a new lease as he had crashed the previous car that had been leased to him,” I looked at Michael and I hope my eyes burned into him. “When he came back inside, he was very fractious and worried about his situation, stating he had no money, nowhere to go and no way of catching an earlier flight home. I made some suggestions to him, such as going to an embassy, but he refuted every idea I offered to him. He then asked me for money so he could fly home. At this point, his welcome in my home was worn out and taking into context that I had only known him a few days, I did not feel comfortable loaning him any amount of money. At the time, I had been making us both a cup of coffee and when I refused to hand over any money, Mr Harris hit the cup out of my hand and pinned me against the sink. I felt very vulnerable and scared as I am only a small woman and I was dressed in a nightshirt, so I felt exposed. I asked Mr Harris to leave and to my surprise, he backed off and began to pack away his belongings. I took this chance to get dressed and I sat on the edge of my bed, watching him. As he was about to depart, he shouted my name to get my attention and when I looked over at him, he was coming towards me with the mallet. I had no time to react, he just hit me with it and I fell to the ground. I tried to get away from him but he hit me again. I don’t remember anything after that.”

My solicitor nodded and addressed the jury again.

“In a moment you will see pictures of the injuries my client sustained from this attack and also pictures of the weapon in question, as well as pictures of the crime scene. I implore you to study these pictures, take in every single detail and you will soon realise that my client is an innocent, hapless victim and should be treated as such.”

At this point I returned to my seat to witness the rest of the proceedings. Michael took the stand immediately after me and he tripped up so many times when recalling his fabricated story it was almost comical. I watched the jury, eyeing their reactions. I saw the picture of the rubber mallet; it looked as if it had only ever been used for hammering tent pegs, safe for the blood splatter on the handle. There was a picture of Betsy; a pool of congealed blood on the carpet, blood sprayed up the countertops, my belongings strewn everywhere. And finally, there was picture of a pool of blood, bright glistening red compared to the soft, white snow it fell upon. That’s where he had dumped me outside of the hospital. The nurse that had found me testified at the trial as well; how she thought I was dead, that she had never seen so much blood from a person that was still alive. I could hear Aunty Bea sniffling behind me, but I remained strong. I had to see this through.

Eventually, the jury retired to consider their verdict and we were dismissed. Aunty Bea and I went to local McDonalds while we waited to be called back and she congratulated me for how calm and collected I remained under pressure. I smiled assuredly and thanked her for being there for me.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, kid,” she grinned, pulling me closer for a hug. “However, I do need to tell you something.”

I stayed close to her, my head resting on her chest. I was exhausted now, too tired to get worked up about what Aunty Bea may or may not tell me. She waited for me to reply, but when she didn’t receive one, she continued regardless.

“This is being reported in the media here, the UK and Australia. You have a lot of support at home but I needed to tell you so you wouldn’t come back to a media circus. They have reported every aspect of the case, love.”

And that is when dread seeped into my stomach. Is that why Sam didn’t write me back? Because he knew the truth and that I had lied to him about it? Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he didn’t want to get involved because he didn’t want any repercussions. I didn’t blame him; my life was a mess now. I missed him so much. Aunty Bea didn’t say any more. She just stroked my head like she did when I was a little girl. She told me stories about what I was like when I was a toddler. It brought me some comfort, but I just wanted to day over with. I kept my eyes trained on the phone on the table, waiting for it to ring and summon us back to court for the verdict. When it eventually chimed to life with the news we had been waiting for, we hurriedly returned to the courthouse and took our respective seats. The judge took the bench and the jury filed in. Michael stood and waited.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” the judge asked, looking directly at the jury foreman.

“Yes, Your Honour,” he replied.

“And how do you find the defendant?”

I held my breath and clasped my hands together, feeling the tension in the room come to a head.

“We find the defendant guilty of all charges, including assault with a deadly weapon and the unlawful taking of a motor vehicle.”

The judge nodded and faced Michael.

“Mr Harris, you have been found guilty of all the charges brought against you. We will reconvene here on the twenty-first of June for sentencing. In the meantime you will be remanded in police custody. Court is dismissed.”

I jumped up, spun around and grabbed Aunty Bea, pulling her into an ecstatic embrace. I burst into floods of happy, elated tears while Aunty Bea rubbed and patted my back. I could finally relax, I could finally put this whole sorry affair behind me. Aunty Bea took me out for a celebratory meal and we laughed and joked like old times, like we were back home and I couldn’t wait to get back to normality; back to Surrey, back to Aunty Bea’s house and hopefully, back to Sam.

 Twelfth – Brown bag, black bag, red bag, blue bag…

 Aunty Bea and I had to stay a hotel for a few days while Aunty Bea made arrangements for us to go home. I didn’t mind, I felt like I was on holiday. We could go the spa and go swimming and we went shopping more than a few times. It felt great spending time with Aunty Bea without worrying about in impending court case. The day of our departure started like any other; I woke up and we had breakfast in bed, then Aunty Bea told me to get myself ready, that we were leaving soon. I had no idea she planned for us to leave that day so I was rather surprised, but I did as I was told and began packing my few belonging away. Aunty Bea went to check us out of our room and told me she meet me in the foyer. I was in for a big surprise.

When I emerged from the hotel, I was dazzled by the glorious sun bouncing off the snow covered ground. I squinted and noticed van. A van with roller-doors and a pop top roof. A van with a name.

“Surprise, love!” Aunty Bea squealed.

“Betsy?” I asked, dropping my bag of belongings and rushing up to my beloved campervan.

“She’s been cleaned and detailed, she’s absolutely spick-and-span and she’s coming home with us. Come on then, get in.”

Aunty Bea opened the passenger door for me and helped me climb in. It felt weird sitting in the passenger seat but I was eager to get going with Aunty Bea at the wheel. I was so ready to say goodbye to Switzerland and hello, England.

The drive home took us through the Alps and back through France. I slept a lot and Aunty Bea kept telling me I was a rubbish navigator but I just felt so tired, so burned out. The rolling countryside passed us by, the trees reaching out to endless sky, waving us goodbye as we trundled past in my trusty Betsy. Soon we arrived at the ferry terminal and set sail back across the channel, back to England. Aunty Bea was wrong though; no media circus awaited us upon or arrival home, just an excitable dog and Aunty Bea’s new boyfriend, Ian.  

“Corky!” Aunty Bea cried, scooping up the small fluffy animal and nuzzling into its neck. The dog was panting, its little tongue poking out of its mouth while she cuddled him close. “How’s my beautiful little Pom? How’s my gorgeous little man?” she cooed while held him. Ian acknowledge me and gave me an amused smile, rolling his eyes and sighing. He was a short, slim man with short, salt-and-pepper coloured hair. Five-o-clock shadow stubble dotted his face and he tucked his hands into his pockets, waiting for Aunty Bea to give him some attention. She placed Corky on the floor and enveloped Ian into a big, warm embrace, kissing his stubbly cheeks and telling him how much she missed him. They were adorable together and I longed for a hug from Sam. Ian broke away from Aunty Bea and held out his hand for me to shake.

“I’m Ian,” he said, gently but firmly shaking my hand.

“Jules,” I replied.

“I know, I’ve heard a lot about you. I expect you’ll be tired from your journey so I won’t keep you. I’ll be ordering us dinner tonight so place your preference here now.”

I laughed, happy that Aunty Bea had found such a lovely boyfriend.

“I love a good Italian but I’m afraid my appetite is rather lacking at the moment,” I replied.

“We can tell love, it looks like you’ve lost quite a bit of weight,” Aunty Bea commented. “We need to feed you up.”

I left Aunty Bea and Ian to it and retreated upstairs to my old bedroom. Aunty Bea had been true to her word and hadn’t changed a thing apart from the sheets on my bed, which were fresh and ready for sleeping in. I dumped my bag on the floor and fell onto my bed, relishing in the comfort it offered. I looked over at my bedside table. A picture frame laid flat against the surface, the photograph inside hidden from view. I lifted it and Sam’s wonky smile greeted me. I traced my finger along his smile and smiled back.

“I’m home,” I whispered, content. “And I’m coming back to you.”

I woke up to a little sniffing snout in my face. Corky, Aunty Bea’s Pomeranian, had made his way into my room and given me an impromptu wake-up call. I stroked his soft head and rolled over in bed, looking at the stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars I had placed there many years ago. I could hear the soft mumblings of Aunty Bea and Ian discussing something downstairs. I decided to make an appearance and I made my way downstairs. Aunty Bea and Ian hadn’t heard me and as I crept closer to the kitchen, I heard the tail end of their conversation.

“It will break her heart…” I heard Aunty Bea whisper. “But at least she’ll know why he didn’t write back.”

“We just have to figure out the best way to tell her, I guess,” Ian replied.

“Tell me what?” I asked, traipsing into the kitchen and struggling to pull myself up onto a stool at the breakfast table. Aunty Bea and Ian looked at me, sympathy etched into their faces. Aunty Bea sighed and opened one of the kitchen drawers and took out a wad of envelopes.

“I’m sorry, love,” she sighed sadly.  She pushed the envelopes over to me; they were kind of worn but still looked new. Every single one had a big, red notice stamped upon them.

“RETURN TO SENDER.”

I gasped, looking at the addresses. Sam never received my letters. He never read them. He just sent them straight back. I felt tears well in my eyes and I sniffed loudly.

“That’s that, then,” I mumbled. I picked up the envelopes and looked at my writing. I looked at the dates. Every letter in the pile were the ones I had sent from Switzerland, the one I sent from Scotland wasn’t there. I cleared my throat and calmly and methodically began to rip up the letters. I tore them in half, then into quarters and I kept ripping and tearing until all I had was white and brown confetti.

“I ruined everything.”

 I went back to my room. I didn’t want to be around anybody. What did I expect? Reams and reams of love letters from Sam? A big bouquet of flowers awaiting me when I returned? I broke his heart and shattered it into a million pieces, yet I expected his forgiveness and acceptance. I didn’t deserve that. I deserved exactly what I had; nothing.

Over the next few days, I took to staring out of my bedroom window; watching the world pass me by. I saw parents with their kids, skipping along the pavement on their way to school. I saw young couples walking along, holding hands, chatting innocently. I felt so numb inside. I had no feelings at all, no urges, no motivation. I just stayed in my pyjamas and watched and waited. I didn’t know what I was waiting for; maybe I hoped on a subconscious level that maybe one day, if I waited long enough, Sam would come. He would come and see me and tell me how much he missed me and how much he loved me and he would never, ever let me go.

Aunty Bea’s concern for me grew. She took me to the doctor, who prescribed anti-depressants. I would stare at the box on my nightstand, not wanting a tablet to make me feel things I didn’t want to feel. I deserved this. I deserved this for leaving. I was referred to counselling and I went and spoke to a woman who scribbled in a little notepad who asked me about my thoughts and feelings and suicide. She tried to convince me that I had done right by leaving, that I was right to follow my dreams, but why did I feel so wrong?

“I ruined everything. I ruined my life,” I said to her, too tired to even feign emotion.

“And why do you think that?” she replied, jotting in her little book, the pen making an annoyingly loud scrawling sound.

“I don’t think that, I know that,” I responded, staring at her pen as it looped and dove over the page. “If I hadn’t have left, I wouldn’t be miserable right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I would still be with Sam.”

“But you might not have been. You might have split up.”

“I don’t think we would have. Once he got his album out and relaxed a little, we would have been right back on track.”

“Is that what you really think?”

“That’s what I like to believe,” I said, suddenly realising that I had created some sort of twisted fantasy world where I never left and Sam and I were blissfully happy. Too happy. Unnaturally happy.

“If you were to meet Sam again, what would you like to happen?”

“I’d like him to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“Forgive me for leaving him.”

She stopped writing, placed her pen down and stared me out.

“Jules,” she sighed, looking exasperated. “You left because you followed your dreams. You made that very clear during our first session. You wanted to see as much as the world as you could and you did, granted it ended badly but you did. How do you think you would feel if you stayed with Sam and never realised your dream?”

I thought about it, remembering my reasoning twelve months ago, when I was making plans to go. If I didn’t go, I’d regret it forever.

“I think I might have ended up resenting him,” I replied. She nodded, agreeing with me.

“And because you left, you’ve pushed that thought of you resenting Sam onto Sam. You’re expecting him to resent you for leaving, whereas if he was any kind of compassionate human, he would understand that you did what you had to do, just like he’s doing exactly what he has to do. Are you following me?”

“Yes. Yes I understand.”

“I think you need closure,” she explained. “Which, given the circumstances, will be hard to achieve. So instead, throw your energy into something else. A hobby perhaps, or a job. Something to distract you and maybe one day, you’ll feel closure without the need of a confrontation. What do you think?”

I did think about it. I thought long and hard. After I left the session, I climbed into Aunty Bea’s battered old Beetle and set off. I had an idea of how to get closure.

 I parked up outside of Sam’s house and waited. There was no movement, no people milling about inside. It was empty. The ornaments that once stood outside were gone. They had moved away. Sam never received my letters because he didn’t live here anymore. As I sat and stared at the house, my eyes watering, a man approached the car window and knocked. I jumped, startle by his sudden appearance, before winding down the window to see what he wanted.

“Why are you staring at my house?” he asked.

I quickly wiped my eyes and replied.

“I’m sorry. Somebody I used to know lived here and I wanted to see if he was still here.”

“Sorry kid, we bought this house about four months ago.”

“I see. Do you have a forwarding address for the previous owners?”

He shook his head sadly.

“No can do, we don’t have one. We just sent a load of mail back for one of the kids that lived here,” he explained. “Don’t worry though; I’m sure you’ll find who you are looking for.”

I didn’t say anything, I just nodded. I smiled a quick thank you, wound up the window and started the engine. I drove home slowly, thinking about all the things I wish I could say to Sam. I drove past the park where we had our first date, past the school where we first met, past the coffee shops we used to frequent. Everything had stayed the same here, but I had changed. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was Jules, not Sam’s girlfriend or Jules, the traveller. I wasn’t Jules the barista or Jules the student. I wasn’t anything. I was just Jules; lost, lonely and afraid.

I spent most days hiding in my room. I tried playing guitar, I tried to write, I tried to watch television but nothing held my attention for more than a couple of hours. Any lyrics I managed to pen down were sad and depressing, I couldn’t tune Esmeralda properly and TV was just the same shit, different day. I still wasn’t eating much and my weight dropped further and further until I looked so sickly, Aunty Bea worried that I was anorexic. She gave me protein shakes to try and manage my weight, but the dairy made my nauseous and we were back to square one. She tried to engage me in the kitchen, having to help her prepare various treats, from cakes to cookies and everything in between. She took more time off of work to look after me but I just stayed in my room, not wanting to talk to anybody. I surfed the web to look for interviews with Sam. I watched his music videos and read articles about him, I just wanted to feel close to him by any means necessary.

One day, I was doing my usual search for anything new regarding Sam when a recorded interview popped up on YouTube. Sam was being interviewed in a bed by a woman who asked him some really personal questions and my interest was piqued. I focused on Sam, his face and his expressions as he answered honestly.

“And who would you say is your biggest inspiration?” the woman asked, leaning ever closer to him.

Sam looked down, as if in deep thought, before looking back to the woman.

“The usual people; my mum and dad, my brother and sister, the music I grew up with, the people I grew up with. A lot of people have inspired me, a lot of people helped me get where I am now,” he answered.

“And your songs, are they about anybody? They’re quite sad, like your mourning…” she asked gently.

Again, Sam looked down and thought about his answer. He glanced upwards at the camera and I felt, in that second, he was looking at me and only me.

“Yes,” he replied. “An ex-girlfriend. She left just before I released the album.”

“Awwh,” the woman replied, patting his shoulder. “I bet she’s kicking herself now!”

Sam nodded sadly, then changed the subject. I closed the laptop lid. I couldn’t watch anymore. I couldn’t sit anymore. I got up out of bed and grabbed Esmeralda and tried to strum something, anything. My fingers plucked out of time, I could hold her properly and she was tuned badly. Irritation overcame me and I threw her to the floor, turned and ran out of my room, down the stairs and out the door. I ran. I ran to the end of the street and around the corner and I just kept on going. I had to get out of my head. I had to get away. I had to get to Sam and hold him and kiss him and tell him I love him and I was so frustrated that I couldn’t. I needed relief.

I was on a bridge and I stopped. I leant over the side and watched the speeding traffic below. I leant so far over that I was on my tiptoes, watching the cars and the lorries go by underneath my feet. I shook my head, trying to shake the thoughts away and break through to the other side.

I had to find Sam.

 Thirteenth – We come in peace…

 Aunty Bea grabbed me when I returned home.

“What the hell was that?!” she yelled in my face. “You just ran! You just bloody ran!”

“I’m sorry Aunty Bea,” I cried. “It just got too much.”

She held me close while I cried, letting out all the pent-up misery I had been feeling these past few months.

“Let it out, shush, it’s okay,” she soothed, stroking my back. I clung to her and wept, my body heaving with each heavy sob. Corky sat at our feet, his head cocked as he watched the events unfold. Aunty Bea settled me on the couch and sat on the armchair across from me. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t think I’m going to feel better until I see him again,” I stuttered, trying to catch my breath.

“Then we need to make that happen. I don’t want to feel like I have to watch you like a hawk to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” Aunty Bea sighed. “You’ve tried everything to get in touch?”

“Yes Aunty Bea, everything I can think of. I sent letters, I went to his house and I tried calling him. He’s just not there anymore.”

Aunty Bea spent some time discussing what we could do but it felt futile. I couldn’t even find any way to contact him online. It felt good to cry though. It felt good to feel something again, even if it was sadness.

I tried eating more. It was for Aunty Bea’s benefit more than my own, but I felt stronger just by having a few extra calories a day. I worked on building myself up again so that if by some slim chance I was to meet Sam again, I would look healthy and welcoming. I started getting dressed instead of staying my pyjamas all day. I dyed my hair a different colour and I began exercising; mainly walking Corky while Aunty Bea and Ian were at work but at least I was getting out. I even bought myself a little Mini Cooper to get around in as Aunty Bea’s Beetle was temperamental at the best of times. I felt myself beginning to lift out of my depression but I knew in the back of mind it was because I had fooled myself into thinking I would meet Sam again.

My birthday came around and Aunty Bea made a big deal of it. She decorated the house with banners and balloons and made me a birthday cake. We wore party hats and pulled party poppers, spraying the entire living room in brightly coloured confetti and streamers. For the first time in a long time I laughed without feeling sad. As the day wound down and cake was eaten and my presents had been opened, Ian took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me.

“Happy birthday, Jules,” he grinned, pressing the envelope into my hand.

“Thank you, Uncle Ian,” I replied, opening the envelope and pulling out the contents. I scanned the words on the page once, twice, three times before I took in what they said.

“ADMIT ONE; NEWTON FAULKER AT THE 02 OXFORD.”

My eyes grew wide. I held in my hands a chance, maybe my only chance, to see Sam again.

“Jules? What is it?” Aunty Bea asked, peering over my shoulder to look at the ticket. It was at this point that I realised I was holding my breath.

“It’s a ticket to go and see Sam,” I whispered. It had never occurred to me that I could go and watch one of his gigs, maybe stay behind and see him again. The ticket felt heavy in my hand, what it represented was sinking into my soul. I checked the date to see when the gig was. Two weeks. Two weeks to wait. Two weeks to prepare.

“Thank you, Ian,” I mumbled, wrapping my arms around him and bringing him into a close embrace. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, Jules,” I replied, his face covered by my masses of hair.

I put the ticket on my nightstand, propped up against the old picture of me and Sam. I fell asleep looking at it every night. I felt an oomph deep within me, pushing me to get better, get healthier. I tuned Esmeralda properly and began playing again; I walked Corky further and further each day, sometimes having to carry him back home and I cooked up a storm, anything from sweet desserts to savoury snacks. Aunty Bea and Ian came home to something new every evening. Everybody smiled more. I just hoped and wished that whatever happened on the night of the concert, I would see Sam again. I yearned, more than anything, that I could get some closure and maybe, just maybe, something more too.

It felt like the approach to our first date all over again. Time went at a snail’s pace and I ached for it to hurry along. I listened to Sam’s album over and over again, learning every word, every inflection and every note. I learned the chords and played them obsessively. I pawed through our old pictures, remembering the memories associated with them and I wondered if Sam did the same. Aunty Bea still worried about me, I know she didn’t want me to get my hopes up too much but I couldn’t help it. I reasoned that if I knew Sam at all, he’ll be just as happy to see me as I am to see him.

Finally, the night of the gig was here and I arrived at the venue a few hours early. There were very few people waiting and I was worried; I so wanted Sam to have a huge fan base but my concerns were unfounded; the closer we got to doors opening, more people came in, starting as a trickle and growing to a flood. There was excited chatter all around me; people singing Sam’s songs and laughing and joking and I was happy to be a part of that. Finally, we were allowed to enter the main stage area and we filed in happily. I didn’t want to get too close to the front so I stayed at the centre in the middle of the crowd and took in the atmosphere; the dark room, the low chatter, the music being played over the speakers, it was electric. Everything was electric when I was around Sam. I closed my eyes to really absorb everything; the flow of the crowd, the low murmur of voices, the heavy, humid air, it shrouded me and I smiled both inside and out. Suddenly, the crowd erupted into cheers and Sam, my beautiful Sam, appeared on the stage with his guitar. He smiled and greeted us, asked us how were doing. There were various responses, none I could make out. I stayed silent, just watching him; the movement of his body, the way he spoke, the way he smiled his wonky smile. I smiled back. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling.

He played his whole album, stopping occasionally to regale us with little narratives about the songs. He got us to participate, whether it be by clapping or singing and harmonizing, he made sure everybody felt involved. It was magic. I never wanted the night to end. But it did end; he left the stage, the lights came up and the audience began to file out. I slunk to a dark corner and waited there for the last of the crowd to dissipate before emerging. Everything was so quiet and I didn’t know where to go or what to do. There were some doors next to the stage so I thought that would be the best place to start. I approached them and slowly reached out to put one open when all of a sudden, it swung open and I was greeted by a big, burly man.

“What are you doing?” he asked gruffly, stepping to the room, the door being held open behind him.

“I erm, I’m…” I stuttered, trying to find my words.

“Well? You shouldn’t be here, come on, go,” he said forcefully, blocking the doorway with his body. I couldn’t go, not when I had come this far. I peered over his shoulder, trying to see somebody, anybody I knew. The hallway behind him was empty and I felt my shoulders sag.

“I just wanted…” I tried to say, but the man interrupted me.

“You just wanted to what? Meet Newton? If he wanted to do a meet and greet, he would have handed out wristbands. Now go, we’re closing,” he told me abruptly and began moving away from the door to escort me out. As he moved, I saw a woman further up the hallway. I couldn’t see who it was exactly but I took my chances.

“Lottie!” I shouted, hoping it was who I thought it was. The woman looked and saw me and the man. She squinted, then started to approach us.

“Jules…?” she asked, opening the other door as she approached me. “What are you doing here? What’s happening?”

“Lottie…I came to see Sam. I’m sorry, I know I’ve overstepped the line but I have to see him. I need to see him,” I gabbled, reaching out for her. The man stepped in to stop me but Lottie motioned for him to back off. He did as he was told and took a step backwards, placing his hands behind his back.

“Jules, I don’t know what to say. You really messed him up, you broke his heart,” Lottie said, although her tone was a mixture of coldness and empathy.

“I know. I know what I did and I know need to make it right, somehow, some way. Please. Please help me,” I begged. She looked to the ground, as if she was considering what to say next.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t want him getting hurt, Jules.”

“I’m not here to hurt him, I promise. Please, please let me see him,” I was getting desperate. I was so close. Lottie looked at the man who I presume was a security guard. I think she wanted his take on the situation but he stayed indifferent, staring straight ahead. She sighed and backed away.

“Follow me,” she said, beginning to walk down the hallway. I followed her closely, unable to keep the smile off my face. She took me to a room, empty apart from a dressing table, a couch with a table with flowers in a vase and a few guitars. “Wait here,” she told me, before leaving and closing the door after her. I was alone in the simple room. I didn’t know what to do; should I sit or stand? Be relaxed or maintain good posture? I was so nervous that I just circled the room, brushing my fingers against the frets on the guitars, gently touching the petals on the flowers before I went over to the dressing table. There were bits of paper and notes strewn about, mostly ideas for songs or excerpts of dreams. Amongst them though was an old Polaroid of a couple, both with white ice cream daubed on their noses as they held up their dreadlocks in mock ponytails. Me and Sam. He still carried me with him. I was so engrossed that I didn’t hear the door opening behind me or a person entering the room.

“Jules?”

His voice was as soft as silk and it slid through the air and warmed my ears. I turned, I felt so slow, but I faced him. He was the same as he had been; tall, kind of stocky, dreads hanging down his back, a little goatee trimmed into submission. We faced each other for what felt like hours but must have only have been seconds. The next thing I knew, we were walking in unison towards each other and his mouth was on mine, kissing me so deeply, so hungrily, his hands wrapped around my tiny waist, pulling me closer, so close I’m surprised we didn’t meld into one.

“I missed you, I missed you so damn much,” he cried, still kissing me, not letting me go.

“I know, I missed you too, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” I replied, crying too, returning each kiss. “I love you, I love you so much, I’m sorry.”

It felt as though we were stood stock still while the world turned around us, nothing else mattered in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the reunion between me and Sam. I could have stayed like that forever, happy in his embrace but everything comes to an end eventually. Sam and I broke apart and went back to looking at each other, speechless. He swallowed and opened his mouth, trying to vocalise what he was thinking, what he needed to say.

“I got your letter,” he whispered. “Thank you. I was so worried you’d forget about me. I so wanted to write you back but I didn’t know where you were and I didn’t want to intrude.”

“I sent you more letters when I was in Switzerland but they never got to you. They were sent back to Aunty Bea’s house. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me, I thought you hated me,” I replied, taking hold of one his hands and squeezing it, making sure he was real, that all of this was real.

“I could never hate you, Jules. I tried to, to try and make it easier, but it made things harder,” he took my hand and walked us both over to the couch where we took a seat. “I would dream about you coming back, saying you made a mistake. I’d dream about us being together again. Everything felt so raw, so painful. Recording that album damn near killed me and you leaving, well, I felt like I had nobody to talk to about the strain. I needed somebody and you are my somebody. You always have been and I suspect you always will be.”

“Are you mad?” I asked tentatively. He looked thoughtful for a moment, squeezing my hand and fondling his beard.

“No. I’m surprised though. Lottie literally just came over to me and said I had to come with her. I told her I was busy but she said that this wouldn’t wait and dragged me over here,” he laughed, his wonky smile coming out and warming my heart. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You played a great show,” I grinned. He laughed again and pulled me close, his hands sliding into my hair as he held me close.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I will always love you.”

“I love you too, I never stopped,” I replied, relaxing into him. We stayed like that for a while, cuddled close, listening to the low mutterings of voices outside. I listened to his heartbeat and tapped out the rhythm on his chest like I used to.

“So,” he said eventually “what do we do now?”

 Epilogue – But you were always on my mind, yeah…

 Waking up was a treat now. The sun always seemed to be shining, the house always seemed busy and buzzed with life. There was always music playing, always discussions to be had, adventure awaited us around every corner. Sam was a whirlwind of energy while he was recording, sometimes he wouldn’t even get dressed; he would waltz around in his underpants with a pen tucked behind his ear and a guitar in his hands, strumming and plucking and vocalising, trying to see how high he could go. He was always pushing the limits of his capability and I was there for it all. The light was back in our lives again and I welcomed each day with my arms spread wide. Sam and I would stay up late, talking about all the things we did while we were apart. I told him about Switzerland and the ugliness that had happened there. He told me about the groupies that propositioned him. We told each other our hopes and dreams and what is more beautiful than building a dream around somebody else and knowing and acknowledging that the other person is building a dream around you too?

 When night time rolls around and we climb into bed together, the lights go out and we cuddle in close, we whisper to each other;

 Close your eyes

Get some sleep

It’s too late now

To change anything

But it’s alright

Get some sleep

It’s so dark outside

So close your eyes

And feel the world turn round

If you’re not lost…

 I guess that means you’re found…

 Goodnight.

 J + S Forever.

[breybrey246]

Life feels like a music box. I'm spinning 'round slowly and I can't get off. Let's start again.

Write it on Your Skin (Newton Faulkner)

[breybrey246]

Take everything you know, and write it on your skin so you can carry on, and forget everything. 

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