Chapter One
Alun was my first, and I thought he would be my forever. Then he was taken from me.
This is our story.
It just seemed so fucking unfair. It should have been pouring down, with heavy grey clouds, and an arctic wind swirling dead leaves around our ankles. We should have huddled under umbrellas, our tears obscured by rain. Instead, there was brilliant sunshine. Birds sang, children played in a nearby park, and lovers held hands and kissed by the pond.
Everything carried on as normal.
The vicar rumbled on, switching to Welsh and producing even more tears from Alun’s family. A small girl toddled forward, and peered into the hole that had been torn in the ground. She held a crumpled bunch of flowers, and tossed them on top of his coffin, before running back to her mother—one of Alun’s sisters.
The sun continued to beat down, but I tugged my coat closer around me. Even on this absurdly hot autumn day, I was frozen. I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again.
Alun was only twenty-one. We shouldn’t be putting his remains in the ground. He should be standing here now, chattering about obscure bands he’d seen in the pub, whistling out of key, and tangling his fingers with mine. Kissing me. Reminding me, in his seductive, lilting voice, how I’d marry him one day. How he’d keep asking until I gave in.
I’d only been to one funeral before this, for my grandfather, and that was a few years ago. I’d been an awkward, gangly teenager, subdued by the grief that surrounded me. I’d barely known my dad’s father, and so I’d kept quiet and stared at the ground a lot.
Now I wondered if everyone in the village had turned out for this. How well Alun had been loved. There must have been thirty from our combined group of University friends, and many faces I recognized from family gatherings. His family all shared his brilliant blue eyes, an unearthly shade that almost glowed at night. I’d wondered if our children, one day, would share those eyes too.
Standing beside me, Tom wrapped an arm around my shoulders and turned my head into his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Let it go.”
I’d been crying silently, and the tears continued to fall, slow and steady, blotted by his shirt.
Somebody stroked a gentle circle on my back. Probably Luce, Tom’s girlfriend.
“You are coming to the pub with us?” Yes, it was Luce. She and Tom had welcomed me into their circle with open arms, even though the only thing we had in common was Alun. They’d grown up with him in this picture postcard village in deepest Snowdonia.
His voice rang in my head. His laugh as he tried to coax me to wrap my Manchester tongue around the complicated Welsh syllables. “It’s not Tanygrisiau, it’s Tan-na- grish -eye.”
I’d never hear that voice again, unless he visited my dreams. In the shock and numbness that followed the news about his death, I’d stopped dreaming. Completely. For most of the last four years, since we first kissed on that long ago summer holiday, I’d dreamed of him almost every night. We’d have long, playful conversations and kiss and make love. God. The dreams had been so real.
When I’d told him about them, he flashed me a smug grin, those gorgeous blue eyes twinkling, and told me, “We’re a bit psychic in my family. How d’you know they’re not real?”
I’d scoffed, of course. Even though it was odd how things I swore we only talked about in dreams, he somehow remembered too.
With a start, I realized the crowd had thinned, and just a handful of us stood beside the grave.
Alun’s mum came and hugged me. “I can’t face going to the pub, so we’re going home instead. Do come and see me before you leave.”
I nodded, unable to find the words to reply. I wasn’t sure I could face the wake either.
****
In the end, I just wanted to be by myself. I’d given my apologies, taken a cab back to the nearest town with a mainline rail station, and caught the first train
Alun was my first, and I thought he would be my forever. Then he was taken from me.
This is our story.
It just seemed so fucking unfair. It should have been pouring down, with heavy grey clouds, and an arctic wind swirling dead leaves around our ankles. We should have huddled under umbrellas, our tears obscured by rain. Instead, there was brilliant sunshine. Birds sang, children played in a nearby park, and lovers held hands and kissed by the pond.
Everything carried on as normal.
The vicar rumbled on, switching to Welsh and producing even more tears from Alun’s family. A small girl toddled forward, and peered into the hole that had been torn in the ground. She held a crumpled bunch of flowers, and tossed them on top of his coffin, before running back to her mother—one of Alun’s sisters.
The sun continued to beat down, but I tugged my coat closer around me. Even on this absurdly hot autumn day, I was frozen. I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again.
Alun was only twenty-one. We shouldn’t be putting his remains in the ground. He should be standing here now, chattering about obscure bands he’d seen in the pub, whistling out of key, and tangling his fingers with mine. Kissing me. Reminding me, in his seductive, lilting voice, how I’d marry him one day. How he’d keep asking until I gave in.
I’d only been to one funeral before this, for my grandfather, and that was a few years ago. I’d been an awkward, gangly teenager, subdued by the grief that surrounded me. I’d barely known my dad’s father, and so I’d kept quiet and stared at the ground a lot.
Now I wondered if everyone in the village had turned out for this. How well Alun had been loved. There must have been thirty from our combined group of University friends, and many faces I recognized from family gatherings. His family all shared his brilliant blue eyes, an unearthly shade that almost glowed at night. I’d wondered if our children, one day, would share those eyes too.
Standing beside me, Tom wrapped an arm around my shoulders and turned my head into his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Let it go.”
I’d been crying silently, and the tears continued to fall, slow and steady, blotted by his shirt.
Somebody stroked a gentle circle on my back. Probably Luce, Tom’s girlfriend.
“You are coming to the pub with us?” Yes, it was Luce. She and Tom had welcomed me into their circle with open arms, even though the only thing we had in common was Alun. They’d grown up with him in this picture postcard village in deepest Snowdonia.
His voice rang in my head. His laugh as he tried to coax me to wrap my Manchester tongue around the complicated Welsh syllables. “It’s not Tanygrisiau, it’s Tan-na- grish -eye.”
I’d never hear that voice again, unless he visited my dreams. In the shock and numbness that followed the news about his death, I’d stopped dreaming. Completely. For most of the last four years, since we first kissed on that long ago summer holiday, I’d dreamed of him almost every night. We’d have long, playful conversations and kiss and make love. God. The dreams had been so real.
When I’d told him about them, he flashed me a smug grin, those gorgeous blue eyes twinkling, and told me, “We’re a bit psychic in my family. How d’you know they’re not real?”
I’d scoffed, of course. Even though it was odd how things I swore we only talked about in dreams, he somehow remembered too.
With a start, I realized the crowd had thinned, and just a handful of us stood beside the grave.
Alun’s mum came and hugged me. “I can’t face going to the pub, so we’re going home instead. Do come and see me before you leave.”
I nodded, unable to find the words to reply. I wasn’t sure I could face the wake either.
****
In the end, I just wanted to be by myself. I’d given my apologies, taken a cab back to the nearest town with a mainline rail station, and caught the first train
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