Don't Be Afraid (20 page)

 

Isabel

I kept fighting. Every day, a step more. Every day, a little more desire to get out of the house, a little less fear.

Clara was there, supporting me, encouraging me, calming me. “With a bit of practice, as you get better, we can go to La Piazza,” Clara said with a smile. “And then Edinburgh, London, Australia, the moon!” She laughed, and I laughed with her, full of hope.
The possibilities are endless
, I thought.

Again, I was breathing the winter air, on my doorstep. The first step had been easy. And now, the second. “I'm right here, Isabel . . .” Clara kept talking, but I couldn't hear her as blood was ringing in my ears so loud, and I felt dizzy and sick, and it was so frightening . . .

One step. Two steps, once more. And then another, and another.

“We are fine. Really. It's so cold and beautiful! And maybe we can go and see the roses . . .” Clara kept whispering in my ear. “Don't be afraid . . .”

And so I kept taking steps. One, two. And another, and another. Until I reached the roses Torcuil had given me, the pink-yellow ones. There were no flowers now, of course – but there would be another spring, another summer, when I could bend over and breathe in their scent, and hear the bees buzzing around me, and feel the sun on my face. This was just the beginning.

I stood in the freezing cold with the wind on my face, and I felt joyful, so joyful – no other words could describe the simple sensation of being alive. The monster inside me awoke and did its best to force me to retreat – but I took yet another step.

“Please, Isabel. Don't make yourself regrets for when your time comes,” Clara said, and her words seemed to come from long ago, from far away. “Make yourself memories,” she murmured beside me.

And then it was all too much, and I felt dizzy and I wanted to get back – but I'd done it, I'd done it.

I'd gone outside.

I was not surprised when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blue butterfly fluttering between Clara and me.

 

Angus

I blinked once, twice – a cold, white light was seeping through a gap in the curtains. Where was I? My head was sore.

All of a sudden, I remembered what happened last night with Bibi.

We'd sat together and talked, for a long time, while the rain pounded on the windows. We were both tipsy – both lonely, I suppose.

She'd leaned against me, her face close to mine, looking for a kiss.

She was beautiful, and her scent, some expensive, complicated perfume, went to my head. Her body felt warm against mine.

And then, just when I was about to fall, I'd turned my face away.

“I need to go back now, Bibi,” I'd whispered.

“Why? Why can't you stay here with me?” she'd said in a voice that was like a caress. I was only human, and desire and nearly three long years of loneliness and worry and pain weighed on my heart. To just be with her. To rest and lose myself in her, for some peace, some relief. Some happiness.

But I still got up and stood in front of the door.

“I need to go,” I repeated.

She looked astonished, like she couldn't believe what I'd just said.

“I thought . . .”

“Bibi, please. Please just let me go, okay? I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.”

She was beautiful, perfect. And she understood what it was like to live for music.

But she wasn't Bell.

And so I woke up alone, and was infinitely relieved to be so. If I thought of what I'd almost done . . . If I thought of how easy it would have been to slip . . . I hated remembering Bibi's face, the dismay and disappointment as I stood up from that sofa and told her I had to go. I shouldn't even have accepted her invitation. The hard bit was that, for a moment, she'd looked very young and very hurt.

I'd asked myself why I had gone to her flat, alone.

Because I had been tempted, because I had played with fire.

Because the offer of some comfort, of sharing the burden I carried, had seemed irresistible. Yes, I had played with fire. And I'd nearly got burnt.

I wondered how she was. If she was disappointed, or sad, or if she'd deleted me from her memory already – if that day, at rehearsals, she'd pretend I didn't exist.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table – I always kept in on, in case Bell needed me. Suddenly, just as I was looking at the screen, an email from her appeared.

 

From [email protected]

To [email protected]

Good morning
my love!

I have news for you.

I stood for
a few minutes in our garden and oh, it was
amazing. Like I'd never felt air on my face
before. I went all the way to the rose bushes,
can you believe it? I can't wait for you
to come back and we can go for a stroll.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Yours,

Bell

 

I was ashamed of my tears, but for once, they were tears of happiness.

 

From [email protected]

To [email protected]

Dear Isabel,

I wrote
this for you.

You are on a journey on foot.
You started some time ago and you are now quite
far along the road, so far that when you look
back you can no longer see where you started. The
path is long, but you know where you are going
and you are at peace. Each day all you need
to do is make that one step and you will
get there. Part of this journey is to accept that
until you have made many, many steps and found your
path again you will sometimes experience a little pain and
a little discomfort, like a stitch in your side. It'
s not enough to make you stop, but it reminds
you that you need to pace yourself and take a
breather once in a while. Sometimes the journey will take
you through forests with shadows and hidden darkness and sometimes
it will take you along meadows where friends will walk
with you and the sun will shine and birds will
sing. However, the path is the path and each step
takes you closer to where you are going. It is
a good place, with people you love and happiness and
freedom and joy. Even though you know that the journey
sometimes seems long, you know that you will be happy
when you get to where you are going. Whenever you
feel tired and think perhaps it's better to stop,
you will see a wooden sign upon which is written
the name of your destination and those thoughts will disappear.
In the evening when you are resting, the deer will
stand guard and watch over you while you sleep. You
feel their soft breath on your face and you sleep
deeply and dream of happy times.

When you arrive
, you will be filled with happiness
and feel proud that you kept going, and you will
know that you have earned the happiness you feel. You
will not be able to stop smiling. You will look
back at the road you have come along and it
will no longer be there.

All my love,

Angus

 

Angus

It snowed during the night, and a few snowfakes were still falling on me as I walked to rehearsals. I couldn't wait to get home; I couldn't wait to see Bell standing in our garden. When we were finished, I practically ran out of the hall, quickly saying goodbye to the conductor and to my colleagues, mumbling something about a family occasion and having to be there. That morning, practice had been endless – four hours felt like four days. On my way out, I saw Bibi out of the corner of my eye, sitting with some fellow musicians – I waved to them and they all waved back. All except Bibi, who turned away, pretending not to see me. As she turned, I caught a glimpse of her face and I saw sadness in her eyes. But it couldn't give me anything more than a small pang of guilt, as I rushed home to my Bell.

I drove probably a little bit faster than I should, the snow getting thicker and thicker as I headed north, and I was there at lunchtime. Our garden was covered in a blinding, beautiful carpet of snow, and everything was shining.

I stopped the car and, for a moment, I sat there, my heart beating fast. Hope was wrecking me, tearing me apart, because I could not bear to be disappointed. Not again, not any more.

I wanted to come in and see a smile for once. I wanted to come in and see Bell with her hands stained with paint, or busy in the kitchen, or simply lying there reading a book, relaxed, happy. The way it used to be.

I would have loved that with all my heart – because for a long time all that I had seen were tears, and all that I'd had was tension, and the shell of what my wife used to be sitting by the window, staring at the night, or cleaning obsessively, too anxious to stop. That was the way my life had been – Bell's distress rippling all around us, destroying her, destroying me.

That morning, after her joyous email, I had the feeling this time it would be different coming home. It would be coming home like it used to be.

But I was scared.

I was scared, all of a sudden, that things might have changed in the few hours it took me to arrive; that maybe that happy email was just for my benefit, that she was putting on an act for me. I had a million fears.

I stepped out of the car.

 

Torcuil

I stopped in my tracks. There they were, Angus and Izzy –
Isabel
– holding on to each other, as close as they could be. On the doorstep of their home.

It was their moment.

I left and walked back to Ramsay Hall, joy and some other feeling I could not name wrestling in my heart.

 

Angus

A woman was standing there, wrapped in her bright-red jacket, her long, long hair loose on her shoulders. It couldn't be her, so free and brave, standing alone in the snow – but it
was
. I knew my wife's body, and I knew the way she stood, the way she moved.

And then the woman turned around and I saw her face – yes, it was Bell, her cheeks bright red in the freezing air and a smile on her face. She threw herself into the snow, arms and legs like a windmill, and stayed there.

I wanted to call Bell and wave my hands and run to her, and lie beside her in the snow, but a part of me didn't want to interrupt what seemed like a miracle. So I advanced slowly, in silence, my boots sinking at every step. The snowy driveway was like an aisle, and the trees were white and lacy, like brides.

Bell sat up and crossed her legs. She threw her head back to look at the sky and a million snowflakes fell onto her face.

“Bell!” I called, and finally ran up to her. Her face lit up when she saw me. She threw herself into my arms. We couldn't quite believe what was happening. This was us, Isabel and me, outside, laughing and hugging and kissing like old times.

“You did it on your own! I can't believe it!”

“I'm not on my own. Clara is here. Clara?” Bell turned around, left and right. “She was here a minute ago. She must have gone inside.”

“I can't believe it,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I can't believe it.”

“I can't believe it either.” She looked down. “I don't know. It just happened. The snow was so beautiful. And I . . .” She shrugged. “I think I
forgot
to be afraid. I just forgot. And then I was halfway down the garden before I realised what I'd done. I'm so glad you came back, so you could see me.”

After that, I couldn't speak any more. I could only kiss her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, hold her tight, hide my face in her sweet-scented hair. She held me back, her embrace sweet and heady. She smelled of honey. And then she let me go.

“Oh, Clara, there you are!” Bell said then, and I turned around to greet Clara. She was standing just behind me, a smile on her face. I noticed she was only wearing a cardigan and her shoulders were wet from the falling snow, but she didn't seem to mind. I was about to say hello to her, but the words died on my lips. All of a sudden there was something different about her, something I couldn't quite pinpoint – a
radiance
coming from her. Her eyes shone impossibly green and her contours seemed to blur, like there was a light shining just behind her. Was it the glare from the sun? But there was no sun – it was hiding behind the grey clouds filling the sky.

“Well done, pet,” she said to Bell, and I felt Bell's hand slipping into mine.

And then something incredible happened, and I realised that Torcuil was right when he'd told me he'd felt something strange, something special about Clara. Of course, he always knew.
I need to tell him,
I thought confusedly as a miracle unfolded in front of me, in front of my disbelieving eyes.