The Reunion

though she’d been drowned in white forever. She turned and started to walk back up the hill, but now she was walking into a wind that cut into her skin like a knife. She kept slipping, the road was steeper than she’d remembered. She fell, tried to get up, slipped again, crawled blindly to the edge of the road. There was blood in the snow, her blood. She’d cut her palm; her hands were so cold she didn’t feel it.
    She got to her feet, decided she couldn’t go back up to the house. It was too hard, too much. She couldn’t face them. She’d have to go to the village. She started walking down the hill again, tried to pick up the pace a bit. Panic began to rise in her, from her stomach to her chest, she felt vulnerable, weak; in her mind’s eye she pictured herself falling, head cracked open on the ice. No way to die, not out here, alone. And yet she wasn’t sure she was alone – she looked up at the side of the road and she felt sure, she
knew
that just behind the treeline there was something waiting, for her. Underneath the screaming wind she could hear something else – a voice, or voices, angry, accusatory, or perhaps it was someone calling for her, someone come to help? She kept feeling that there was someone following her, someone right behind her, so close they could reach out and touch her, stroke her hair, grab her around the throat. She whirled around, but there was nothing there. Nothing and no one.
    In front of her, the road started to descend more steeply towards a sharp hairpin bend. She wondered if she should stray off piste, whether she could climb directly down the hill instead of following the road. It was probably no more dangerous and it might be quicker. Shuffling her feet in order to minimise the risk of slipping, she began to make her way across the road. At the very moment she reached its centre, two headlights appeared to her left. She panicked, froze, not knowing whether to return or go over, but the car was travelling so slowly that it came to a halt a couple of feet away. The door was flung open and she heard a voice, yelling over the wind, ‘Lilah! What the hell are you doing?’
    It was Andrew, come to save her.

 
     
    14 December 1996
    Dear Jen,
    Your mum insists she’s forwarding our letters on to you, wherever you are, so we’re all going to keep writing. I do wish you’d get in touch.
    The hearing was on Thursday. As we expected, he got community service, a fine and a driving ban. He’s not going to be a human rights lawyer any longer, but I guess we already knew that. I don’t know what he’s going to do. Work with his dad for a while, I think. He’s going to move back to Reading next year
.
    Dan and Lilah were in the court for sentencing, Maggie and Ronan came too. Andrew took it as you would expect, on the chin; stood up straight as a soldier and looked the judge straight in the eye. The only time he faltered was when they read out Maggie’s letter, but then that pretty much floored everyone.
    I’m OK. It takes me a while to get from A to B, but I’ve left the chair behind and I hardly need the crutches any longer either. There’s some memory loss, but I don’t think I’ve lost anything vital. I can still recite the St Crispin’s Day speech, which is always useful. I remember almost nothing about that day, although they tell me some of it might come back to me. I hope it won’t. I remember your voice, though, in the hospital I think. I remember you crying.
    I have dreadful trouble concentrating, I find myself reading the same page of a book over and over and over and at the end I still couldn’t tell you what I’ve read. I’m hoping to go back to work in the new year. They’ve been so patient, holding the job open for me, but I don’t think they can do so much longer. Mum is desperate for me to stay here with her, but I can’t stand it, I just can’t. I have to get back to my life, whatever remains of it.
    I was hoping to maybe share a place with Lilah, she’ll need a flatmate once Andrew’s gone. I don’t know if that’ll happen though. To be honest, I’ve hardly seen her since the accident. She hasn’t been to visit much. She’s busy, I suppose. I think it’s hard for her to see me like this. We’re not what we once were.
    Oh God. My heart breaks for us, Jen, for all of us. It breaks for you most of all. Please, please get in touch. For Andrew’s sake.
    We miss you.
    Love,
    Nat
    P.S. Forgive me for going on and on about me, but I