I wouldn’t describe myself as an athlete, but I’m pretty sure I get a personal best dashing from Flowergate down through town and over the bridge. It looks kind of strange without all the costumes, empty and open, but it makes my life easier. I’m not looking for a sea of goths.
Just one.
I’m already out of breath when I reach the foot of the 199 steps, and it’s probably a good idea to pause to catch my breath here, but I don’t. I just forge onwards, lungs screaming and legs aching as I motor up the stone steps.
I make it about halfway before I’m forced to stop by my own wheezing, and an older couple walking a jaunty terrier throw me a look of concern as I pass. I smile back.
Not dying, I try to convey with my expression.Just unfit.
It’s a couple of minutes before I’ve recovered enough to carry on, and I begin to climb again with gusto, trying the steps two at a time at first before realising that’s a death wish. I settle for climbing them in the usual fashion. I’m not going to be able to talk to Bram if I’m not alive.
But miraculously, when I reach the top, Iamalive– alive and breathing hard, with sweaty curls clinging to my temples andthe fire of a thousand deaths clawing at my calves. I’ll take it, though. I’ve got a job to do.
I march on through the graveyard, and that’s when I see it.
Heartbreak Bench.
And sure enough, there’s a familiar character sitting on it, dressed entirely in black, looking out to sea through his thick-framed sunglasses.
He doesn’t see me at first, and when he finally turns to look at me, the way that his eyes pinch in recognition makes my chest tighten. He jumps up off the bench, and I really think that he’s going to walk away from me, but at the last minute, he stops, eyes fixed on me. Waiting, like he said he would.
I don’t know what it was that made him stop, but I know that this is my chance.
I just have to make him listen.
Chapter Thirty-Three
BRAM
If I had a pulse, it’d be racing right now.
I was just wallowing in self-pity on Heartbreak Bench– the very best place for wallowing– when something on the other side of the graveyard caught my eye. It isn’t exactly quiet here, and I’ve seen my fair share of tourists and ramblers, but I haven’t paid attention to them. Not really.
Not until I saw that flash of pastel purple at the top of the 199 steps.
I knew before I turned my head that it was her.
Ok, maybe at first I thought I might have reached a level of lovesick where I was straight up hallucinating Lucy in random places, but the moment that our eyes met over the graves it hit me like a meteor.
She’s here.
I jump up from the bench, and there’s a moment when I’m so overwhelmed by emotion that I fully don’t know what to do with myself. I start to walk, though I don’t knowwhere. There’s a big part of me that wants to run to her, to meet her in the grass andswing her around in slow motion like we’re in a cheesy film, but I’m obviously far too cool to do that.
Not to mention that I need to find out why she’s here. I can’t let myself hope until then.
She rushes over to me and stops a few feet away, cheeks flushed and blonde curls ravaged by the wind.
‘Hi,’ she says, though the sound is immediately snatched away by a gust.
‘Hi,’ I reply. I still can’t gauge the tone of this visit, but she’shere.
She motions to the bench behind me. ‘Can we sit?’
I nod, and we walk the few steps back to the bench and sit down. It’s a little more sheltered here because of the church wall behind us, but the sea breeze is still pretty brisk. I fight the urge to gather Lucy up in my arms and pull her towards me.
‘I have some things to say, and I need you to listen,’ she starts, reaching to swipe a rogue curl out of one eye. ‘I practised this little speech in my head the whole way here, so please just don’t say anything until I’m finished, ok?’
My chest feels so full I can barely speak, but I manage to croak out an ‘ok’, and she nods quickly, nervously.