22nd November 2019
Night
As soon as the cold air hit me, the alcohol that had lain warm and dormant in my stomach sprang to life, making me feel unsteady on my feet. Regardless, I thought if I got out of the rain and back into my hire car, I could still make the mile’s drive to my dad’s house. Reaching the driver’s door, I dug into my bag to find the key, cursing myself for not doing so when I was in the dry pub. Eventually, after several rummages, a handful of swear words and one large bead of ice-cold water that escaped my mane of hair and had run down my neck, I found it. As I pulled it out, it slipped from my hand and landed by my feet. I stooped to pick it up, the image no doubt comparable to an elderly lady trying to fit a shoe, and as I stood up again, I hit my head on the wing mirror hard enough to knock it out of its casing and send a white flash across my eyes. I tried to focus so I could pop the wing mirror back in, but as I attempted to fix it, the whole thing came off in my hands.
Perhaps it was the fact it was raining, or that I was drunk again, or maybe it was being back in the village where Chloe vanished from, but I burst into tears, clutching the broken wing mirror to my chest like it was a teddy. That was how the car that approached from behind, its main beam on, found me. Embarrassed, I tried to wipe the tears from my eyes, which was pointless as I was now soaked through. I felt the car slow as it drew close to me, and I wanted to look, but didn’t. Keeping my head low, I opened the Corsa’s door, dropped the wing mirror on the driver’s seat and closed it again. It wasn’t a good idea to drive; I couldn’t even get into the bloody thing without damaging it.
Stumbling to the back of the car I unlocked the boot, and watched the car pass out of the corner of my eye. I took out my bag, pulled my coat collar as high as it would go, and started to walk. I should have turned right towards Dad’s, but I turned left instead and kept walking. I thought about how I used to spend the evening in or around the pub, waiting for Jamie to finish working. I thought about the two occasions when I waited on my own, before we walked hand in hand in the direction I was now heading. The ground beneath my feet was the path we had walked on twenty-one years before as a couple, before going to the place where we would spend the evening making out. My mind began to drift to one night in particular, where, after meeting near the hut, we snuck into Jamie’s bedroom above the pub via the fire-exit stairs. But as I tried to recall what happened next, I was stopped by the realisation that the boy who was my first love was now missing.
Pushing the thought down, I pressed on, and after a few minutes I stood at the mouth of the lane but the darkness made it impossible to see much. However, I knew, down that lane, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, was a brick building that was once ours. A part of me, the curious part, wanted to continue walking down the lane, which felt smaller, narrower than it did back when I was young. I began but stopped after only a few paces. When we were young, all of the lights that lined the path were broken, the power disconnected, but now, far in the distance, one burnt. I guessed that was because of Chloe. A familiar and long-forgotten shudder ran up my spine. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but still I felt spooked and turned to walk away. As I did, something caught the edge of my peripheral vision, a shadow moving quickly through the light cast by the only streetlamp. I spun quickly, almost losing my footing, but I couldn’t see anyone.
‘Hello?’ My voice sounded small, the dark night swallowing it whole. I started walking backwards, uneasy on my feet, and didn’t breathe until I was on the main road. As I moved in the direction of the pub, I convinced myself it was nothing, my mind playing tricks on me. It wouldn’t be the first time. There was no one there, no shadow, no person, and certainly no ghosts. I needed to get back to Dad’s, sleep off the booze and tomorrow, I would show my face, and then, go home. There was a reason I didn’t live here anymore, and I felt stupid for thinking that it would be all right, that I would be all right if I came back.
I walked past the pub again, past the hire car that sat lonely out front. After a few minutes I drew level with Chloe’s old house. It was quiet, dark. All of the curtains were drawn. Were it not for a small light on somewhere upstairs, I would think the house was empty. I kept my head down, walked on. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I didn’t know if Chloe’s mum Brenda still lived there, but I wasn’t prepared to take any chances. Up ahead, two lights from a car shone, again, the main beam on – I slowed and shielded my eyes as it passed; the driver was looking towards me. Turning, I watched their taillights as they drove past the pub and out of the village, my gut telling me that although I couldn’t place them, they had recognised me.
I knew I should have gone back to Dad’s and got the awkward moment of saying hello over and done with, but I wasn’t quite ready. There was another place in this village I needed to visit first. Somewhere important. Somewhere I had never been before. Chloe’s grave. The cemetery was a short distance behind Chloe’s house. I remembered, when we were young, when her mother worked evenings, we would look out of her mum’s bedroom window across the gravestones, talking of ghosts walking among them.
With Chloe’s house far enough behind me, I turned and doubled back on myself. Climbing a gate, I began to search for her stone, ashamed that I didn’t know where my childhood best friend had been laid to rest. Eventually, right in the middle of the cemetery, I came across it.
CHLOE LAMBERT
1982-1998
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.
I stood silently, shifting from one foot to the other, staring at the slab of granite in front of me. I expected I would feel something: sadness, regret, even fear. But there was nothing. And I didn’t know why.
Behind me I heard a noise, a cough, and turning quickly, I could make out a person in the cemetery, near the gate I’d climbed over, but I couldn’t make out any details. For a brief moment I thought it was him, the man from our past. They coughed again, and I heard it wasn’t a him at all – it was a woman. She approached and, when she was close enough to see her features, I knew exactly who it was.