Homeward Bound

The temperature tumbles the higher I climb. Goosebumps ripple across my skin. I wish I’d listened to you. I wish I’d left earlier.

It’s further than I remember. Darker too. The trees crowd in above me and smother the last of the light. Peering through the windscreen, the snow swirls in the headlamps, the road slinking away into the shadows.

I should’ve left earlier.

Anxiety churns in my stomach. I must have gone too far, missed the turning. Everything looks the same up here. Just ahead the forest thins, the pine trees hanging back. In the rearview mirror I watch the sun sink below the ridge, the sky blazing orange and setting fire to the snow. It’ll be even darker soon.

I snatch my phone out of my pocket, the screen glowing in my hand. No service. Of course there’s no signal. Dammit. I scroll to your name, my finger jabbing open your last message.

‘Stop panicking. I know you’re panicking. Remember to follow the road until it splits and then take the left fork. Don’t leave too late. I love you.’

I let out a shuddery breath and slide the phone into the center console. Of course I’d left too late. The aisles crammed with last minute shoppers, the queue snaking around the store. Clattering trolleys. Frazzled mums and dads. Children fizzing with excitement. I’d stood in line, grinning like a lunatic. Their joy was infectious.

Truly it was. The first time in years I hadn’t scuttled away when I saw couples kissing under the mistletoe or jammed my hands over my ears when I heard the opening chords of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

Weighed down with bags, I’d staggered into the kitchen and caught my mum pressing a finger to her lips and shaking her head at my sister.

“What?” I’d asked.

“You’re still going then? To the cabin.”

I’d nodded.

“I don’t like the idea of you spending Christmas alone. Not up there.”

“I won’t be alone,” I’d said.

Her eyebrows had knotted together, and she’d exchanged another look with my sister.

“It’s the first time you’ve been back there since the accident, since Henry…”

Her words had hung there, unsaid. I’d bolted from the room, my shoulder cracking against the doorframe. I couldn’t bear to see the pity in their eyes.

I grip the steering wheel, blinking back tears. I wish they could understand. How hard these three years have been. I should have made you wait for me. Should never have let you go to the cabin ahead of me. At least if we’d been traveling in the same car then…

… I startle, shielding my face from the dazzle of headlights. I hadn’t expected to see another vehicle. Not so late. Not this far up the mountain. I jerk the wheel, trying to move over, the tires slipping in the snow.

The car quivers, spinning faster and faster, I squeeze my eyes shut and think of you. Our first dance, when you’d whirled me round and round, whispering in my ear that you’d love me forever.

The car hisses and spits, snow slithering off the roof. I peep through one eye and shift in my seat. I can feel your arms around me, and I wriggle into your embrace.

“Hush,” I say, kissing your cheek and forcing myself to listen to the footsteps crunching through the snow.

A man’s face appears next to mine, and I can feel his fingers, warm against my neck.

“No pulse. There’s no pulse,” he whispers as another man crouches down beside him.

I shut my eyes and imagine you hurrying outside to meet me, brushing the snow from your hair, kissing my lips as you pull me out of the car. A cotton wool numbness seeps through my veins, the world tilting and fading.

“It’s strange though,” the man says before everything goes silent. “It almost looks like she’s smiling.”