Prologue
Evidence of the wildest party of the summer (if not in Wales’s entire student history) was strewn everywhere. Champagne corks, crushed beer cans and cigarette ends dotted the lawns, while abandoned shoes, Claire’s Accessories plastic tiaras and the ragged remains of feather boas decorated the bushes. TheCONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 2016banner hung squint over the doors of the halls of residence. Apart from the summer dawn sounds of birdsong, everything was silent. Harri Griffiths and Annie Luna were the only two people awake in the whole world.
At least, that’s how it felt to Harri as they both sagged against the cabinet doors on the kitchen’s vinyl floor, the onset of the most epic hangover of their lives still hours away. The blinding headache and queasiness would probably make their presence felt around about the time Annie was boarding her flight home.
For now, they were enjoying the boozy, sleepy stillness of the morning, but reality was dawning. Very soon Harri, in his soft Valley’s accent, would be sayingwela’i di wedynto his closest friend since freshers’ week. He wouldn’t be able to say the word ‘goodbye’ in any language. That would feel far too final.
They’d tried not to think about this day all through their exams and their summer break spent bookselling together in Waterstones, but now that the sun was coming up on their last morning at Aberystwyth Uni (or ‘Aber’, as everyone called it) the sinking heaviness pressed hard on his chest.
Annie on the other hand, still in her graduation ball red dress, and swigging from a bottle of Co-op cava, knocked her booted feet together absently, looking like she could happily carry on the party.
At pre-drinks the day before, he’d watched her pinning those dirty-blonde plaits round her head in a coronet like any number of the Welsh medieval queens they’d encountered during their literature degree. Harri had held the pins for her as she worked. In the hours that followed, long strands had worked loose and were now hanging down around her face.
A prairie rose. That’s what she’d always jokingly labelled herself, and it suited her perfectly. She was tough and wild, beautiful and intimidating like the Texan landscape she came from.
She’d often described to him – with eyes half closed and in the drawling voice she reserved for reminiscing about home – how her parents grew a garden where the desert met the Southern plains and where monster cacti reached for the sky alongside orchids and blousy English tea roses.
Harri realised he must have sighed out loud as Annie snapped her head towards him.
‘What?’ she asked, kicking her boot against his bare foot.
She’d opted for boots over heels for her walk across the graduation stage. Harri reckoned she’d probably never owned a pair of heels, but he’d never bet on it. Annie was the master of surprise, and he knew better than to make assumptions about her.
‘What?’ he echoed, giving her foot a softer nudge back.
‘You’ve got that “miles away” look again.’
Harri sniffed a soft laugh. ‘I was picturing you back in your mum and dad’s garden, as it happens.’
Annie hugged the bottle. The cava must be horribly warm by now.
‘Hmm,’ she murmured, thinking, drawing her legs beneath her.
Mirroring her, Harri sat upright. ‘Aren’t you looking forward to seeing them?’
Annie’s parents had flown over to visit their daughter that one time back in second year – around about the time the inseparable friends were slogging away in the big bookstore to pay their rent while everyone else had gone home for the summer break. Harri had only stayed in Aber to keep Annie company.
He thought back to that awkward meeting, when he’d smiled and reached out a hand, saying, ‘Welcome to Aber, Mr Luna.’
Annie’s father had stared him down, telling him it was ‘Mr Luna,sir’ like they were in the military (or the 1950s). A stickler for good manners, he’d nevertheless chosen not to shake Harri’s outstretched hand. At the time, Harri had concluded Mr Luna was as chilly as the dark side of the moon and ultra-protective of his only child. Like Annie, Harri also had no siblings but his own dad hadn’t shown anything like the same paternal protectiveness. Far from it, unfortunately.
Annie had been uncharacteristically quiet during those introductions, and for the whole duration of her parents’ visit Harri had kept his distance at Annie’s apologetic insistence. Harri would at least have expected her to laugh and gently correct her father’s coldness, wrapping her old man around her finger like she could everyone she met; instead she’d wilted in their presence, the only time he’d ever seen anything like that happen to Annie. It had only made her more relatable and drawn him closer to her.
‘I’m hurtin’ to see Mom again,’ Annie was saying now. ‘And it’s gonna be hot and dry like you can’t imagine.’ Annie was smiling at the thought. It looked like genuine longing and excitement. Maybe things had thawed between her and Mr Luna too? He hoped so.
After throwing a quick glance at Harri, Annie added, ‘And I’ll Skype you, soon as I get there. And every other day after that.’
‘Oh, only everyotherday, is it? I see how it is,’ he tried to joke.
Silence fell again. Smiles faded. Annie looked around at the mess and the scattered sleeping bodies in their kitchen-lounge. The room appeared fuzzy to Harri since he’d taken his contacts out after they’d all stumbled home.
He guessed Annie was doing the same thing he was – running their ‘highlights’ reel in her memory – remembering all the pre-drinks and parties, all the stir-fries and burned toast, the movie nights and cramming sessions that had taken place here.
She wasn’t likely to cry. She could be as serene as the desert night in moments like this, preferring to smile and dazzle away any pesky tears. But Harri? He was seconds away from bawling.
Annie exaggerated a wistful sigh and a stretch and looked to the window where the sun had been streaming in for a while now.
A little flicker of panic ignited in Harri. Were they about to start with the farewells? Maybe if he drew her into storytelling they could spin out their last morning just a little longer?
