Page 49 of These Tears

Norway.

The future I keep postponing. The envelope I have kept sealed while I waited for one more letter. Then one more day. One more reason not to leave.

My fingers shake when I pick it up. Without realising, my arms curl around it and crush it against my chest.

Because I’m terrified.

Of Elias. Of leaving. Of staying. Of finding out that the thing I mistook for connection was only another way of poisoning myself.

I ease my foot off the brake and give the steering wheel an experimental turn. The steering answers.

Swallowing hard, I glance at the address one last time.

A beat.

A sob.

Car back into gear. My foot finds the accelerator. I turn around.

The road back to the post office seems longer. The curtain of rain thins to mist. Every headlight makes my body flinch.

By the time I pull up across from the red postbox again, my hands are numb.

The street is emptier after the downpour, washed clean in that cruel way rain does with everything. As if it can rinse away the proof and leave you alone with the meaning. And it somehow feels as if it’s only waiting for my footsteps to punctuate the change in the world order.

I get out before I dare change my mind; before something else spooks me back into my dark little cocoon I’ve built out of lies and pretences.

My shoes splash through the shallow gutter. My breath leaves me in broken clouds.

At the box, I stop. The image of Elias chained to the table tears through me; glacial eyes fixed on mine, his fingers wrapped around my hand, his lips—

His lips…

His hands.

His voice.

My lip quivers.

No, I think, enough of that.

I push the envelope through the slot.

It drops with a soft, final thud as I turn my back to it.

And this time, I don’t look back.

10

Anna stands amid my clothes tossed all around the ground floor. There are dresses hanging over the kitchen chairs, hats on the counter, shoes beneath the sofa, and not one thing has made it into a suitcase. My camera equipment, naturally, has been packed since Tuesday.

I glance at my sister, about to say something that might drag her out of the brooding spiral she’s been in since I told her I might be moving to Norway indefinitely.

Obviously, I have no idea how things will turn out there, but if I like it, it’s probably best if I don’t come back any time soon. There are too many ghosts and failures here, and I’m certain some of them might fade if I give them enough time.

Mum strolls through the dining-room archway holding up a warm-brown coat I’d forgotten I owned.

‘You’re not taking this, darling, are you?’ she asks as her nose wrinkles. ‘It’s going to be freezing where you’re going!’