by Lulu Allison
And still they sometimes keep her company, her invented ghosts. For a while, as she leaves the village behind, she feels companionship within herself, with some of them, letting her thoughts drift with the landscape before her and the stories she made for them.
She walks diagonally across a skewed field on the side of a hill. There are no paths, but the sweeps of the land, the directions of pull, suggest subtle ways across the empty expanse. As she walks, she remembers this place, tobogganing with Caitlin, with Michael. She remembers the exhausting fun, the simultaneous heat and cold of her cheeks, Caitlin’s bright eyes. She lets the memory walk with her across the field, holding onto the picture of her child. She sees a child who is lost in time, not in death. At the top of the long slope, she pauses, a breather and a breath. She looks down the slope behind her, watching memories over again. Looking for the spot, a few yards to her left, from which the sleds were launched. Looking for the place further down where Caitlin and Michael had crashed into another sled, her moment of worry ending when the four well-bundled people stood up or fell about in joyful laughter, arms and legs stiff with layers of clothing. She looks down to the path at the bottom of the field, the route they would walk when bullocks were resident in the field, remembering a summer weekend walk with Paul and Mar, Caitlin coming along with reluctance. Down on that path, she and her daughter had trailed behind the others, talked about what she wanted to do in the future, her young mind beginning to formulate a desire to build, to make structures, to co-opt forces. Anna walks a little further and sits on the first step of the stile. The hillside lies before her, darkening and lightening with the play of cloud across the sun’s face. She sees all of those memories, and others, in one go. She understands for the first time that if Caitlin were still here, these pictures would not be any different; they would still be echoes of something gone. Beautiful echoes.
Anna turns her face into the wind and the sunshine. She feels an uncoiling across her shoulders; the wind lifts ropes and the sun dissolves yarns. She climbs the stile and carries on with the two or so miles that will take her back home in time for meeting with Michael.
27 February
Dear Estela,
Thank you for sending me your address. I wanted to send you this. It is a necklace that belonged to my daughter, Caitlin. I noticed you had one like it. I hope that you may wear them both when you are surfing one day. I think you would have liked each other very much, and though I only met you for such a short time, your kindness was so important to me, partly because you made me, I see now, think of her, so I send you this as thanks and a mark of a connection that for me was very precious.
You asked me to tell you what she was like. I used to think she was like a young tree, strong and graceful. Her hair was light brown with a kind of crinkle in it that made me think of bark. She was tall like me, though she looked like her dad. She was very calm, she didn’t rush into things, but when she had decided on something she could be very brave and determined. She seemed to be so complete in herself. She was studying to become an engineer and wanted to build bridges. She was also, like you, kind and caring. She didn’t get around to kitesurfing, but I think she would have understood your passion. You can see the necklace in the photograph. She wore it all the time. I like to think of it being worn again, rather than sitting in a box somewhere, so I hope you might like it.
Last week, we had a celebration to mark her 30th birthday. I think I told you how much I was dreading it. But it was beautiful. I went in a group with five of my close friends. They were so lovely. And I saw people I had lost touch with, it was so good to see them. Michael, Caitlin’s father, really did her proud, and though it was sad, I was so glad to be with those people. I wrote a little piece that one of Caitlin’s oldest friends read out for me.
It has been a strange time. But things are much better now. I have some new plans and some things to look forward to. I hope that I might come back to Tenerife some time too, and hope that if you ever come to England you will come and stay with me?
I hope you are well and that life is good for you both. Will you pass on greetings from me to Stefan and Karl? I hope very much that I will meet you all again.
Anna x
Sometimes as I rush through the boundless stretches it feels as though I fly. I am learning. I am making wings, learning an ecstatic affinity with this realm of glittering dark. I can move through the blackness, making wide sweeps on its subtle cambers. I fly like a bird that swoops the curvature of the land on its updraughts. Bit by bit, I learn to read the blackness and command myself to move. I feel myself gaining a hold. It is beautiful, thrilling. I arc through the darkness towards a burning light.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to all the people who have supported me in writing and publishing this book. I have loved the sense of collaboration and feel privileged to have been given such wonderful backing, by each individual pledger and by Unbound, who made it all possible. Thank you Xander Cansell for patiently answering all of my questions. Thank you to the wonderful editors and designers at Unbound who pulled it all into shape.
To the other Unbound authors, at all stages, whose cheer and comments and advice has been such a tonic, thank you. All the friends who have encouraged me, read my work or given positive responses, thank you so much, it has been uplifting and inspiring. In particular Suzanne Harrington, you made me (quite insistently, it has to be said!) think of myself as a writer and your experienced, generous support has helped so much. And my very dear friend Sam Brown, as ever, your amazing support and friendship means so much. I am forever grateful.
MC, who didn’t want to be specially thanked – I hope you can allow me this! Thank you.
I am, always, indebted to my wonderful family whose unfailing support and love makes so much possible. Mum Cally, step-dad Dave, Thea, Joe, and of course my Dad Phil, who sadly didn’t live to see publication but whose enthusiasm for the project was, like so much else, a true blessing.
My beloved husband Pierre. Thank you for knowing I could do this and for making it a reality by taking care of the rest whilst I wrote. Your encouragement has meant everything to me.
Lilian and Phoebe, you make me proud and happy every day. Thank you for that, and for believing in me.
Patrons
Matilda Amos
Fizz Annand
Nathalie Bourgeois
Bernise Carolino
Sarah Chesworth
Lilian & Phoebe Deans Allison
Alex Dillon
Jessica Duchen
Jennie Ensor
Vanessa Gellard
Jacques Halé
Charles Harrison
Rachel Heaton
Paul Holbrook
Shona Kinsella
Stephen McGowan
Maxine Michaelides
Kate Millar
Joana Monjardino
Jo Nye
Frances Ratcliffe
Julie Rosenthal
Max Schaefer
Jo Shackleton
Kim Terrell