The Last Charm

by Ella Allbright

  There are parts missing then, and I’m not sure where I went in my own head, but suddenly Maggie had spoken about Jake, and so had Dad on behalf of Ray and himself, and I’d no idea what they’d said. My name was being called, and my legs, as if they belonged to a stranger, carried me to the altar. As I gazed at all the people who’d come for him, there was still a part of me thinking it wasn’t real. That at any moment, Jake would fling open the chapel doors and grin and say, ‘Gotcha, Jones.’

  But he didn’t, although I waited for a long minute, during which people shifted in their seats uncomfortably. I saw Eloise rising from the bench to check on me and that finally made me lift my chin and begin to speak. I could do this. It was only a tiny part of what I owed him.

  ‘I loved Jake completely,’ I said simply. ‘It took me a lot longer to get there than him, but what we shared was a great love. Is a great love. He was my best friend, my soulmate, my advocate, my partner in crime, my best support, and my greatest passion. I will miss him for ever. Words can’t do Jake –’ my voice broke and tears clouded my vision ‘– justice. So, I won’t even try. This is my eulogy to him, and my goodbye.’ I moved to the side of the altar and dragged an easel across to the centre of the space. Dad had kindly brought it up for me the day before.

  Pulling away the cloth, I stared at the piece I’d spent so many nights on since Jake had died. I’d felt compelled to paint him, to hold on to one last part of him before bidding him farewell. Painting without my bracelet around my wrist made it even more bittersweet, and panic had snaked down my back every day at the thought I might never get it back. I’d placed ads everywhere three days after Jake died, craving my charm bracelet in the way I was craving him. I needed it back – our shared history and a precious physical reminder of our story.

  The room was silent as they took in my creation, and I smiled once, briefly. Jake was walking along Durdle Door beach with his back to us, the craggy archway in front of him and to the right. His head was turned in profile so you could see his scar and the slight curve of his lips. He looked happy. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, the top edge of his back tattoo was visible and I’d painted a red heart on his sleeve. He’d never been someone who was afraid to share his thoughts or how he was feeling.

  The night sky sprawled inkily above the stony beach, a multitude of stars represented by pinpoints of shining light. A quarter moon hung illuminating the calm sea and, in the distance, you could see a tiny mermaid floating among the swells out in the deeper water. Her face and silvery hair were illuminated by the lunar glow. Slightly ahead of Jake, where the archway seemed to meet the land, there was a painted doorway. I’d given him one last door to walk through. It was partially open, and white, with a yellow shimmer coming from within. Hundreds of tiny stars sparkled around the edges of it. I’d used the brightest, deepest colours I owned to reflect the vibrancy of the person he’d been to so many people.

  He was turning away from us, yes – leaving us – but he would be okay.

  It was those of us left behind, I thought, who would not.

  Leila

  December 2017

  The Rings Charm

  Months have passed since that sad day, and while the acute agony is no longer with me, every day feels like a torturous passing of time, hours on a clock I have to run down before I can see him again. My friends and family have tried their best to keep me company, to give me motivation to get out of bed in the morning, to help me see life goes on even if I don’t want it to. Dad pops around for dinner most nights, and to catch me up with his day. Maggie and I walk a lot with Fleur, anywhere we can, over fields and through woods, along windswept beaches and muddy rivers. Being outside helps, and talking about him helps, but it hurts too. I miss Jake so much.

  I haven’t painted since the funeral, and I know he would hate that, but it doesn’t feel right. Like I’d be moving on and leaving him behind if I created a new piece. Besides, the world doesn’t hold much colour or joy for me any more, and there are no scenes in my head begging to be painted. Mum called all my clients for me, surprising me with her practicality, explaining the situation and that I was taking a break. No new commissions would be accepted and any that were outstanding would have to wait. They could have their deposit back if they wanted. No one asked. Mum has also moved in with me. She cooks and cleans, helping to shape a routine, forcing me to read and watch funny movies and go out with my friends or chat to them when they call round. Still, I’m living a half-life, and while I’m aware everyone around me is frustrated and worried, I don’t know who I am, or how to move forward. The fact I’m still missing my charm bracelet makes everything so much worse. I need it back. Despite this, I can’t bring myself to revisit Lulworth Cove and resume my birthday treasure hunt. I’m terrified of the emotions it might bring back, and how I’d survive them.

  As I sit on the modern grey sofa Jake and I picked together, staring into space, there’s a knock on the front door. I glance at the time on my phone and wait for Mum to answer. It’ll be Dad.

  Smiling wryly, I hear their voices floating along the hallway and some doors opening and slamming, mixed in with the sound of Fleur’s excited panting. She’s in heaven having all these visitors, although she doesn’t drift far from my side. She lies on me pretty much every time I sit down, like she can’t get close enough. It’s lovely but is getting a bit weird now. Perhaps it’s because I have some extra padding to cuddle up to nowadays, from all of Mum’s stodgy comfort food.

  ‘Hi, love.’ Dad strides into the room.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ I play with the cuff of my cardigan, the one I was wearing the day Jake died.

  ‘Right. Up you get then.’

  ‘Huh?’ Lifting my head, I notice his frown, the line carved between his eyebrows.

  ‘This can’t go on. We can’t bear to see you like this.’ He and Mum exchange a look. ‘I hope this will make it better. I’m not sure it could get any worse.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I ask vaguely, unable to summon the energy to even be curious.

  ‘Up you get,’ he repeats as Mum leaves the room, returning a moment later with my coat and boots. Holding my coat out, she gestures for me to push my arms into the sleeves, before nodding at my Uggs. Dutifully I obey, wondering what they’re up to.

  She walks into the hallway as Dad grasps my arm gently, nudging me into the kitchen and through the back door into the garden. A moment later, Mum follows in her fur-trimmed coat. The air is chilly. Fresh. There’s a bonfire crackling away, and we sit in front of it together on the bench I brought with me from Dad’s when I moved. Mum and Dad sit either side of me like parental bookends.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Here.’ Dad looks at me searchingly, before extending his hand. There’s a wrapped present on his palm.

  My hand flies to my mouth. ‘I— Jake?’

  Nodding, he sighs, ‘It was with his belongings. Your birthday present. Maggie’s been hanging on to it until, well—’

  Mum interjects, ‘We’ve been waiting for you to be strong enough … Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t, but we’ve decided we shouldn’t wait any longer.’

  ‘We?’ They’ve been talking about me. They’re really concerned. I have to show them I can do this. Be brave, Jones, I hear Jake whisper in my head. Taking a deep breath, I lift the present from Dad’s hand and shiver, despite the warmth of the nearby flames. It’s like receiving a gift from a ghost. But I can’t think of Jake that way; he was never quiet or faded. He was alive, energetic, compassionate.

  Tearing into the paper in a rush exposes a velvet box. Pausing, I take another deep breath and flip the lid open. It’s a silver charm – two tiny rings entwined. ‘Oh, God,’ I whisper, tears filling my eyes, ‘Oh, Jake.’ It’s bittersweet and lovely, but I have no bracelet to hang it from. Breaking down, I bend over and sob with pain, at the unfairness of the world, at my loss. Dad rubs my back as I keen, and Mum strokes my hair from my face. They say nothing, simply letting me grieve. I’m nev
er going to see him again, and now there is only one charm left, because I know he would have hidden one for me at the final location.

  My tears last for a while, and when they’re spent, I straighten up.

  ‘Thank you.’ I murmur, staring at the charm again. Then, clicking the lid shut, I go to slide it into my pocket.

  Dad stops me. ‘Look underneath.’

  ‘Underneath?’ I frown, puzzled.

  ‘Under the sponge,’ he points to the box.

  Re-opening it, I move the charm aside carefully and pull up the velvet bed, exposing a glint of metal. My eyes widen and I gasp. Plucking it between trembling fingers, I hold it up to the light of the fire.

  It’s a platinum engagement ring, a solid circle with diamond-encrusted leaves curled into it with a larger round diamond on top. It’s pretty and quirky, and totally me.

  ‘He said he’d see me later that day. He was going to join me at the end of the treasure hunt. He had it with him. He was going to propose,’ I breathe. The pain is fresh and rushes back on me. Everything we could have had, everything that might have been. I’ll never see him kneeling in front of me, face hopeful and arm outstretched. I’ll never get to say, ‘Yes!’ Never get to excitedly announce our engagement to our family and friends. Never get to walk down the aisle towards him or promise to stick by him in sickness and in health, for better for worse, till death us do part. He has already been parted from me. ‘He wanted to marry me.’

  ‘Of course he did, love. He was devoted to you.’

  ‘He asked your dad for permission,’ Mum says. ‘I thought that was a lovely touch.’

  ‘It is. It was,’ I sigh. A lone tear traces its way down my cheek. It’s different to the tears which came before. ‘He would have been worried about proposing,’ I go on, ‘because of my commitment issues.’ Glancing at Mum, I can see in her eyes she knows that’s her legacy. ‘He would’ve been wondering if it was going to scare me away. I made him wonder. I made him doubt me.’ I shut my eyes. ‘I made him feel … less.’

  ‘No!’ Mum says fiercely, ‘He knew how much you loved him, and you’d already committed to him. You’d bought a house together, set up home.’

  I nod, opening my eyes. ‘It’s not fair. This isn’t the life I imagined for us. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. We were going to grow old together. We didn’t get enough time.’

  ‘Love, I know,’ Dad replies. ‘But you also had fifteen years together, from when you first met. That’s longer than some marriages last.’

  ‘Your time together may be over, Leila. But you still have time. To live. To love. You know Jake would have wanted you to use it well, and wisely.’

  It sounds so much like something Jake would say that my mouth falls open at Mum’s words. ‘How …’

  Mum smiles, ‘I read some of the letters between Jake and your granddad. I wanted to feel closer to Dad and found the box in the spare room the other day. I hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘No,’ I reassure her, ‘they were as much Grandad’s as Jake’s. You have an equal right to them.’

  Her confession distracts me from my sadness. Falling silent, I tuck the ring away inside the box, resettling the charm on top of it. Pushing it deep into my coat pocket, I hold my hands out towards the bonfire, feeling the heat on my fingers and palms.

  ‘Now, there’s something else we need to talk to you about, something important.’ Mum starts to describe what she’s noticed, her suspicions. At first, I shake my head in disbelief, then I start to shake as things fall into place. I think maybe she’s right, and I don’t know whether to be terrified or excited, or both.

  Leila

  December 2017

  … When you contacted me last night, Caitlin, to tell me you’d found my bracelet and to ask for a detailed description, it felt like fate. Especially after the events of yesterday, when Mum and Dad gave me Jake’s gift, along with hope for the future too. A way that Jake and I still get to have a future together, even if it’s not the way we planned. A path that was confirmed this morning, news which gave me the strength I needed to return to Lulworth Cove and find the last clue.

  That same strength also allowed me to write this email to you, detailing every charm through not just my eyes, but how I know Jake would have told you his side of the story too. He told me enough times over the years what life had been like for him, all the things he’d done for me, to make me happy. What he was thinking in the time we were apart, and what every charm meant to him. I’m only sorry you won’t get to meet him. Everyone liked Jake.

  Earlier, after I parked up at Lulworth, I walked down to the beach and stood on the same spot I’d been on when the nurse called me on my birthday about Jake. I gazed out to sea, recalling how happy I’d been in the moments before my phone rang, how much I was looking forward to seeing him. I have lost so much since that phone call, but I have gained something too. An appreciation of how short life is, and how we can’t waste what time we have. And writing this email to you, while sad – and through tears at times, but laughter too – has revived Jake, has brought him back to life for a short while, reminding me of everything we went through together and what he taught me. Bringing our love sharply into focus, along with the charm bracelet.

  It’s helped me see as well that I’m stronger than I was a few months ago. Strong enough to do what comes next.

  Earlier today, recalling the last clue from Jake (about a sweet tooth with Brad Pitt), I trudged up the beach and along the path running next to the small stream, until I came to a small, old-fashioned sweet shop. Stepping inside, I asked the grey-haired woman behind the counter for a hundred grams of my favourite sweets, pear drops. She went to reply automatically, then stopped and eyed me searchingly. ‘You’re not Leila, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Reaching down behind the counter, rather than going over to the rows of wall-shelves stacked with jars, she brought a container of pear drops out. ‘I was expecting you months ago. I kept it just in case, because he was lovely and seemed so excited about what he was up to.’

  ‘It took me a long time to get here.’ I smiled, not offering any further explanation. ‘Thank you for keeping it. May I?’ Holding my hands out.

  She nodded, passing me the container. Flipping it over, I found a note taped to the base of it. Typical Jake. Laughing softly, I peeled it away, carefully unsticking and then unfolding it.

  OUR FAVOURITE PLACE.

  J X

  ‘Of course,’ I muttered, ‘yes.’ Lifting my head, I smiled at her, ignoring the naked curiosity on her face. ‘Thanks so much, again,’ I said, backing away. ‘It means more than you know.’

  ‘Wait!’ As I turned to leave, she came out from behind the counter, eyes kind. ‘He bought these for you.’ She pushed the box of sweets into my hands.

  ‘Really?’ I laughed, ‘I hardly need fattening up. But thank you.’

  She floundered with her mouth open, unsure what to say. I took pity on her and shook my head. ‘Never mind. Take care.’

  ‘Have a good day,’ she replied, giving me an odd look.

  Returning to my car, I drove to the car park above Durdle Door, and have been sitting in my Fiat in the gravelled area above the steep path that curves down to the beach. I’ve been here for hours, writing this email to you, and when I’m done – once I press ‘send’ – I’ll remain here for hours more. With hope in my heart.

  And so that’s it, Caitlin. Every charm on my bracelet, every sweet memory, every precious important minute. Jake’s story, my story. Our story. It’s taken me months to feel brave enough or strong enough to finish the treasure hunt. Now, there is just one tiny bit left to go. One more charm left to discover. If you believe me, Caitlin, if you believe what I’ve told you, every memory I’ve brought back to life – for myself, for you, for Jake – then please meet me at Durdle Door with my bracelet. Below is my number. You can call me, text me, email me, whatever you want. It’s in your hands, it’s up to you.

  I truly hope you b
elieve the bracelet is mine now … and maybe you can help me find the last charm.

  Leila x

  Leila

  December 2017

  The Charm Bracelet & The Treasure Chest Charm

  Durdle Door has always been the anchor point that drew Jake and me together, holding us steady. The one place we had in common, where we shared hopes, fears, dreams.

  As I sit here after my meandering walk down from the car, the pain which struck my heart when I first stepped down onto the shingle beach and saw the famous rock archway recedes. The tears in my eyes dry away. It’s hard being here without him, but at the same time I feel closer to him than I do anywhere else. It may be tinged with sadness, but this place is still beautiful.

  The air is crisp, the winter sky a clear blue so bright it almost hurts my eyes. The Door still stands solid and immovable, and I know it will be many years before it gives up and crumbles away to be claimed by the sea.

  Smiling, I picture the tiny multi-coloured rainbow charm I’ll see again soon. Caitlin’s got to believe me. All those memories, my whole life stretching behind me, with enough space on the bracelet to mark the events that will form my future, will be with me once more. Until a day ago I wasn’t sure I’d have a future, but now I know differently.

  My phone pings in my hand. It’s an instant message from an unfamiliar number, the paragraph of white writing filling a rectangular blue bubble.

  Dear Leila, got out of lectures and spent the whole afternoon reading your emails. The charm bracelet is on the desk in front of me. Thank you for taking me on your journey. Your story – and Jake’s – made me laugh and cry, has touched me and held me, and at times tore me in two. Yes! I believe it’s your bracelet. Something tells me you’re still at Durdle Door. If you are, wait for me. Will be there in 40 mins. Yours, Caitlin x