my eyes ahead, but I have this feeling if I looked across, Cal might actually be there. I could tell him that he was right and I’ve forgiven Henry. I could tell him about Mum and how his death has changed us forever. That’s the way it should be, I think. A death should change us forever. No two deaths should be the same.
I find myself in front of Lola’s house. It’s late, so I text her. She texts back to say she’s in the garage. I walk quietly through the garden towards the door.
She’s on the couch, legs folded beneath her. I sit beside her.
‘Have you finished recording the last song?’ I ask, and she says the plan was to tape it at their last gig on Valentine’s Day. ‘Only Hiroko hasn’t forgiven me for telling her I think she should stay. In her defence, I haven’t said sorry.’ She gives a sad grin. ‘Every time I start to text or call her, I think that maybe she’s considering staying, and if I keep my mouth shut, I’ll get what I want.’
I lean my head on her shoulder.
‘I know she can’t stay.’
‘She can’t,’ I say.
‘I don’t know you as well as Henry, but I know something hasn’t been right. You don’t tell me a thing about what happened with Joel. You haven’t spoken once about your science course. You haven’t been to the pool once since you arrived. I’m not stupid. I’ve noticed. I’m just waiting.’
I look at Lola’s posters of all the bands that she loves – The Waifs, Warpaint, Karen O, Magic Dirt. I remember how Henry and I sat here in the afternoon, lying on the couch while Lola and Hiroko played their songs for us.
Lola touches me with her toe, a gentle reminder that she’s here. I tell her about Cal. The words still hurt, but they hurt less than they did when I told Henry and Frederick, maybe they will hurt even less when I tell the next person.
‘I was trying to imagine the worst thing,’ Lola says. ‘What’s the worst thing that could have happened to you? Hiroko and I sat here trying to guess, so I could help you. We didn’t guess that,’ she says, and moves in close and puts both arms around me, and we fall asleep like that.
Henry
spend the last night of the world with me
I can’t sleep. The Borges story, Frederick, Rachel lying beside me, knowing exactly what I’m thinking – it all keeps me awake. I walk around for a while, and try to read. When I do finally sleep, I dream of the bookshop, the shelves and the fiction couch, the stairs and the roof, every inch of the place, grown over by a wild garden. The ivy stems are so thick and strong that I can’t pull them from the shelves. They’ve grown into the wood. Frederick helps me in the end, cutting through and breaking off bits, cutting at the ivy with scissors so small they take forever.
I wake knowing that the shop Frederick talked about tonight, the shop that he and Elena owned, was this shop. He owned a florist, and that florist was here, and it’s ours now. ‘He let it go with the Walcott,’ I say, but Rachel’s not here.
The Broken Shore
by Peter Temple
Letters left between pages 8 and 9
14 February 2016
Dear George
I was talking to Henry today, and he told me that it’s the end of the world. Did you hear? I know how much you love Bradbury, and I wondered if you’d like to spend the last night with me? We’d ignore the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day. We’d go strictly as friends, keeping each other company while we wait for the end. What do you think?
Martin
Dear Martin
I’d like that a lot.
George
Henry
the day pours in – sunshine and dust
The last day of the world dawns bright and sunny but the feeling of the dream is still with me. I had it yesterday, all day.
Yesterday, I kept waiting for Amy to walk into the shop, and I was relieved when she texted around midday to let me know she wouldn’t see me till Valentine’s Day, when she hoped we’d meet at Laundry. Actually, I texted back, I promised Rachel a do-over. We’re having another last night of the world, so I’ll see you on the 15.
Have you told her? Amy texted back.
About?
About us!
No chance yet, too busy, but I will.
I looked across the shop at Rachel, working in the Letter