The Beauty of the End by Debbie Howells Page B

“The girl who was hurt.”
    â€œThat’s right. It was strange,” I said slowly. “She said she’d write. And she never did—or did she write to you, Ma?”
    I watched her eyes flicker again, then shift toward the window. “I don’t remember,” she said, more clearly than she’d said anything in a long time.
    The helpless fury that rose up in me was pointless. The moment had long passed—three whole years ago. Turning away, I went to finish packing.
    She was lying. She remembered, I was almost certain. For whatever reason, she’d taken the letters before I’d seen them. It was another reason I couldn’t wait to get away from there.
    * * *
    April and I had arranged to meet again the following day, our last before she returned to London.
    This time, we would stay in touch, I’d decided. No matter what. London and Bristol weren’t a million miles apart. I could get the train up to see her on weekends and she could come to stay in Bristol. But that night, I couldn’t sleep, instead replaying every second of that afternoon. The incredible feeling of losing myself in April’s body, the scent of her,. as I lay there restlessly, hating the thought of us being apart.
    In the darkest, most silent hours, the solution came to me, so obvious I wondered I hadn’t thought of it before. The world wouldn’t miss another lawyer. Instead of going to university, I’d go with April back to London. Get a job. We’d be together. My mother wouldn’t like it, I knew that, but I was eighteen. I was an adult. I was leaving anyway. It was up to me where I went.
    Now I’d made the decision, sleep was out of the question. I got up and found some paper, then, sitting at my desk, wrote my mother a letter. It was a cowardly way to do it, but this way, I’d be certain she couldn’t stop me.
    And with the letter written, as the dawn light crept through my curtains, at last I slept.

8
    I slept until midday, lying in bed as the hazy recollection of the previous day drifted over me, the magnitude of what I’d decided only mildly shocking in the light of day. It was inevitable, that much was clear to me. Then seeing the time with horror, I leapt out of bed, afraid I’d miss April, imagining her reaction when I told her I was coming with her. As I showered, I rehearsed what I’d say.
    University’s not for me. . . . I can’t stand more years of studying.. . . I thought I’d go to London and get a job.... I’d say it casually, as though it wasn’t important to me, frightened she’d try to change my mind, when the truth was the thought of being away from her was killing me.
    And I knew she felt the same. After yesterday, I’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in the way her body responded to mine. I looked at the bag I’d packed the previous night. At all my uni stuff still piled on the floor, thinking only fleetingly of the law career I was turning my back on. Then, after glancing at my watch again, I tore down the stairs and out the door.
    In my haste, I was halfway down the street when I realized I’d forgotten my wallet. I sprinted back and let myself in, cursing the time I was wasting. It was as I came downstairs for the second time, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The envelope on the hall table, with my name on it.
    The handwriting was unfamiliar but as I ripped it open, almost as if I’d guessed, I felt my heart start to pound, then as I read it stop altogether, as my dreams, my hopes, my plans for the future, all of them melted away.

    Dear Noah,
    I’ve decided to go back to London early. I think it’s for the best. You are sweet, dearest Noah. The sweetest boy I’ve ever known, but even a goddess can fall from grace. I don’t deserve your devotion or that pedestal you put me on.
    There’s too much you don’t know about me. But I don’t want you to know, I just want to