No one moved. Finn, shocked, held his face. Katie felt a smarting in her fingertips. After a moment it looked as if he was going to say something, but all that came out was a sob. She had never seen him cry before and was shocked at the way his face collapsed, as if the tears dragged all of his features downwards.
She watched, motionless, until she felt the firm pressure of Ed’s hand on her shoulder. He steered her away, moving towards an area near Mia’s grave where tributes had been laid. He didn’t mention what had just happened, but simply buttoned up his dark overcoat, and then began carefully picking up the tributes. One at a time, he read each message aloud.
Katie wasn’t listening. She was still thinking of the red handprint she’d left on Finn’s cheek, as if he’d been branded. She had never hit anyone before. Ed would later tell her that Finn was grieving, too, and she should have allowed him the chance to explain – but what was there to say? Mia was dead. If she didn’t blame Finn, she was only left with herself.
‘This is unusual,’ Ed commented. He was holding a single flower; from its blood-red centre three white petals swept outwards like fans. He passed it to Katie, who lightly fingered the velvet petals. It looked like a type of orchid and she brought it close to her face to smell it. The scent conjured up another place – somewhere sweet and warm, filled with fragrance and light.
When she looked up, Ed was holding the small card that came with the flower. ‘What is it?’ she asked, noticing the change in his expression.
He said nothing, just handed the card to her.
Turning it over, she saw that the sender hadn’t included his or her name. There was only a single word on the card: Sorry.
*
After the funeral there had been drinks at the village pub, where people huddled by the fire, stamping their feet to get the blood moving again. Katie stayed for an hour at most, making sure she thanked everyone who’d journeyed a long way, before quietly slipping out.
As she and Ed crossed the car park, someone called out, ‘You’re leaving?’
They both turned. It was Jess, her best friend, a girl who used to take Katie dancing to a bump-’n’-grind club in a dingy corner of their university town, but who now had a high-flying job as the sales director of a pharmaceutical company.
‘Sorry, I know we’ve hardly talked, but … I…’
‘Katie,’ Jess said, flicking her cigarette to the ground. ‘It’s okay.’
‘Thanks for coming today. It means a lot. And thanks for your messages, too.’ Jess had called every day since Mia’s death, leaving voicemails telling Katie how loved she was and passing on news and condolences from mutual friends. ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I keep meaning to ring … but, well …’ Katie stalled, not knowing how to explain. She was grateful to Jess – to all her friends – but she hadn’t felt ready to talk about Mia. Not yet.
‘You’ve lost your sister. I understand.’ Jess stepped forward and wrapped Katie in her arms. ‘No more apologies, okay? Just take your time. We’re all here for you when you’re ready.’
‘Thanks,’ she sighed, breathing in the cigarette smoke that clung to Jess’s hair.
Jess squeezed Katie’s hands and then turned to Ed, wagging her finger. ‘You make sure you look after her, you hear?’
He smiled, putting an arm around Katie’s waist. ‘I intend to.’
It was Jess who’d introduced Katie to Ed at a riverboat party on the Thames. Katie had just come out of a relationship and wasn’t interested in rejoining the dating scene so soon. Yet, Ed, with his handsome face, quick-witted banter and devastating smile, managed to persuade her otherwise. They had slipped free of the party the moment the boat moored and went on to a bar where they shared a bottle of Merlot and talked and laughed until the place closed. Eighteen months later, Ed got down on one knee to offer her a diamond ring and a lifetime together. She found herself grinning and saying yes.
It was a long drive back to London, but Katie couldn’t stay in Cornwall with the sharp sea air and the waves that whispered with memories. In the flat, she unzipped her black dress, which fell to the floor with a swoosh. She stepped from the dark puddle into a fleecy jumper and pair of jogging bottoms belonging to Mia. The hems trailed around her feet as she padded along the hall. She hesitated only a moment before entering Mia’s room.
Her sister’s backpack was propped against the bed. It had been flown back from Bali several days ago, but Katie hadn’t wanted to look through it before. Airport tags curled around its straps and strands of Indian leather were attached to each zip. There was a badge on the front of a woman in a hula skirt, and a picture of a daisy had been doodled on a side pocket in thick black marker. She unbuckled it, loosened the drawstring and reached inside.
Pushing her hand into the belly of the bag she felt her way through various items, pulling out one at a time like a game of lucky dip. She tugged free a burnt-orange beach dress that smelt of jasmine laced with the holiday tang of suncream and salt. She smoothed out the creases and then set it on the bed. Carefully, Katie removed more items: a pair of Havaiana flip-flops with worn-down soles; a travel towel stuffed into a net bag; an iPod in a clear case; two novels by authors Katie hadn’t heard of; a slim torch gritted with sand; and a man’s jumper, with thumb holes in the sleeves. Finn’s?
She continued searching until her hand met something hard. Katie had been told that Mia’s travel journal had been located by the police, who had examined it, but found nothing that could be considered as evidence.
Mia had always kept journals. Katie found it disconcerting that her sister preferred to share her feelings on paper rather than in person. As a teenager the temptation to read one had been irresistible. She had twice searched Mia’s room hoping to uncover information that only her journal would reveal but, for all Mia’s clutter and disorganization, she was fastidious about hiding them.
Carefully, Katie slid the journal free. Glimmering sea-blue fabric was stretched across the cover and it felt heavy in her hands. She traced a finger down the spine and then opened it carefully, as if Mia’s words were butterflies that might flutter free into the air.
She turned the pages slowly, admiring her sister’s elegant handwriting. In some things, Mia was lackadaisical and careless – her wallet was a brick of receipts, and her books were dog-eared with doodles filling the margins – yet the handwriting in her journal was graceful and refined. The entries were crafted around pencil sketches, handwritten notes, corners of maps and fragments of memorabilia from places she’d visited. Each page was a work of art brimming with its own tale.
‘Everything okay?’ Ed was standing in the doorway to Mia’s room.
She nodded.
He glanced at the backpack. ‘You’re going through her things?’
‘I’ve found her travel journal.’
He straightened, surprised. ‘I didn’t realize she kept one.’ He pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘Are you going to read it?’
‘I think so. Yes. There’s so much I don’t know about her trip.’ And about her, she thought. They’d barely spoken while Mia was away. She wondered when this distance had grown between them. They used to be close once, but
