Patrick would be angry with me I knew, for he was always telling me to pull myself together. 'Life is for the living,' he had said firmly, 'Linda wouldn't want you to brood.' But I needed today to remember her, to hold the memories safe in my heart where they belong.
'Great news about the baby' everyone said, 'it'll help you to get over Linda.' The anger boiled inside me. I didn't want to 'get over' her. I wanted to keep her alive for ever. I didn't want a new baby, I was afraid of getting emotionally involved again, and I felt too old as well. No, I just wanted Linda back. It was not grief I suffered, but rage and bitterness. I had not shed a tear, but the fury had never left me. Sometimes I thought Patrick didn't seem to care, he just got on with his life, and a hard, busy life it was. He'd be missing Linda in his own way suppose.
As I reached the edge of the moor the wind hit me, a gentle, warm and cleansing wind, but the honey scent of heather had gone. The purple had faded now and the moors were brown and grey with here and there a splash of red from the autumn leaves. A grouse rose and flew away sharply calling 'Go back, go back,' it’s white under wings and legs clear against the blue sky. Below me I could see our farm, outlined with rowan trees and hawthorns, their red berries hanging heavily on the branches. I carried on up towards the tops and along an ancient track that led to the highest part of the moor.
Those last sad days as Linda had slipped away from us flooded back. The dreaded day when the word 'Leukaemia' was first mentioned had struck us all so hard. Yet Linda herself, only ten years old, had been calm and loving to the end: never a fit of temper, no apparent regrets, her gentle smile warm and caring, as if she wanted to protect us from the misery she knew would be ours. Sadly re-living those last days in my mind I plodded on oblivious of my surroundings.
By lunchtime I had reached the summit: a white pyramid on a little mound marked the spot. Below me the view was softened by a gentle haze: to the west, valleys with fields, farms and sheep; to the east, far away, the sea; and behind me heather moors as far as the eye could see.
Tired now, I ate my picnic, and then lay down for a moment in the warm autumn sunlight. I woke with a start, surprised to find I had dozed off. I shivered a little, yet nevertheless felt a flood of warmth and happiness inside my deepest being. 'Oh, Linda,' I whispered, 'how you would have loved today. I wish you were with me.' Suddenly I felt that she was. No longer her little hot hand in mine, but an arm high around my shoulders. 'Fifteen years old today,' I thought with a hint of pride. I shook myself and started back for home.
I had gone further than I should, and the last few miles exhausted me. By the time I reached the kitchen door I was ready to drop. 'Hi Mum! Had a good day?’ came Linda's cheerful voice as she hugged me warmly. 'We've got a surprise for you.' As I came into the kitchen a delicious smell assailed me, and Patrick, hovering in the background, smiled shyly. Putting his arms around me he whispered 'Of course we won't forget him, love, he'll be in our hearts for ever; you know that better than anyone.' On the table everything was ready for our Sunday dinner, and the fruit cake from the tin had been clumsily iced and surrounded with fifteen candles.
The first two tears I had ever shed for Linda hovered in my eyes. brushed them away angrily, this was no time for that. 'You’re right Patrick,' I said, 'you’ve been right all along: life is for the living.'
The meal was delicious, all the better since I hadn't had to cook it. Linda was with us, I was sure, and for the first time in years we felt like a real family once more. As we cut the cake I felt a tiny movement in my tummy. ‘I hope you’re a girl!’ I thought silently to myself . . . . . .