‘So am I,’ he murmurs, kissing the top of my head.
And then it hits me like a punch to the stomach. If Alex was nineteen, I would have been seventeen. My chest tightens at that thought and I feel nauseous. I have a sudden vision of Alex throwing himself off a cliff and plummeting to his death.
I leap out of bed, making Alex cry out as I cause him to spill his tea. I make it to the bathroom just in time. Seconds later, he is next to me, holding back my hair with one hand and rubbing my back the other as I throw up into the toilet.
‘Morning sickness,’ he comments wryly when I’ve finished retching.
It’s not, but I don’t contradict him.
~
The sun comes out in the early afternoon and so Alex drives us the short distance into Grasmere. I’d rather walk, but I don’t protest; I’m just happy to get out of the house. There are lots of people out and about. From the car park, it’s a short walk to St Oswald’s church, where William Wordsworth is buried. We follow the path round to the back of the church, walking on paving stones with people’s names and hometowns engraved on them. From a much bigger paving slab, I read aloud the first verse of ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’, Wordsworth’s most famous poem.
After Alex has shown me the Wordsworth family’s tombstones, we go by foot to Dove Cottage, a little further up the road. The sign on the house says The loveliest spot that man hath ever found. ‘It is really beautiful here,’ I say. ‘I can see why the area inspired him to write his poetry.’
‘He lived in this cottage with his sister, Dorothy,’ Alex says informatively. ‘They were very close.’
Unbidden, tears well up in my eyes, and I brush them away with my sleeve before Alex can see. I miss Louisa terribly. When we were little, we swore we would live together in the same house, with our husbands. Being without her is like being without a part of myself. Even now, all sorts of things remind me of her. Smells, songs, phrases. Not for the first time, I wonder if one day the void in me can be filled.
By now I’m used to feeling I’m not quite complete, but I feel a very special bond with Alex, similar to the one I once had with my twin sister. Alex and I like the same music, the same activities, the same TV programmes. He often reads my mind, just like Louisa did.
‘There’s a walk that goes from here to Rydal Mount,’ Alex says, interrupting my thoughts. ‘That’s the house he bought once he became rich and famous.’
‘Ooh, can we go and see it?’
‘Well, it’s about five and a half miles altogether,’ Alex says, ‘and there’s a bit of a hill.’
‘I won’t break, Alex.’
‘Yes, but you’re supposed to be taking things easy, the doctor said.’
‘She also said it would do me good to walk.’
‘It’s a bit chilly, though. Wordsworth died because he caught a cold you know,’ he says, elbowing me playfully in the ribs.
‘That was in 1850,’ I say, pleased with myself for remembering the date on the tombstone. ‘Anyway, if you show me the way instead of standing around pretending to argue with me, we’ll soon warm up climbing that hill you mentioned.’
Alex chuckles. ‘Come on, then.’
He takes my hand and leads me along a country lane. He proves himself to be a great guide and he knows a lot about the area, its geography and its history. He points out Helm Crag, whose distinctive peak, according to Alex, has earned it the nickname the Lion and the Lamb. I stare at it, shielding my eyes, but I can’t see anything remotely resembling a large feline or a woolly ruminant.
‘That sounds more like the name of a pub than of a fell,’ I comment, but if Alex hears me, he doesn’t respond.
It’s a lovely walk and the sun stays with us the whole time. I’m so glad that the weather has brightened up and we weren’t stuck in the house all day today like we were yesterday, although after my journey up here, it was great to have a lazy day, too, especially as it was spent mostly in bed with Alex. I look at Alex and he smiles at me. A warm feeling of happiness engulfs me as I beam back.
‘This route is part of the Coffin Trail,’ Alex announces, a little further up the hill. That wipes the smile off my face for a moment.
‘The Coffin Trail?’
‘Yes. People used to carry the coffins down this hill to St Oswald’s church to bury their dead.’
We continue to walk up the hill and after a while, we arrive at the tiny village of Rydal. A dog barks as we walk around the grounds of Wordsworth’s home, and again as we walk away, down the hill. On our left is a large sloping field.
‘This is Dora’s field,’ Alex resumes. ‘Dora was Wordsworth’s favourite daughter and he was heartbroken when she died.’
‘What did she die of?’ I ask, intrigued.
He shrugs. ‘No idea,’ he says. ‘He lost all his children. Dora was the only one left but then she died, too. He planted hundreds of daffodils in this field as a memorial to her. It’s quite impressive in the spring when the flowers are in bloom.’
A line from the verse I read on the church paving stone echoes in my head.
A host of golden daffodils.
‘That’s so sad,’ I say.
‘Yes, it is,’ Alex agrees. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like for a father to lose his children.’
It crosses my mind that in a way Alex has lost his daughters. For the moment, at least. His ex-wife won’t let him see them. I wonder if that’s what is going through his head. Then my thoughts turn to my own father. And my mother. It seems to me that it’s somehow far worse for a mother to lose a child, but I keep this to myself.
Alex and I sit down on a wooden bench and admire the view over Rydal Water.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ Alex says, letting go of my hand and thrusting his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He brings out a small blue jewellery box.
I open it and gasp at the necklace inside. ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful,’ I say. And it is. It’s a red heart crystal pendant on a silver chain and I’m instantly reminded of his tattoo.
Alex puts it around my neck and I hold my hair up and bow my head so that he can do up the clasp.
‘Maybe you can wear it on the day,’ he suggests.
I tilt my head upwards to kiss his lips, suddenly aware that the sun has gone behind a cloud and the air has become cooler since we’ve been sitting on the bench. Alex must feel me shiver as he suggests we get on with our walk.
I take his hand as we get up from the bench, but he pulls it away to scratch his nose. I turn my head to follow his gaze and see a woman coming down the path towards us, chatting away to her little white dog. I’m not sure what breed it is. I sense Alex hesitate next to me before striding more purposefully up the path. I have to quicken my pace to keep up.
The woman widens her dark oval eyes, which seem to bore into me as she approaches. I think she’s about to say something as she opens her large mouth, revealing a rather prominent set of very white teeth. She has short dark brown hair with red highlights, and severely plucked eyebrows, which only serve to heighten the look of shock on her face. She brushes my arm as we pass.
‘Do you know her?’ I whisper.
‘Never seen her before in my life.’ He has answered me so loudly that I nudge him, certain that the woman has heard him.
But I can tell something is not quite right. I look at him askance.