Good Always Ends

This story is really personal to me, and kinda falls under the category of realism too. It's a true story about a battle for survival in this unkind world with a lot of love and romance thrown in, and I just wanted to get it out there. Enjoy.

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8. P.S. I love you.

“Lets watch a film” Oli announced decidedly as we settled into the sofa, both clean and fresh from our warm shower.

“Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“How about this one? Mum bought it the other day” he asked, picking up a DVD labelled “P.s. I love you”.

“Sounds good to me” I replied as Oli’s mother emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn, kettle crisps, and strangely, a box of tissues.

“What are the tissues for?” I questioned.

“Trust me, you two will need them” she said, smiling sadly. She and Oli shared a glance and she looked at her feet, shuffling out of the room, a sudden change in her usually cheery demeanour. This worried me, and I was about to question Oli but then the DVD player clicked and the movie began. Oli came to join me, snuggled up cosily and warm underneath a blanket on the sofa.

The movie was about a grieving widow who finds her husband's warmth radiating from the afterlife when she discovers that he left her a series of tasks to be revealed in ten monthly messages and designed to help her overcome her sorrow while gradually making the transition into a new life. Her good humoured Irish husband had given in to a brain tumour and he died, ending his long term suffering and sending Holly’s life into a downward spiral of misery. I could hardly imagine what it must feel to lose somebody like that, and to be honest, I didn’t really want to imagine it either.

 

 

As the movie progressed, sure enough, we needed the tissues. “Hang on why are you crying? You never cry at movies” I asked, sniffing and genuinely concerned.

“It’s an inside thing” he replied, wiping away my tears and giving me a watery smile.

Confused, I decided it was best not to question him. Besides, everybody has their secrets.

 

As soon as the movie finished he excused himself, saying “I have a few important emails to make” and he left the room, tears still streaming down his face. It hurt me to see him cry like that. He was supposed to be the strong one of the two of us, and it worried me that there was something very real behind those tears, not just sadness sparked by a movie made up of fiction. I tried to block out all the recurring thoughts that were simply unanswerable, and I closed my eyes, waiting for him to come back.

 

I woke up to someone shaking me gently by the shoulder. Opening my eyes slightly, I realised it was Oli, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a bowl of fruit salad in the other “Wakey wakey sleepy, breakfast” he said, setting it down on the table beside me and brushing the hair out of my face. “What would I do without you” I beamed at him. “Are you alright now?” I dared to ask, my voice faltering when he looked me directly in the eye. “I’m fine” he lied, his eyes rimmed with red.

“Well if you’re sure” I ran my fingers through his hair as he bent down to kiss me.

“Sophie I was thinking… maybe we can go camping like we were going to last time?” he said, more of a question than a declaration.

“We should do that, I completely forgot!” I replied.

“Well…. There will be people you don’t know coming, are you okay with that?”

“Yeah… I guess so”

“That’s all good then!” he beamed, happy with my response,” I’ll arrange it for Saturday”

 

The bus journey home seemed longer than usual, and it was nine o’clock in the evening by the time I got home, but it gave me time to arrange my thoughts. Getting down to see Oli had always been difficult, but it was worth it and he was by no means a waste of my effort. I started to think about the long term. Oli seemed so perfect, unflawed. I cared about him so much and he returned the feeling, we rarely argued and were always there for each other, through good times and bad. I couldn’t imagine us ever breaking up, well I didn’t want to. Images flashed through my mind of me in a beautiful white dress and I immediately brought a stop to my train of thought. “You’re fifteen years old, Sophie. Stop being so ridiculous” I told myself as the bus finally stopped abruptly in Heathfield. George, the Greek Fish and Chip shop owner beckoned me in from where I stood at the bus stop. He was a lovely man, and he worked temporarily with a Turkish family who soon took over the shop. “Scampi and chips, on the house?” he asked in his thick accent.

“George, you’re a star” I replied, hungry as it was getting very late and I hadn’t had lunch.

 

Finishing up my chips, I chucked the greasy wrapper away, thanked George, and set off on my way. I walked at a swift pace avoiding dark and quiet alleyways, feeling extremely vulnerable by myself on the streets in the dark. To make my way home I would have to get a lift from a total stranger- risky, but a risk I had to take. Hitchhiking was easy enough anyway; all I had to do was stick my hand out, smile kindly at the driver and try not to look like an axe murderer. And hope that they aren’t either. After about five minutes of waiting with my arm sticking out in the road, an old woman pulled over beside me. “Where are you off to dear?” she asked as I stepped into the car, trying not to dirty any of the seats. “Stonegate, thank you for this” I replied.

“Not a problem. A girl at your age shouldn’t be hanging around on the streets by herself at this time of night.” She continued as the car trundled along the country lanes, narrowly avoiding branches and logs in the road from the thunderstorm the night before.

 

I reached into my pocket as we pulled up outside my house, but the old woman shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything” and instead she took out a piece of paper with a number scrawled on it in spidery hand writing, “if you ever need a lift or are in trouble, ring me and see if I’m in the area.”

“Thank you” I nodded, flattered by her kindness, and I waved to her as her car crawled out of the cul-de-sac and out of sight.

 

I crept through the front door to find that everybody had gone to bed early, not bothering to check I arrived safely. This came as a relief to me, as it meant no questions about what I did whilst I was out, and they’d all probably forget by the morning. Pleased and feeling lucky I climbed the stairs, missing any that I knew would creak. Slipping in to my fluffiest pyjamas, I climbed into bed, exhausted but content.

 

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