Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter Twenty Seven

~Trigger warning for content ahead: death of a parent~

I don't say anything. I can tell he's trying to find the right words, and I don't want to interrupt that.

"We came to Crete every year when I was a kid," he says finally, staring out at the clear teal water. "And we would always make a trip down here - it was my dad's favourite place in the world." I watch him swallow hard. Note the use of past tense.

"Was?" I ask softly.

"He . . . was diagnosed with cancer when I was 14," he says in a rush, like he won't tell me if he doesn't just blurt it out. "We were meant to come out that year, too. It was all booked, but we had to cancel it so he could go through his first round of treatment." His fingers drum restlessly on the beach towel below him. "So this is the first time I've been in Crete since . . . that all happened, and I guess being in Matala in particular brings some painful memories back. I guess the last time I was here was the last time I really felt like a carefree kid."

I find myself inhaling sharply. "You should have said, Lewis. We didn't need to come here."

"I've been dreading this trip a little, ever since I spotted it on the itinerary," he says quietly. "But conversely, I also wanted to come. I wanted to remember the good things. Once upon a time, it was my favourite place, too." He chokes out a laugh, nodding out to the sea. "If I close my eyes, I can almost picture my mum and dad messing about in the water right there in front of me. We were so fucking carefree then, and they were so bloody in love. It was pretty sickening actually. My mum was devastated when . . ." He trails off and buries his face in his hands.

I feel my own eyes welling up with tears. I don't know what to say or do. My hand reaches out involuntarily to stroke his shoulder - anything to comfort him, and I hear him sigh. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. "You don't have to talk about it yet if you don't want to. But if you do . . . I'm here, just like I said I would be."

"Thanks Ruby." He straightens up, and I see his own eyes are damp too. My heart aches for him. "I don't know if I want to talk about it, but I think I need to. It was such a shitshow of a time, and I don't know if I ever really fully processed it. From that first diagnosis, it was just a blur of hospital visits and chemo and almost consistent bad news. My mum was already falling apart, and my dad was trying so hard to be brave . . . And I just felt so useless. All I could do was my best to cheer them up, make them laugh. It felt like that was the only thing I was good at: playing the clown. Some things don't change, eh?" His laugh is bitter now.

I think back to young Lewis in my mind. Always the joker. Hiding his pain. I'd suspected he had demons, and now I realise what they were.

"You're more than that," I insist forcefully. "You always were."

I feel his body jolt slightly at my last sentence, my accidental slip-up at that shared past he doesn't seem to recall. But he doesn't comment on it, just raises a hand to swipe at his eyes, and gazes out to sea again.

"To the outside world, I probably had it relatively together, but inside, I was in pieces too. I tried to numb the pain: distracting myself with underage drinking, smoking hash, doing stupid things to get cheap laughs, or for shock value. That part came to a head when we were caught trying to steal a teacher's car!" He shakes his head. "Luckily it was one of the nicer teachers. He could have reported me to the police or given me a massive detention . . . But he kind of took me under his wing instead; he made me concentrate on other things."

Once again, I remember that rumour about the threat of a six month detention - was this the teacher who had gotten him into debate in the first place?

"I'm glad you had that positive influence," I tell him now. "So when did . . ?" I trail off. I can't bring myself to ask the question. It just seems too blunt. He knows what I was asking, though.