She looked at her computer screen, unable to believe that eleven years had already passed. July 2015. She remembered it too well, the moment the message came in that Jamie had passed away. Acute leukaemia. And now it was his birthday. He would have turned forty-five.
Some days she forgot to miss him. Other days the grief was scratching at her thoughts. There were songs forever attached to his memory. And there were conversations that were never forgotten.
Sometimes she thought that if Jamie were still here, her life would have been different. For the brief time they had known each other, he had been her best friend. Someone who had found a way past her walls.
It had started with writing and music. Hours spent exchanging messages, swapping pictures of attractive men, pouring their hearts out and plotting the next chapters of the stories they were writing. Sometimes the conversations were serious, sometimes they were anything but. Gradually, without either of them necessarily noticing, a friendship had grown into something she couldn’t imagine being without.
They had been remarkably alike. And strangely enough, many of the things she disliked about herself were the very things she loved about him. It was easy to love him. And she felt the same love being thrown back at her every day too.
Whenever she remembered Jamie, she also remembered Ricardo, the young man who had shared his life with him. She often thought about reaching out, but so much time had passed that it felt too late. Life hadn’t stood still for anyone. And she was afraid that getting in touch with Ricardo now might reopen old wounds. No, she knew better than to do that.
She tried to think of words that would do Jamie’s legacy justice. But she couldn’t think of any.
As if on cue, Erasure’s Always came on. It had been their song. Every day they had exchanged songs. Some landed more than others, but Always always did the job for both of them. She shook her head and surprised herself when she grinned.
2015 had been a pivotal year in her life. If only he could have been by her side when everything changed. But he wasn’t. And she missed him every day.
Sometimes she wondered if her inability to write novels anymore had something to do with the incredible loss she still felt. They had shared so much of their imaginary worlds, encouraged each other, followed characters through chapters and stories. And then, suddenly, there was nobody on the other end of those conversations anymore.
Then she caught herself. How selfish of her to make his life about her. How narrow of her to think only about her own changes. Surely his life would have been different now, at forty-five, too. Maybe he would be a dad, working his dream job as an expat in Spain or as a bestselling author. Or maybe he would still be in Manchester, touring clubs as a DJ.
Maybe nothing would be as it was now. Yes, today she really missed him a lot. Her friend Jamie.
