Chapter Twelve

From: AndersonBD .uk

To: K.

Date: Friday 2 May

RE: Thank You

Dear Kurt

I know what you mean about starting an email and then deleting it. I have done that several times in the past few days but I have promised myself that this one – this one, I will send.

I am sitting on a bench on the Ocean Village wharf with my feet up on the rail guards in front of me and my computer nestling comfortably on my lap. Above me a few seagulls are shrieking their disdain at the clouds rolling in from the sea as they dip and dive above the numerous yachts that are berthed in the marina before me. Behind me is a row of red brick buildings sporting overpriced, high class apartments above watering holes for the 'not so' rich and famous. I wish you could see it - it's one of my all-time favourite secret places in all of Southampton.

Shit, Blaine I can almost hear you exclaim. What's with the scenic narrative? To be honest with you Kurt, I'd much rather sit here and describe the sights and sounds and smells – did I mention the smell? – I love that fresh ocean salty smell that goes ever so very well with our famous English fried fish and vinegary chips. Yes, I'd much rather describe to you the antics of the seagulls and the bobbing of the yachts … than describe my living hell of the past week.

Yet, it appears nothing, no seagulls, no bobbing fishing boats, no tantalising fried fish smell even, can stop me from thinking back to this time last week.

I had no idea it would be my last day together with Chad and I'm driving myself insane wondering that if I had known that, would I have done anything differently. I was so caught up in the musical, caught up in costume drama, caught up with little Simon and Rosie and your texts which made me smile. (I don't think I've thanked you for those – have I? I do remember thinking at one point on that day that I was so lucky to have you in my life because, amidst the hectic schedule of your own busy day, you were making time for me. Thank you for that.)

I was so caught up with life that day, Kurt that it never occurred to me to ponder its fragility or fleeting frailty. My kids were great, the musical was awesome, the accolades were plentiful and I loved every moment, naively thinking I had a right to. And how cruelly were all my illusions of grandeur smashed.

Blaine stopped typing for a moment to wipe away the tears that had gathered in his eyes. No, he admonished sternly, you will get through this today, Blaine – now!

This time last week, I had no idea that after I said goodbye to you on the phone, so many things would go so differently to what I had planned.

Instead of having Chad attend the concert, I received his 'Good Luck' flowers from Jeff. Instead of going out to celebrate after the concert with my husband and friends, I went home alone to a deserted house and a bottle of 'make me feel better' whiskey. Instead of enjoying this week basking in the glow of the success of the musical, I've drowned in a swamp of absolute grief and despair that has punched the air from my lungs.

I find, only here, near the ocean, can I breathe properly for the first time again since Saturday morning.

This time last week, Chad was alive. I keep replaying the memories of breakfast that morning over and over in my head. Was there anything I missed? Was there some sort of clue to the cataclysmic change that was about to strike us? How could I not know that that would be our last breakfast together? I was so wrapped up in thoughts of the musical, perhaps I missed some cosmic clue that I should have paid attention to. Would I have hugged him tighter, kissed him longer? Perhaps I would not have let him go at all. I made our lunches, as I usually did; I reminded him as I fixed his tie that the concert started promptly at 7pm and that Jeff had the tickets for him and Sebastian. He kissed me goodbye and cheerfully told me he'd see me later.

The clouds are gathering rapidly now and soon they'll empty their swollen bellies all over us again. (That's why some uncouth Englishmen call it "pissing with rain".) It rained all of Saturday when Chad died and there was a terrific thunder storm that night. I knew it would rain yesterday at the funeral too, and I'm glad it did because it would have been obscene to say goodbye to Chad on a beautifully warm sunny day.

Sebastian took care of everything. I've been a bit out of it this week I'm afraid. (No British stiff upper lip for me – I've cried, am crying still, like a baby – although I've heard even babies stop at some point so I guess I'll have to find another, more accurate comparison.)

The service was held at the chapel of the crematorium and was conducted by a fairly pleasant elderly gentleman on contract to the establishment. I was astounded to see that PC Puck and PC Quinn – the two police officers who drove me to the hospital - were in the service; they spoke to me afterwards, offering their sympathies and hugged me. Really solidly kind and compassionate people they are. Sebastian read the eulogy in which he paid a beautiful tribute to Chad. His words broke my heart and I wept throughout his speech.

I asked Nick to read my tribute because for some reason or other I can't seem to use my voice. It's clear gone – like I have a severe case of laryngitis. I thought you might want to read/hear it too?

Blaine carefully exited the email window and called up the Word document he wanted from his folder on the desktop. Quickly he copied and pasted the text into the body of the email for Kurt.

"I've asked Nick – my oldest and dearest friend to read this for me today because, unfortunately, I appear to have lost my voice.

Thank you – one and all - for being here today as we bid farewell to Chad who touched all your lives and mine in some way or another. Each of you sitting here will have your own memories of him – you may remember his wicked sense of humour, his cheesy witty comeback lines, his epic love of four seasons pizza, his genuine kindness, his boundless generosity, his fanatical addiction to Manchester United and his appalling fashion sense.

Mostly, I remember how he made me feel. When Chad became a part of my life suddenly my soul burned brighter and my heart loved deeper. Chad taught me to chase my dreams; he encouraged me to push my limits and urged me towards greater creativity. Chad's capacity to love unconditionally challenged me to be all that I could be.

I'm a musician – you all know that – expressing myself in words like this is not my talent so I've borrowed a few from the poet WH Auden, and, with permission, I'd like to tell you that Chad was "my North, my South, my East and West; My working week and my Sunday rest; my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song," and like the poet, I also thought that "love will last forever" but we were both wrong. Though he no longer breathes beside me, I will love Chad until I too close my eyes in eternal sleep.

I can honestly say that I am a better man, a better person for having known Chad and for having been loved by him."

As the auto save on his email account notified Blaine of the quick-save function, Blaine felt the first raindrop. Quickly he closed his laptop and walked briskly to The Firkin Seagull, entering the warm bright pub just as the heavens open and the deluge came down. Blaine pointed to his choice of draft beer as the bar-tender greeted him cheerfully. Receiving no return greeting from Blaine, the bar-tender shrugged his shoulders. When the beer had been pulled and placed in front of him, Blaine lifted it up and walked to a booth beside a window where he settled himself again. He opened his laptop to continue his email to Kurt.

I've had to retreat into a nearby pub because the rain has come down and I'll just wait it out in here for a while.

I know it was lame of me to use Auden's poem but I've always thought that there was no-one who expressed lost love quite as eloquently as he does in that poem. Scholars of Shakespeare might disagree with me on that one but I hold fast.

I know I'm rambling and you're probably busy and can't wait to get to the end of this email to carry on with what you're doing but you did invite me to "talk" to you, so now I'm talking. Feel free to leave and come back to it when you have time.

Sebastian says he will discuss the contents of Chad's Last Will with me early next week. Nick and Jeff have invited me to spend the weekend at their house and I've accepted. I'll drive over there later this afternoon. They have been awesome. I know you and Nick have been texting because he has been very good about passing on your messages so you probably know how supportive he and Jeff have been. They've slept at my house every night this week and Nick only went back to school today having spent every other day taking care of me. Jeff's been cooking up a storm every day and Nick has kept me in a healthy supply of tissues and hugs.

I was pretty out of it last weekend and earlier in the week, doped up with sleeping tablets but last night I decided I didn't want to take one. I was exhausted after the funeral and so I actually slept without needing tablets although I was awake very early this morning. It's the early morning fuzziness that gets me - that infinitesimal moment just between sleep and wake where things of this world and the next are blurred. And, despite whatever hold I have on my emotions I lose it immediately I realize that I've woken in a bed that's not ours because he's no longer here.

Blaine paused in his typing to raise his glass to his lips and sip his beer thoughtfully, his mind racing back to Sunday morning. He was huddled under a blanket on the sofa pretending to watch mindless television with Jeff and Nick when the doorbell rang. The sound reverberated into his very soul and Jeff gasped in dismay when he saw the blood drain completely from Blaine's face.

"Blaine! What is it?" Jeff asked in alarm as Nick opened the door to admit Sebastian. Blaine shook his head in an effort to tell Jeff not to worry and before he could work it out in his own head he was being gathered into an awkward hug by a tearful Sebastian.

The doorbell's been banned, Kurt. Every single time it rang with yet another delivery of flowers, I relived those moments on the doorstep with the police officers. I just couldn't take it anymore so I made Nick disconnect it. Just about everybody who knew Chad sent flowers – the school too.

Mrs Phillips brought some cards from the children for me yesterday. She gave them to Jeff at the funeral but I haven't found the courage to read them yet. Perhaps when I'm feeling stronger and have finally stopped crying I may be able to read all their sweet messages. I received an official email from the Head of School yesterday in which she told me to take all the time I need to grieve.

How long is that do you think? I know I shall miss Chad and grieve his loss every single day for the rest of my life. Nick explained to the Head about the temporary loss of voice thing and she said not to worry. I'm sure that when I do stop crying, my voice will remember what it is supposed to do.

Well, my friend, my beer is finished and the sun is making a concerted effort outside so I should probably wrap this up and head home.

It really has been most cathartic to write to you so I just might do it again.

Perhaps, if you have time, you could write back and let me know how the rest of your weekend in New York was.

Thanks, Kurt, for … everything.

Blaine

Blaine read through his words, checking for typos and spelling errors and made the necessary changes to his sentence construction as suggested by the prompt. Then, with a deep sigh, he pushed the send button and watched his mail make its way across cyberspace to Kurt in L.A. Blaine closed the laptop and stored it carefully in his messenger bag. He settled his bill at the bar counter, turned to head out the door onto the wharf and towards his car.

This time last week, you were alive Chad and Blaine's breath caught in the sob that escaped.

In his study, Kurt devoured Blaine's email like a starved man. He had been checking his Inbox regularly since sending his email off to Blaine and had to admit to being very disappointed with the silence that came with each passing day.

Fortunately, Nick had kept Kurt up to date with the details of Blaine's well-being that week and the arrangements for the funeral so, despite Blaine's lack of correspondence, Kurt knew pretty much what was going on but it meant so much more to finally have Blaine's version of events, despite the fact that Kurt had to stop reading several times to blow his nose and wipe away the cascading tears.

"Oh Blaine!" he whispered at one point, his hand tracing the letters on the computer screen, "oh, your poor, poor broken heart."

From: K.

To: AndersonBD .uk

Date: 4 May

RE: New York

Hobbit

Thank you so much for your email on Friday. It was lovely to "hear" your voice again. I've missed "talking" to you. Thank you for trusting me with so many of your painful thoughts and memories and believe me when I say I do understand because, I do, Blaine, I really do.

When I was helping Carole, my stepmom, pack up Finn's room after his death, she told me that for a brief moment each morning when she woke up she would forget that Finn was dead but then she would remember and the pain would punch her all over again. I know that I will spend the rest of my life missing him too as, no doubt, you will miss Chad every day.

I repeat – I am here for you in whatever way you need. Please make use of me, Blaine. I really wish I could have dropped everything and rushed to your side but I take comfort in the fact that you are surrounded by loving friends. (Santana caught me looking at available flights and almost handcuffed me to her side for the rest of the day! I swear the woman is insane!)

But talking of insane … Wicked! Blaine! Oh my Gaga! How insanely awesome is that musical? I loved it and decided the thrill of seeing it live on Broadway was worth every moment of Auntie Snix on tour with me! The costumes, the sets, and the musical numbers – I could go on and on.

When I read your tribute to Chad – thank you for sending it to me as part of your email – I thought of Elphaba and Glinda's song: I have been changed for good. Knowing Chad and loving Chad made you part of who you are today. YOU are his legacy, Blaine. In that way, Chad's life has reason although his early departure will never make any sense. Because you knew Chad, YOU have been changed for good.

Blaine stopped reading Kurt's email, found the song on YouTube and with headphones in his ears he let the music play, let the words wash over his body, let the memories of Chad rush through his mind and let the tears flow. When it was over and the silence became too much, he opened his eyes to find Nick standing over him, his eyes full of concern.

"What are you doing, B?" he asked quietly.

Blaine opened his mouth to tell Nick about the email from Kurt and the song but nothing came out. Choked sounds that seemed to take his breath away were all that he managed. His eyes flew open in alarm and his arm flailed around his head.

"Hey, hey B, relax" soothed Nick immediately. "It's okay, it's okay." He sat down quickly on the sofa beside his friend and rubbed his back.

"Blaine," he ventured, "Why don't you open a Word document and then you can type your replies to me? We need to talk about a few things and I don't want you getting worked up over your voice. Can we do that, B?"

Blaine nodded and, minimising Kurt's email, he opened a blank word document and looked over at Nick expectantly. Nick smiled at him but continued to rub Blaine's' back as he spoke.

"Jeff and I want to know if you'd like to move in here with us. We've got plenty of space and you know you are more than welcome." Even as he spoke, Nick could see Blaine shake his head in response and then his hands moved quickly over the keyboard.

I appreciate the offer Nick but I can't do that. I must go home. As hard as it is, I must go home and begin to make sense of life as it is now. I can't keep hiding from the things I must face.

Nick nodded in understanding. "I get that Blainers, but there's no timetable for these things. You are allowed to take as much time as you need. There's absolutely no rush."

I know. Thank you. I'm going to head home this evening and tomorrow I'll meet with Sebastian. That's as many plans as I'm able to make right now.

"That's great Blaine, really great. But please remember that if at ANY time you want out of the house or you need break – please know, that this is as much your home as it ours. After all, you were the one who found it for us!" Both men smiled at the distant memory of that happy day many years ago now.

[Nick] Kurt, have you heard from Blaine this week?

[Kurt] No, Nick, actually nothing this week at all. He emailed on Sunday night to say he'd left your house and was determined to sleep at home.

[Nick] He and Seb met on Monday when Bas explained the details of Chad's Will but we haven't heard from him since Tuesday when he declined Jeff's dinner invitation by email.

[Kurt] I emailed him on Monday night but haven't received a reply. Have you been passed the house?

[Nick] Of course, we bloody have! And no, he wasn't home. I wish I knew what the deal was with him and his phone! Why in the bloody hell won't he pick the damn thing up and at least bloody text?

[Nick] Sorry.

[Kurt] No need, Nick. You're worried, I get that. Where do you think he might have gone if he wanted to escape?

[Nick] I don't know, Kurt. I've tried all the usual places but he's not there.

[Nick] I don't know what to do.

[Kurt] Nick, last week Friday, Blaine sent me a fairly lengthy email from where he was sitting on a bench at Ocean Village Wharf. He said the ocean allowed him to breathe – have you checked there?

[Nick] Hey, Kurt, this is Jeff texting … Nick is driving. We're headed there right now. Thanks for the tip.

[Kurt] No worries! … um … keep me posted would you? I'd like to know he's safe.

Kurt swiped his phone closed after Jeff replied that he would let Kurt know as soon as they had found Blaine. His thumb tapped the side of the phone as Kurt couldn't decide whether he should put the phone down or not, as if holding onto the instrument would help Nick and Jeff as they search the Southampton docks for their missing friend.

"Blaine," whispered Kurt into the quiet air of his study. "Where are you, hobbit?"

The quiet was shattered as the doorbell rang at Kurt's front door. He checked through the peephole to find Santana on his doorstep. She must have guessed that he was looking because she held up a champagne bottle and grinned widely. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door.

"Luscious Lips, today is your lucky day!" she sang out by way of greeting as she breezed past him into his living room still waving the bottle in the air. "You and I are going to celebrate the fact that I am positively the most fabulous person on this planet."

"Santana," Kurt interjected tiredly, "as always, your timing sucks."

Santana raised an eyebrow at him but decided to ignore his mood as she continued towards the kitchen still speaking as she walked.

"Using my amazing powers of persuasion and my drop-dead gorgeous charm, I have managed to secure you a meeting with none other than Mr Grantley!" She waited for the squeal that would accompany Kurt's dance of joy and was quite put out when none was forthcoming.

Picking up the flute glasses she found in the cupboard she walked back to the living room to find Kurt tapping out a text furiously on his phone.

"Did you just hear what I said?" she asked testily. "Kurt!" she yelled when he didn't answer. His head snapped up.

"Sorry, Santana, just give me a minute," and he returned to finish the text.

Santana was furious when he finally stopped typing but when he eventually looked at her she noticed just how pale he was. His forehead was crinkled in worry lines and his eyes were unfocused. She closed her mouth and waited for him to explain.

"They found him," he stated quietly.

"Found who? Wait… who found who?" she asked confused. "Who's missing?"

Kurt sat down on the sofa with his phone still in his hand as he looked up at her. "Blaine," he replied.

"Blaine's missing?" she asked in surprise as she quickly sat down beside him.

"Yes, well no, not anymore," he responded with a sigh. "They found him. Nick and Jeff found him … at the wharf … where I thought he might be."

"Okay, let me see if I get this straight - " Santana laughed tartly, "hmmm, I always feel straight is the wrong word to use here." Kurt glared at her icily.

"Let me see if I've got this correct" she amended. "Blaine's missing in England and from your living room here in L.A. you told Nick and Jeff where they could find him. Man, that's creepy shit. How did you know?"

"It was just hunch, okay? Based on something he wrote about last week." Kurt didn't want to go into details.

"And is he okay?"

"No, Santana he isn't. He's been holed up in some stupid pub for two days. He's as drunk as a skunk." Santana raised eye eyebrows at the unfamiliar turn of phrase spilling from Kurt's mouth.

"Jeff's words," Kurt continued by way of explanation. "The bar owner let him sleep in one of the storage rooms overnight since he was too drunk to drive and couldn't talk to give any information; told Nick and Jeff that Blaine had been at the pub since they opened on Wednesday morning."

"Aw shit, Ponyboy," Santana reached out to grasp Kurt's hand. "He's hurting badly isn't he?" Santana's voice was kind and her eyes were soft. Kurt's eyes were wet with tears as she pulled him into a hug.

"Remember how messed up we all were eight years ago 'Tana?" he asked and she nodded grimly, remembering her own private battle with Finn's death. "But we had each other. Blaine's going through this all on his own."

Santana shook her head. "Now, Kurt, you know that's not true. He's got his friends around him. Look they've just gone out and found him."

"But he'd been missing already for two days 'Tana. Nobody heard from him since his meeting with Sebastian. Seb's busy, Nick's back at school and Jeff .. well …Jeff goes into a hole when he paints, barely remembers his name when he's in the middle of a project. Everybody's lives are carrying on except Blaine's. Don't you see that?"

"I do see that Kurt, in fact that's kinda why I arrived with the champagne and huge grin." She waited for Kurt's attention.

"Because … ?" he prompted, looking at her with his eyebrows raised – just slightly irritated but at the same time intrigued.

"I got you a meeting with Mr Grantley. He wants to discuss your ideas for a movie proposal for Blaze!"

"Oh 'Tana," breathed Kurt. "That is truly amazing. Thank you, you wonderfully, insane, brilliant, fabulous friend." Kurt paused and looked at her honestly, "What would I do without you in my life?"

"Oh, I don't know," Santana responded airily. "Possibly you'd be living somewhere in New York, ever in Rachel Berry's shadow, at her eternal beck and call."

From: AndersonBD .uk

To: K.

Date: 9 May

RE: Sorry

Kurt

Nick says I own you an apology so I'm writing to apologise. This is me saying sorry.

Blaine

From: K.

To: AndersonBD .uk

Date: 10 May

RE: Sorry

That's okay Blaine. You just scared us all. Please don't do that again.

From: AndersonBD .uk

To: K.

Date: 11 May

RE: Sorry

Shit! Kurt, I've just reread my "apology" and I am more than appalled. Please forgive me – I was really angry on Friday and I didn't mean to be rude. I am so ashamed of my actions and I should never have taken my anger out on you. I was angry the whole of last week, I think. (Apparently "anger is allowed but alcohol – not so much," so says Nick who has been spouting pearls of wisdom in the form of grief counselling for the last two days.)

On Monday, I barely made it out of the meeting with Sebastian without punching him. I couldn't believe he could sit there and calmly, in his most lawyerly voice, tell me the details of Chad's Will. I just cried, Kurt. The whole time he spoke, the tears just ran down my cheeks. At one point, he even told me to pull myself together and concentrate which is when I wanted to hit him the second time. I should have let Nick come with me. He wouldn't have stood for Seb's bullshit and would've torn strips off him for speaking to me like that.

Anyway, I barely understood what he was saying and eventually I simply signed where he wanted me to sign just to get him to shut up and then, I got the hell out of there. I badly needed a drink so I drove home and then went down to the pub on the corner near our house. The owner threw me out when they closed and I don't remember getting home at all except I know I woke the next day sprawled out over the sofa.

After I showered and changed my clothes, I drove to the hospital to see Dr. Stephens. I wanted to ask him about my voice. I need my voice back so I can go back to work - can't teach without my voice. He wasn't at the hospital when I got there, but the staff sister who had been there the morning Chad died, was there and she gave me the number of a throat specialist in London.

At home again, I emailed for an appointment and got a cancellation for next week Wednesday. I was so tired by then, I thought I'd try to have a sleep and I went to lie down on the guest bed. But then I started thinking that I was silly and got up to go lie down on our bed in our room. But, I couldn't even step into the room before collapsing on the floor in tears. It was useless. It's almost as though there was an invisible barrier that wouldn't allow me to cross the threshold.

I then emailed the Salvation Army and they came within the hour to take away the bed. And while they were here, I got them to take away all Chad's clothing, as well. On Tuesday night, I slept on the floor of our bedroom but I had to take a double dose of sleeping tablets to get through the night. So, in the morning, I was stiff and sore from the hard uncomfortable floor and in desperate need of a drink far away from the house.

I don't remember much of the rest of the week except when Nick's familiar voice floated through the haze of drunken misery and scooped me up in his arms. I think I stopped crying then or perhaps that's when I started – I can't remember.

Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry for worrying you, Nick and Jeff. I truly am very sorry.

Sorry.

Blaine

[Kurt] How bad is it?

[Nick] Pretty bloody messed up in fact. He realized a few days ago that in his drunken stupor last week, he got rid all of Chad's clothes. And now he's bloody sorry and wants them bloody back.

[Kurt] Shit!

[Kurt] Sorry!

[Nick] You apologising to me for swearing? That's a bloody laugh. I'm at my wits end, Kurt.

[Kurt] How did the appointment go with the specialist in London?

[Nick] From what I can make out from what the doc says, there's nothing physiologically wrong with Blaine's throat, voice or vocal cords. Doc seems to think it is a symptom of extreme trauma.

[Kurt] Like PTSD?

[Nick] Yeah, something like that. Doc seems to think that B's voice will return when he has come to terms with his loss.

[Kurt] Oh shit!

[Nick] Yeah, that's what I said. He's bloody trapped in a spiral of grief. He's desperately sad to have lost Chad but has no bloody way to articulate that and by not being able to articulate his feelings and emotions, he has no way of bloody overcoming them.

[Kurt] What about music? Is he playing?

[Nick] Nope, he won't touch the piano or guitar at all.

[Kurt] What about his job?

[Nick] The school gave him an extended leave of absence for special circumstances. He doesn't have to return until the new academic year in September.

[Kurt] Well that's a relief at least.

[Nick] Is it though? He's got bloody nothing to do, Kurt and all day to bloody do it in. He's depressed and I'm bloody worried.

Kurt stared thoughtfully at the text from Nick on his phone. Sitting comfortably in his leather swing chair at his desk in his study, he glanced out the window as his border collie, annoyed at the impudence of some birds that had landed on the patio in search of the fruit treats Kurt left out for them, barked crossly. It was a gorgeously warm bright sunny day in Los Angeles and, as his eyes followed the sun's rays which smashed through the glass of the study window and shone fiercely onto his desk illuminating just a strip of the wood, Kurt began to smile. Quickly he began to text.

[Kurt] Nick, I may have a plan.