They were. Too young. Too much life running through their veins.
I missed them. I missed them with my whole heart. My eyes misted over, and I was about to turn away when I saw two headstones in the corner of the garden, underneath a large tree that in the summer would be thick with green leaves, its branches cascading like a waterfall over the two white marble graves. They seemed newer than the rest, more cared for.
My feet crunched on the fallen leaves beneath me. My exhales were clouds of white as the cold night embraced me. I reached the graves and stopped dead.
Annie Adley.
Pearl Adley.
I closed my eyes and felt their loss sink into the depths of my bones. The loss of two people very much loved by their family—especially by their son and brother. I kneeled down and batted away the leaves and twigs that had landed on the top of the headstones from the blustering wind.
“Hello.” I cleared the debris from the manicured grass around them. “Nice to finally meet you.” I felt slightly silly at talking to them this way. But I wanted to with all my heart. “I’m Cheska,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. I smiled at Annie’s name. “And I am completely and obsessively in love with your son.” I fought back the lump in my throat as his face sprang to my mind. “I promise I’ll love him for you both. I promise to care for him when he forgets to care for himself, and I promise that I’ll always stand by his side.” I inhaled the cold air, feeling it burn my lungs but settle frayed nerves inside me.
I had just risen to my feet when I heard the crack of a twig behind me and smelled cigarette smoke. I whipped around, heart racing, only to find Gene standing a few feet away.
He held up his hands, his face paling. “I’m sorry. I was sat by the tree over there.” He pointed to the tree I had seen him underneath earlier. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Gene,” I said, hand on my chest, covering my racing heart. At the sound of our voices, one of the soldiers came running around the corner, gun drawn. He stopped, scanning the area. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” I said, and the soldier left again. I walked closer to Gene and sat down on the bench near the Adley graves. Gene hovered nearby, looking unsure of what to do. “Care to join me?”
Gene ducked his head shyly but sat down beside me. The wind whipped around us, but the branches of the tree sheltered us from most of its harshness. I embraced the silence, happy to be outside, taking in fresh air in good company.
“They were good people,” Gene said minutes later, nudging his head toward Annie’s and Pearl’s graves. “I liked them a lot. Miss them a lot.”
“I’ve heard they were. I’m sad I never got to meet them.”
Gene lowered his head and ran his hand over the sleeve of his long top, pulling it back enough to show the black bandages he wore underneath. I wasn’t sure he even realised he was doing it. A nervous habit he had picked up. I studied his face. He bore a resemblance to Eric and Vera, but where they were both blond with vibrant and loud personalities, Gene was all dark hair and timid hazel eyes. He was quiet, introverted … damaged.
“He’s changed,” Gene said, his quiet voice almost getting stolen by the wind. I stared at his profile, and his gaze flitted to mine before he stared out over the trees again.
“Arthur?” I asked.
Gene nodded and rubbed his hands together—another nervous gesture. “When I left …” He trailed off. “A while back.” When he had been sectioned. When the family had paid for him to seek help for his inner demons. “He was …” Gene frowned as if he was seeing Arthur in his memory, searching for the correct description of the man he used to be. “A ghost,” he settled on. “He was a ghost. Empty but for the anger that fuelled him. He didn’t live. His eyes …” Gene sighed. “They were dead. Void of any happiness.”
“They were?” I said, remembering Arthur’s blank stare as he left my flat in Oxford that night after his dad had been shot. How he’d seemed changed. How the man I had known was long gone. He had always been tortured and haunted.