‘Scarlett,’ the reverend says, placing a hand onto my elbow, encouraging me forwards.
He opens a small casket filled with soil. I take a handful and step forwards to throw it over the gold plaque displaying my dad’s name, followed by the white rose I’ve been holding since we arrived.
People begin to disappear into the grey background, their faces with silent, moving mouths step closer to mine, some kissing my cheeks. More than once, I feel the faces touch my sodden, padded shoulder or my gloved hands. They walk away, hidden beneath their large, black umbrellas. Some run, their grey coats blending into the decaying headstones that cover the ground of the cemetery.
The rain suddenly stops in just the spot I’m standing. I turn my gloved hand in front of me. There are no fresh drops of water. The smell of dampness and loneliness is smothering. I’m vaguely aware of an arm around my shoulder, encouraging me to take my eyes from my dad. My thick, brown hair is stuck to the sides of my face. My once buoyant curls are drowned. My suit clings to my trembling body beneath my soaked, black mac.
The arm around my shoulder tugs but I can’t take my eyes from the coffin, despite desperately blinking through dripping eyelashes. Dad would scarcely recognise his little girl – who she’s become and the corrupt web in which she’s gotten herself entangled.
The hand tightens on my shoulder and becomes strong enough to turn the weight of my heavy body, dragging my heels from the saturated ground. The groundkeepers move in to cover the coffin and the white rose. This is it: all his years of goodness, caring and strength, buried deep beneath sand and dirt. He deserves more than this. For every time he picked me up when I’d fallen, for every time his thumb swept tears from my face, he deserves more than this.
‘Let’s get you to your car,’ says Reverend Griffiths.
I raise my head, my mind returning to real time. His words resonate as the world, a new world, comes into focus. Amanda is leading Sandy back to the limousine. I feel the sharp, cold air blow across my cheek. Thick, charcoal clouds drift slowly through the grey sky.
Reverend Griffiths speaks again. I shake my head, forcing it to register the sound, ordering my eyes to focus on him, but they’re drawn to movement behind him.
The black Mercedes rolls to a stop in the distance at the edge of the cemetery.
It’s him. The reason all this came to be and the very person I want to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay.
I burst from the grip of the reverend and with all the strength left in my broken body, I surge towards Gregory as he steps out of the car. I reach him, punching frantically at his body and striking my palms against his face. Tears stream down my cheeks and uncontrollable sobs burst from the depths of me. He does nothing to stop me. He absorbs each impact like he deserves it, as if he wants to feel the pain.
‘I hate you. I hate everything you’ve brought on us. I hate that deal.’
My energy is drained. I have nothing left.
‘And I hate myself for not really hating you at all.’
Before my legs give way under the weight of my body, he wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into his chest and lowers me to the sodden grass in his lap. I feel the touch of his lips on my head and the gentle tug of his body rocking me. He warms my cold, wet body as we sit. The rain pounds again, washing away my gushing tears. My world fades to black, the shade of my soul.
‘I’ve got her; grab the door,’ Gregory says.
He lifts me into the back of the Mercedes and rests my head on his lap. I open my eyes wearily to see Jackson glance at me in the rear-view mirror before he pulls us away from the cemetery.
‘Drop us off then get some food, something warm; she needs to eat,’ Gregory says quietly.
‘Sandy,’ I croak.
‘She’s fine, angel; she’s with Amanda.’
The cold from my wet clothes seeps into my bones and my body starts to shiver uncontrollably. My teeth chatter and my breathing becomes audible. Gregory lifts me from his lap and pulls me into his chest, stroking my hair with his warm hand. His soft lips press against my scalp and like a baby, I drift to the fringe of lucidity, exhausted.
Jackson wakes me when he opens the back door.
‘Do you want me to carry her?’
I recognise the underground car park of the Shard.
‘I can walk.’
In truth, my legs are weak and my body is still trembling from the cold. My head is so confused, I don’t know what I am or what I should be feeling but I know there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than with Gregory.
The elevator pings as it arrives at the basement. Gregory gestures for me to step in ahead of him. I watch my feet as we rise in silence, neither of us knowing where to go from here. I’m exhausted. My dad is dead and I have no idea how to talk to the man I love. This all started because of one sick bastard. And he’s out there.
Gregory opens the door to his apartment with a hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the lounge.
‘Take this off,’ he says, undoing the belt around my mac and pulling it from my shoulders. I’m even colder without it.
