Micky says nothing.
“Micky, I think it’s Ben.”
“Keep walking, Blair.” He puts a hand on my back to make me carry on moving.
I don’t. I stay put and stare, the world freezing around me. I can only see the back of him and his blonde hair that’s darker as it always was in winter.
But it’s Ben.
In my head, it’s Ben.
“Blair, we need to go.” Micky’s voice is impatient.
I start to walk, Micky’s hand still on me, guiding, my head turning round so I can still see him.
“It looks so much like him.”
Micky doesn’t say anything and I don’t know if that’s because he thinks I’m delusional because he believes Ben is dead too, like his sister.
Like my father.
I’m ten footsteps away from the car when I break down and weep like I haven’t done before and I can’t stop. The tears come and come and come, falling down my face, a waterfall after a flood.
Micky guides me into the car, ducking my head as he might do a prisoner. I don’t know if I’ve been recognised and I don’t care. Something has opened inside me and its pouring out: grief, hurt, pain, anger.
This time I don’t try to cage it. I feel lighter with every sob, the despair that’s been lingering over me like a dense fog starting to finally evaporate and I begin to feel something other than numb.
I need the numbness to fade. I need to be something more than the person people see in the media wearing pretty clothes and smiling appropriately.
I need to be real.
The sobs subside as we reach the motorway, an hour to go before we return to the castle. I stare out of the window, eyes puffy, throat raw.
Heart bruised.
“Micky.”
He takes my hand in his, a gesture he’s never done before and gives it a squeeze.
“That was Ben I saw.”
He doesn’t say anything. I wonder if he thinks I’m going mad.
Isaac
The first day of what feels like spring is the day Paden’s funeral takes place. Blair’s father has lain in state for ten days, allowing his subjects to come to pay their last respects. I’ve spent two days at the castle, enclosed in its thick ancient walls with my sister and brother-in-law, sometimes with Blair, trying to provide an outlet to what is going to be one of the hardest days when she buries her father.
It’s a private affair after the ceremony in the cathedral. A state funeral. A fanfare of bagpipes and soldiers in full dress. A send off for the people, because we celebrate the momentous occasions: birth, birthdays, marriages and deaths. Moments in time that stay with us.
I sit in a pew with my sister, one of the crowd. We’re dressed in black and Ivy has tried to conceal her red hair in a black head scarf, but it only make her look more distinct. Nate is absent: big crowds and public occasions aren’t for him for a plethora of reasons, so it’s just the two of us. Watching.
Blair holds her mother’s hand as Paden’s coffin is carried up the aisle towards the back of the cathedral where it will lie while hymns are sung and prayers are said and speeches are given.
She’s chosen to speak, saying it’s the only thing that will keep her together throughout the rest of the service, something to focus on, something to do.
Her black dress and black coat, with her hair pinned up, are what my mother would call elegant, and she’d hate me to say it, but she looks every inch a young queen.
We sit down as the coffin is lowered and I see my father sitting closer to the front, his head bowed. Now isn’t the time for brutal thoughts or insidious wishes; Ivy reads my mind, pinching my arm and reminding me of where we are.
