It crossed his mind that he should’ve lit the fire before the shower. Hindsight and all that, it was very on brand for William to not think so methodically.
He changed into an oversized hoodie, baggy jogging bottoms and slippers shaped like dogs. Ridiculous, yes, but comfortable also. And at least no one could judge him here – not that he cared if they did.
Returning to the living room, he lit a fire with ease, and besides the slightly concerning smell of burning and the initial billowing of smoke from the chimney, the house didn’t burn down.
William drew himself up on the large sofa and practically melted into its pillows. With the open bottle of red wine raised to his mouth, he took five deep swigs. Maybe six actually.
Who needed a glass anyway?
“Much better,” he said to himself, lifting the bottle in a cheers. When no one replied, not even the creaking house, he smiled to himself. “Much better indeed.”
The more William drank, the harder his thoughts came. Thick and fast the lighter the bottle became. He enjoyed the soothing wave of alcohol as it numbed his throat and filled his belly, although it did little to still the unwanted voices in his head.
He wondered what Archie would’ve thought of William coming here. How William was facing a future that he never knew existed until after Archie died. He could almost hear Archie’s laugh – the deep rumbling of it, always so demanding and infectious that it made William chuckle to himself at the memory. But one thing was certain: Archie wanted Hanbury to be a place they could both exist.
Now, William was alone.
William disregarded the solicitor’s suggestion of selling the manor. This washischance to escape. But mostly he didn’t sell because if anything could bring Archie back from the dead, it was the opportunity for him to say, ‘don’t leave me out, Will’.
Then there was the one thought that had helped make the decision to come here easier.
The concept of never leaving Hanbury Manor.
William was in the middle of nowhere, cold and alone. If he survived this, he thought about getting a big hairy dog eventually, calling it Zeus, just as Archie would’ve wanted. Even if the thought of doing anything Archie wanted to do in life only hurt him.
The fire spat and hissed, sending flecks of hot ash onto the wood flooring. Odd, William should’ve perhaps cared that the floor would likely be ruined, but he knew it was one of the first things he would have ripped up when work began.
He had come to Hanbury Manor to familiarise himself with it while finalising his plans for the property. Keep it or sell up. Either way, the chance to make a home with Archie as they had always planned – together – was gone.
There was another reason for his one-week stay here, a darker concept that he’d pushed to the corners of his mind. He had five more days until that decision had to be made.
By the time the bottle was almost finished, it was so dark beyond the window that William couldn’t even guess the time. His body was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t shut off. He had no idea which room he would sleep in tonight, and the thought of leaving the sofa was displeasing. If he wasn’t careful, the bottle of wine would be finished, and he would be left with nothing to occupy himself.
Then his eyes fell on the burnt journal he’d left on the table.
He pondered it for a moment, head fuzzy from the malbec. As he contemplated it, the house seemed to quiver in response. The winds beyond the manor rattled the glass in their frames, making it seem like the roof would peel away. He heard the creaking above him again, but this time he put it down to just the gale outside.
William reached over, fingers gripping the neck of the bottle for dear life. He pulled the journal toward him, palm tickling the leather-bound cover until it slipped from the table, and he caught it in his only spare hand.
“So then, Robert,” William said, reading the name scrawled on the page. “Let’s see if you have enough allure to distract me from my shambles of a life.”
It felt odd speaking aloud but comforting as the manor responded in its own way.
William leaned back, taking yet another large swig of wine until the bottle was truly empty, and he was gasping for breath. Discarding the bottle on the floor, he didn’t take his eyes off the book as he placed it on his lap. The glow of the fire flickered across it, offering just enough light to read.
He felt uncomfortable he peeled the book open for a second time. As though he was prying into something he shouldn’t. But it wasn’t enough to stop him from turning through the first handful of empty pages until he came across the first page covered in impeccable handwriting.
“Tell me your story, and I’ll tell you mine,” William slurred to himself, finger tracing the date in the top left-hand corner of the page. “But you first.”
Read and find out, the journal seemed to say.We all have one.
30 May 1939
I feel I may explode if I do not reveal this to someone. Implode? Perhaps both.
Reader, you are the only one I can trust with this. As the ink dries upon this page, I hope you keep my secret, or by the flaming rivers of hell destroy you.
I love a man.
