Edward’s words struck William hard in the chest. He noticed the regret crease over Edward’s face, but William stood before he said anything in the realm of an apology.
“And on that note, I’m going to bed.” William snatched the journal from Edward’s hand. The cover was noticeable cold to the touch. Even admitting his fury, William hoped to feel the comforting warmth of Edward’s touch lingering on it.
“Was it something I said?” Edward said urgently. “I have a bad case of ‘foot in mouth disease’. I’m sorry.”
William could hear his disappointment laced in every word he spoke. He could’ve told him exactly how painful his words were, but he didn’t have the energy.
“Good night, Edward,” William said as he moved for the door. He had Robert’s journal in one hand, and in the other, he had his wine glass. He would finish it in bed whilst reading another excerpt. “I hope the sofa serves you well, and the ghosts leave you in peace.”
Edward didn’t try to protest for William to stay. Instead, he looked longingly towards him, then to the journal in his hand, and back again. “Are you going to barricade me in this room tonight?”
The thought hadn’t even passed his mind. “No, I’m not. Count yourself lucky.”
But that didn’t mean William wouldn’t put something on his side of his bedroom door, just in case.
“I’ll be gone by morning,” Edward said. “Weather permitting.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can find an umbrella for you somewhere.”
Edward sighed through a smile. Regret was a funny thing, evident in every deep line across Edward’s forehead. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I do have a bad habit of speaking before I think.”
Defensive and drunk, it was William’s turn to say something he’d regret come morning. “Don’t worry, Edward. I understand that it isn’t your fault. You’re a man whose only company is plants after all. I’m sure you’ve just not mastered the ability of speaking to actual people just yet.”
Then, with that, he turned and left.
A sharp prickling spread across the nape of William’s neck as he left the room. The feeling was electrifying. It lit his skin ablaze. And it didn’t fade. If anything, the sensation got worse.
All this talk of ghosts affected his drunk mind. By the time he got back into Robert’s bedroom, which he’d claimed as his own, he froze to the spot. Dread dragged its sharp talon down his spine as he felt an intense gaze bore through him.
A brush of frigid wind tickled over the back of his neck.
There was a presence behind him. He knew it with intense certainty. Beneath the attention of the on-looker, William felt sick. It cramped his stomach and twisted, making his head light. He couldn’t get a hold of his emotions as they ran rampant through him.
He held his breath as he turned around. As he did, he spoke a single name. “Edward?” It came out of him in a brush whisper.
But there was nothing behind him. No Edward. No eyes. Just an empty hallway lit by the weak bulbs and another flash of lightning.
William was alone. And now he was more pissed off. How dare Edward come in and scare him with talk of ghosts.
Throwing open the door tohisroom, William wormed his way inside and slammed it shut behind him. The feeling that had overcome him didn’t leave until he clambered into the comfort of the bed and opened the journal to the last page he’d read to.
If Edward wasn’t going to answer his questions about the Thomas family, perhaps Robert would himself.
2 August 1939
Dearest reader, I must first apologise for my absence, but you will understand I have been rather occupied as of late.
Much has occurred since I last wrote to you, but the shame has stayed the same. I live with it now. A part of me has learned to thrive alongside it. The shame I harbour is nothing but a bad neighbour, whom I live in peace beside. It is worse during the times I am alone with my mind, so I do my best to keep those times limited.
There was a brief time when I could not bring myself out of bed. Now I leap out of it, knowing thatheis waiting for me. Every night, that is our promise. Teddy fears he cannot sleep without me, and I feel the same, but for an entirely differing reason.
Teddy is the route of my sins, and the angel willingly forgives me for them. He is both my concealment and my revelation.
Since that fateful night towards the end of May, I have not slept a night without him. Until tonight that is. Which is why I have the time to write to you. Father has returned from London after being hindered in the city. His presence has brought an end to our late-night escapades. I should be thankful, but I cannot help but despise him. Reader, I know it is dramatic to admit, but being kept from Teddy makes me feel like I am leashed.
I wish Father slept as soundly as Mother. She has always been a heavy sleeper, which has only been a benefit to me sneaking out during the dead of night to meet Teddy. Would you think poorly of me if I admit to slipping a healthier helping of brandy into Mother’s evening tea? It has only been a little, but as we know, a little goes a long way.
Father returned from the city earlier than expected, and the mood he brought with him was dark. I am worried. All this talk of war has sent him into a place in his mind, somewhere deep and dark – a trench of terrible memories he collected during the first war.
