Rain thundered down beyond the door. Archie stood before him in his red coat, tears of regret blending in with the rain falling upon him. Archie had said those very words to William the day he was kicked out of their house. They were the last words he’d ever said before he died – a pleading sentence for an unfinished life.
Soft hands reached for William, jolting him out of the memory.
“Will, I’m sorry.” Edward was so close, there was no denying his sincerity. “I didn’t mean to upset you, truly. I’ll take the board away, forget I ever showed you.”
Sorrow formed between his brow in wrinkled lines. Up this close, there wasn’t a detail spared. William could count the dark freckles across Edward’s sharp nose and noticed a scar that nicked the top of his right cheekbone. The slight swelling of his lip from the punch earlier. It was almost the right distraction, but there was something burning in William that he had to say.
“My name is William,” he managed, fists still balled and poised. “Call me Will again and you’re gone. I’m serious.”
Heavy silence thrummed between them, weighing down like an unmoving pressure.
When Edward didn’t reply, William added. “Am I clear?”
Edward’s gaze roamed across William’s face, drinking him in. Was he also memorising the details? Soaking them in, just as William had with his?
“Yes. Crystal clear.”
Both men parted, the tension catching between them like a rope pulled taut. There was nothing else William had to say to him. He turned, wobbling slightly as the pain returned to his ankle, and made a move for the door.
“Where are you going now?” Edward called after him.
“To bed.”
“But you haven’t eaten,” Edward said as if that was a serious matter.
“Surprisingly, I don’t have an appetite,” he lied.
His stomach was in knots. Food was required, yes. But so was wine. However, he planned to wait in his room for Edward to retire to bed, then go back downstairs to satisfy his needs once he was out of the way.
William didn’t even think about ghosts as he struggled up the first couple of stairs. He was hyperaware that Edward was behind him, watching from a careful distance, likely toying with the idea of offering his help. That’s all his mind could focus on.
“Wait,” Edward shouted just as William rounded the first landing.
William paused. He didn’t look back, only clutched onto the banister for support as he waited for whatever Edward had to say.
The question that followed wasn’t what he expected.
“Would you like me to sleep in your room tonight, or should I find another one to stay in?”
Warmth flooded William’s cheeks. He almost laughed at the question, knowing the answer was simple. But actually, it wasn’t. Because as William opened his mouth to tell Edward to find another room, a different answer came out. “My room.”
“Okay.” Edward mumbled to himself. “Your room it is.”
William was glad his back was to Edward because otherwise, he would’ve seen the embarrassment in the widening of his eyes and the silent ‘fuck’ he mouthed to himself. Regardless of his anger towards Edward, William knew, with everything that happened, he didn’t want to sleep alone. He told himself it was because of the sleepwalking, but he knew the answer was far more sinister.
Neither man said anything else. William slipped into the room and closed the door, wondering how long it would take for Edward to follow him in. He hoped he had some time, because William had a date with another man. Someone formed of ink on paper.
If Robert Thomas’s spirit lingered in Hanbury Manor, William wanted answers as to why.
15 September 1939
To my most respectable reader, oh, how I have missed you. I feel as though I should apologise for the delay since my last entry, but much has changed in England since then, and I fear that more change is to come. Anyhoo, you must be sick of me saying sorry now, considering my last two entries began no different to this one.
It has been fifteen nights since the war began. Fifteen nights of worry, fifteen nights of this internal pending doom that comes with the thought that our time to help our country will begin.
Teddy has been my comfort, my constant. Although our evening escapades have been forced to come to an end, I still know he is close. Even now, as I write to you, I can see the glow from the gatehouse’s window. Teddy burns a candle on the ledge, always. He told me it was his way of indicating that I am on his mind as much as he is on mine. But the problem I am now faced with is that I cannot sleep. I watch that candle flame, waiting for the moment it would extinguish. Expecting the forced distance between us would evict me from Teddy’s mind.
I am pleased to announce that this has yet to happen.
