Every Cloud

Chapter Four

The watercolour sky is bleeding grey by the time Zach pulls up by the church.

"Do you want me to walk you over?" He asks, as the hum of the engine fades to silence.

"It's fine, thanks. I'll only be a second, just to drop the flowers off."

"Alright, take however long you need."

"I won't be a second." I confirm, cranking open the car door, hauling the package of flowers out of the footwell and heading off into the mass of sprawling willow trees. The ground is sodden and half-frozen as I march over to the left hand side where her grave is located. The wide, dismal slabs stretch far in every direction, and the graveyard is practically empty, except for a dog walker cutting across the bottom corner to feed across into an adjacent meadow.

My mother's grave lies in the centre of a clump of crumbling, mould-ridden messes; making her thick-cut rectangle of compressed slate stand out in stark contrast. The variety of flowers from yesterday lie in a sprawled mass at the foot, clearly tousled by the strong breezes. Beneath my furled fingers, the plastic wrapper crinkles as I pull out the ribbon-bound stems and tuck the bundle next to a mismatched collection of tea light candles, long since suffocated by the pelting rain. I can't tear myself away from the site, as if tough roots have suddenly sprung out of my feet and plunged deep into the ground. Dull grey cloud has spread across the horizon, dipping the world in a misty light, the sun invisibly slipping out of sight. My gaze focuses towards the apex of the grave, at the printed letters stamped across the slate backdrop.

Loving mother, sister and aunt, I read. My mouth turns rancid.

"I'm so sorry." I whisper bluntly, and bend down to ruffle my fingers through the bright-yellow petals once more, spreading them into an arrangement. A hollow pang emits inside of me, a cavity that will never be filled with contempt nor normality ever again. It's impossible to believe that she's lying under the compact earth adjacent to where I'm standing right now, although, it's not really her, just her physical form; her hands, her arms, her legs, her soon-to-be skeleton. Not her soul. Her soul's still here; in the dusty record player laying in Beth's living room, the permanent herbal-essence scent of our home, her collection of mumbo-jumbo healing stones, Paisley's hand-woven collar. It's almost as if I'll wander home to be enveloped in her presence, like usual, to be greeted by a batch of her infamous brandy cookies and an update on tonight's constellations or a section of my weekly horoscope.

Tears finally find their way out of the corners of my eyes, aggressive pellets of emotion, fire-branded bullets. It was supposed to be me and her against the world. Us. Together.

☼

It's four minutes later when Zach comes to find me, throws his jacket over my shuddering body and tugs me back towards his car. My feet are soaked, melted ice having flooded into the flimsy school shoes. I'm still shivering as we make our way back over to the car, and as soon as I'm buckled in I warm my hands by the air vents. I don't say anything, and neither does he, not until we're two minutes away from the house.

"I'm sorry." He offers up, his voice only just rising above the hollow pop tunes echoing out of the radio.

"No, it's okay."

"It's not, Elle. I should've refused mum's idea and driven you straight home."

"Oh well." My voice comes out feeble and weak. I jam the side of my pinky finger into my mouth and gnaw on my fingernail, halting any more words tumbling out of my mouth. Zach shuts up and parks the car at the top of the gravel slope. I unlock my door and sidle out, dragging my rucksack behind me as an afterthought.

The house is silent as we enter through the backdoor, the same door I crept out of this morning. Beth is still at work and won't be back until half six at least, a bottle of wine or a packet of ready meals in tow. Paisley comes sprinting to the door, picking up one of my discarded, soggy school shoes in his mouth and carrying it though to the lounge with him.