War Bird

45. EPILOGUE

I feel like I’ve been wearing black for years now, not hours. But this day has been longer and harder than I ever imagined. Captain Finlay Pelham was buried with full military honours in the family plot at Barnes Cemetery, alongside his wife Maggie. His parents' graves are just yards away from where he lies. Asher and I had sat at the back of the almost empty church and watched as a pathetically small amount of people joined Bridget in saying farewell to pretty much the most incredible man who has ever lived. Mum had been surprised when Asher and I told her we were going, but I think she was also really pleased that I cared about one of my neighbours. She can never know why it mattered so much to be there when he was lowered into his final resting place.

I sit at my living room window, looking down across the Estate to Mr. Pelham’s front door. I can’t believe I won’t ever again see him sitting out there in his special chair, rocking away to his beloved jazz music. And the world doesn’t even know, this is what gets me. The world will never know who he was and what he did. The way he protected his troop from horrors most people can’t even dream of. They will never know how the safety of the world depended on him giving up everything he held dear to protect a little girl. A little girl who is now a woman drawing her pension. I look at my hands, capable of many things. Amazing things, even death. I haven’t tested them since I got home, haven’t even bothered contacting the Coven like I was told. Finlay’s dead. What’s the point? The front door opens and bangs shut. I shake myself and stand.

“Only me!” Mum says. They’ve been down the shops to get bits for lunch. Ribbon gurgles loudly from the hall, like she’s trying to say my name. I smile. I ain’t never gonna tire of hearing my sister’s noises, not now. Mum comes in, cheeks slightly pink from climbing the stairs. She sees me in my black clothes and her face softens. “Oh. How was it?”

“Sad.” I fiddle with my hair. I can’t cry. If I do, I won’t stop. “But, a nice service, you know.”

“I’m sure he would have been pleased to have you there,” she says gently. “He always seemed like a lonely old man, even with that batty daughter of his.”

“Bridget’s alright.” I shrug, a smile twitching at my lips. 

Ribbon waves her arms and legs around, blows spit bubbles. Such inappropriate timing, we have to laugh.

“Will you take her?” Mum undoes the papoose and hands her to me. I look at her little face, so untroubled and smiling and I stop thinking about the sadness. I feel like I’m right where I’m meant to be.

“Do you need help putting the shop away?” I pick up Ribs’ brightly-coloured rattle and we sit on the couch together to play.

“No love, but thanks,” Mum calls from the kitchen. “Ravioli lunch alright?”

“Yeah.”

The door goes then, a slow, heavy knock.

“Can you get that?” Mum yells. “Got my hands full in here.”

I stand up, propping Ribbon on my hip, and she immediately starts sucking on her rattle. 

“Come on, little one,” I tell her. “Let’s see who this is.” 

I open the door. A tall, muscled man stands there. He’s dark skinned, with long brown hair brushing his collar. Clever eyes glint from under thick eyebrows, and from under his crumpled linen shirt I can see black ink snaking up from his torso on to his neck. 

“Hello.” He speaks with a lilt, like music. 

“What...” This has to be a joke. Ribs’ knows something’s up with me, she starts squirming and when I don’t let her go she begins to wail.

“Sorry it had to be this way.” The man looks slyly at me from hooded eyes. “But you’ve been called.”

“Who is it?” Mum calls. “What’s going on?”

I stare into this man’s eyes. A face I have wanted for years to see again, yet also a face I’ve long hated. The man with the answers about what it means to be a True.

 “Hello, Dad.”