Apologies for waiting so long to update...a huge amount of crap happened in my life (big break-up, moved back home etc). Sorry :/

Chapter 4

When Colin finally opens his eyes, they are a dull dark brown, seemingly lifeless until he blinks very slowly a few times. Then he appears to register who it is he is looking at and he smiles, a tiny smile that looks as though it causes him great pain. I reach out instinctively and take his hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He closes his eyes at the touch of my hand on his. Tears well in my own eyes, unbidden. The relief of knowing that he is okay is unprecedented. Colin's eyes remain closed as he falls back to sleep. Who knew that being unconscious could be so exhausting?

Outside, it is a clear dark sky. A few smatterings of stars mar the otherwise black canvas. Colin has been asleep for two days. I feel haggard and tired and there is an ache inside that I cannot quite place. I believe it sparks from a need for normality. I want my children beside me. My husband's arms around me. And my cousin free and healthy, laughing. Some things are just not meant to be. I lean forward and rest my forehead on Colin's arm, closing my eyes as I do. He is so cold, his limbs so frail and thin. The tears run down the side of my face and pool on his pale skin. I bring a finger up and wipe them away. Right now, I feel as if even the smallest thing will damage him, hurt him, cause even more pain.

I fall asleep and wake feeling somehow even more tired than before. The clock next to the bed says it is past midnight. I look up at Colin to find him watching me, staring, his hand now draped softly on my head. He smiles that painful smile again, but it disappears as I sit up.

"I hope you haven't been awake for long." I admonish, the mother in me coming through as it occasionally does whenever Colin is ill.

Colin rolls his eyes, a movement that looks odd without the accompanying hand or face movements. It's as if his whole body is frozen. "What does it matter, anyway?" He croaks, wincing as he tries to sit up.

I reach forward quickly to stop him moving. I fluff his pillows. Straighten his blankets. Anything to make him more comfortable. "You need your rest, Colin. Is there anything else I can get you? Would you like some water?" I offer, pouring a glass from the jug next to his bed anyway, regardless of his answer.

He closes his eyes and I hear a sigh escape his pale, chapped lips. "Please, just stay here with me, Mary." He begs, and when he opens his eyes again, all I can see are the tears and the sadness, pleading. Needing.

I move closer and rub his arm soothingly. I cannot get over how cold he is. "I'm not going anywhere, Colin."

We sit in silence for a few moments, and I think for a second that Colin has fallen asleep again. But he raises his hand, reaches up and grabs my own. He brings it slowly but surely to his lips and plants an icy kiss on it. He lets it rest in his lap, our hands entwined together. He watches them quietly. He opens his mouth to speak, but I know what he is about say before he has even said it. The feeling of déjà vu is too much. "Mary…"

I don't give him a chance to speak his mind. I remove my hand gently from his grasp and sit back, staring down at my lap. "Do not say it, Colin." I say, without looking up.

His quiet, hoarse voice is beseeching, but still I do not move my gaze from my hands resting in my lap. "Please, Mary, let me speak. You know how I feel, you know—"

I cannot stand another minute of this. Before I let my emotions get the better of me, I stand up hastily and glare at him. "That is enough! Colin, I have had it. Enough. Now, get some rest." I command with authority. I know that the second I leave the room, it will change things forever. Irrevocably. Just as it did seven years ago.

The visitor's room is empty. I collapse on the padded bench, feeling utterly spent. Tears flow freely down my cheeks. When I close my eyes, willing them to stop, all I can see is Misselthwaite Manor, Colin's heartbroken face in the window, the rain running down the pane emulating the tear tracks down his cheeks. Why was he bringing this up again? Didn't he know, couldn't he see, the guilt I felt every day for what I did to him? For what I am still doing to him? I thought it was over, done with and forgotten. Evidently not.

For the first few days after our return to England, the three of us, Dickon, Colin and I, rested up at Misselthwaite Manor. We slept mostly, or visited the Garden. Colin assaulted his father daily with tales of our trip to India. We were all happily contented. Until things went awry, as they are wont to do. My uncle had left for business for a while. Dickon was busy in the stable. I was writing a letter in the Garden to Martha, who was heavily pregnant in Scotland with her husband. It was a rare sunny day. The sun warmed the back of my neck as I wrote, and when I paused in my scribbling to stretch my hand and neck, I was startled to find Colin standing by the pond watching me.

I smiled and waved him over to sit next to me. "Colin! Do you have anything you wish to tell Martha? She's nearly due." I informed him as he sat down on the bench with a sigh.

He craned his neck to read the letter over my shoulder. That was one of his irritating habits that I hated. He pointed a long finger to a sentence I had scrawled about Bangalore. "He had seventeen wives, not sixteen. And the chilli powder made Dickon vomit five times, not once or twice. Goodness, Mary, if you're going to tell her of our trip, make sure you do it right." He said, giving me a disapproving look.

I huffed angrily. "The little details like that do not count, Colin. I really don't think Martha cares how many times her dear little brother vomited. That's rather unpleasant." When I glanced over to see Colin's reaction, an amused smirk was on his lips. This served to make me even more peeved. "What is it?"

He shook his head, the smirk forming into a smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "It's nothing, Mary, just you."

This irked me but I thought nothing of it and turned my attention back to my letter. I started telling Martha about the happenings in the Manor while we had been gone and since we had returned. Her favourite horse, Polly, had had another calf. Dickon had decided to name him Paulie. I also informed her that Master Craven had hired a new maid – Sara Medlock – Mrs. Medlock's great-granddaughter. Before I could go any further, Colin was at my shoulder, interrupting me yet again.

His finger touched Mrs. Medlock's name on the paper. "You spelt her name wrong. There's no 'c'."

Exasperated, I threw the paper and quill down on my lap and scowled at my cousin, ready to yell at him to mind his own business and leave me in peace. Before I even had a chance to raise my voice, Colin's hand snaked up to touch my cheek. I was rather taken aback by the intimate gesture. All of a sudden, his lips were on mine, very softly but most definitely there. I had no idea what on earth I was supposed to think. What did he think he was doing? Instinctively, I pulled away and looked at him, feeling shocked and…something else. Repulsed? Possibly, there was an element of disgust, but the prevalent emotion was astonishment. My eyes were wide and questioning. Colin was staring at me. I saw a light go out in his eyes that day. Perhaps I didn't see it right then but now, when I look back, I remember seeing his eyes darken and a scowl return to his face.

He wouldn't speak, so I spoke for him. "What are you doing, Colin?"

He frowned, his cheeks reddening slightly. After a long pause, he finally said: "You look rather lovely when you are angry, Mary."

This comment astounded me even further. Did he intend to sound so cryptic, so puzzling? A feeling of realisation began its slow, sneaking crawl up the back of my neck. Did this mean what I thought it meant? "Colin…" I said, with almost a hint of warning in my voice.

He took it the wrong way, misreading the emotion and leaned in again for another kiss. I stood up and out of his reach before he had a chance to connect his lips with mine. This was wrong. "Mary, what is it?" He frowned up at me again, his cheeks now a bright red.

I shook my head slowly, trying to decipher all that was happening. "Colin…why—do you—why did you kiss me?" I asked. I prayed silently, futilely, that he had some odd far-off but practical reason for it; a reason that wouldn't jeopardize our relationship as not only best friends, but cousins also.

The emotions were so raw and open in Colin's face, in his eyes. I could see everything he was feeling clear as daylight. His face was now a beetroot red, from his neck up to his ears. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed for him. "I love you. I thought we could be together, stay here at Misselthwaite together, we wouldn't have to let anything, anyone, get in the way. I thought after India you felt the same. I thought—"

Sheer and utter shock and disgust shook through me in a profound way. Where in the world had this come from? I knew, had known for a while, that Colin wanted me for himself, wanted Dickon gone so he wouldn't have to share his best friend, his cousin, but I had thought that was as far as it went. The jealousy of Dickon – it was far deeper than I had assumed. Did that mean Colin knew what I was feeling about our friend? Could he see it in the way I acted, in my face, the same way I could see the heartbreak and despair shining in Colin's face now? What did he seriously expect to happen? How had I managed to lead him astray so badly without even realising I was doing it? Things were going to be so different from now on. Nothing was going to be the same ever again. I grabbed the letter from where it had fallen on the ground and tried to think of a response. When nothing fitting came through, I simply opted for shaking my head at him, with pity. I couldn't help it. That was what the situation warranted. "You…you thought wrong, Colin."

I fled from the Garden as fast as I could carry myself, without looking back. I didn't even wait to see my cousin's reaction. Had I just ruined everything? So many emotions were roiling and churning away inside me. Once I was inside the house, I shut myself in my room, closing the curtains, hiding the outside world away. I couldn't see into the Garden from here, but I was sure Colin was still sitting there, probably trying to work out where he went wrong. He was so sensitive, so easy to hurt. Surely, he could not have thought that things would work that way. Then again, he could be incredibly arrogant and self-assured in certain things. His spoilt upbringing had ensured that.

Sleep claimed me for a short while. When I woke, it was dark outside and torrential rain had moved in from the west. From the window I could see the stables, where a light was still burning inside. Dickon was still working away, even in this weather. He probably hadn't even come inside for supper yet. I decided to organise a cold meal and take it out to him. The maids in the kitchens gave me a basket and some bread, cold meat and cheese. Outside, the wind whipped at my skirts immediately and pulled my hair in all directions. The rain lashed down on my face with a wild ferocity. This was certainly a storm. I hurried quickly down to the stables, pushed the old heavy door open and shut it firmly behind me.

Dickon didn't hear me over the noise of the storm, and didn't look up when I entered. He was so involved in his task – brushing Polly, one of the horses, down. The concentration and care was etched in his furrowed brow. His hand moved slowly from the horse's neck, down her side and then gently brushing the tail out. Polly was a beautiful mahogany brown, and her coat always gleamed and glistened – the result of Dickon's meticulous care. I watched him, mesmerised for a few moments before clearing my throat to announce my presence.

He jumped at the sound and whipped his head up quickly to see who had disturbed him. A striking smile crossed his face and he straightened up to greet me. "'Lo, Mary. You shouldn't be out in this weather, silly lass, you'll catch a cold." He said, frowning slightly.

I smiled warmly, and crossed the distance between us to pass him the basket. "I brought you supper." I handed it to him and our fingers touched briefly. I felt the static, the electricity pass between us as it had many times before.

It was a long hot summer afternoon when I realised what my feelings for Dickon were. I was eighteen and had never been in love before. Never noticed him in that way before. But ever since he had grown taller and his voice had deepened, I had been oddly shy around him like I never had before. I didn't really understand it, why it was happening, so I ignored it. Then, after two years of watching him in awe, I realised one afternoon what it was burning inside of me. When he entered a room, my heart rate quickened. If he spoke to me, my breath caught in my throat. I could barely concentrate when he was around. And one day, our skin connected, fleetingly, as he passed me a book from a high shelf. The charge, the electricity, was there. I wasn't sure if he felt it too, so I said nothing. But from then I knew that I loved him. It was easier to manage after that. I could tolerate being in the same room as him and I could hold coherent conversations with him for hours at a time.

That's what I loved the most, how much we could talk to one another and connect with each other. Never before had I experienced something like this. Even my relationship with Colin, Martha, my uncle had never been like this. We would sit and chat for hours, without even noticing how much time had passed. It was just that electricity, the spark that was a constant thing. Surely he must have felt it too? I did not have the confidence or bravery to ask him, or make my feelings clear. I suffered in silence.

A small smile was on his lips as he took the basket from me. I could never tell for sure, but I was sure he had flinched as our hands touched. But perhaps that was just me, seeing it because I wanted it to be true so badly. "Thank you, Mary. Shall we sit?" He waved his hand towards the bales of hay stacked against the opposite wall.

I shook my head. "I should get inside and finish my letter to Martha. She's nearly due, you know."

Dickon moved and sat down anyway. His eyes never left mine. It was unnerving. He sat the basket down at his feet. "I know. She writes to me far too often. I never seem to be able to keep up with her." He chuckled lightly and my heart started pounding at the sound.

"I could write for you? I could include what you would like to say." I offered with a smile.

He smiled with a humorous glint in his eye and I blushed. "Mary…" He started, but something seemed to stop him. Oh, how much I wanted him to finish what he was going to say. "Thank you, that would be nice. I never have enough time to write."

I nodded and took that as my cue to leave. As I headed to the door, I bid him adieu. "Good night, Dickon."

Abruptly, without warning, I felt hands on my shoulders, lightly, before I even had a chance to reach the door. I turned around to see Dickon red in the face, embarrassed, breathing heavily as he stared at me. My cheeks flamed red at the close contact, and I could hear my heart pounding against my chest, as if it wanted to escape and join with his at that very moment. Neither of us spoke a word for several very long moments. All the world seemed to disappear and fall away until it was just us left, standing closely together. We didn't need to say anything. Everything became clear, vividly real then. Dickon leaned in close and placed a tender, soft kiss on my lips. His touch was tingly and warm. It lasted but a few seconds, although it felt like a lifetime. And a lifetime that I had been waiting to be in such close proximity to him.

"Mary…" He said again, and I was reminded of earlier in the afternoon, a similar occurrence with my very own cousin. Oh, the differences between the two were startlingly apparent to me then. Two kisses in one day, that had to be a record of some sort.

I stepped back from him, overcome with emotion and feeling. "I must go." I said, not meaning it at all. It seemed wrong, but my thoughts were straying to Colin, sitting alone in that Garden. It would be the death of him if he knew who he had pushed me towards.

Without waiting for a reply or a response from Dickon, I turned and ran back through the lashing rain and biting wind to the Manor. There was a light on in Colin's window, I could see, as I went. Colin's was face in the window, broken, shattered, dead. The rain pelted down on the pane so his face was blotchy and smeared, but I knew he was crying, or had been. I knew I had murdered him inside.

The next day, Colin had a seizure, a colossal fit, the first one in years. The one that started the fits that would plague him once more for the rest of his life. And I had triggered it.