The white lily petals formed a stark contrast with the cool black marble of the memorial ledger. Five familiar names were engraved in the stone, half obscured by the bouquet I had put down. They were not the only names - over half a century of the problem had resulted in a long list of them as the ashes of a lot of young agents were interred beneath the ledger - but there were only five names I knew well.
It was Holly's idea, bringing a bouquet of lilies to the final resting place of my first team, and I was grateful she made the suggestion. I wanted to go see them ever since we'd arrived in Whitton on Dean, but hadn't been able to bring myself to come here the day of Mam's funeral. It gave a sense of closure, putting down the flowers. They were an apology to Paul, Norrie, Julie, Steph and Alfie-Joe for missing their funeral.
I traced the ridges that formed the letters, allowing the tears that pricked my eyes to spill over. I hated this stone once. It represented the way individuality was stripped away from children when we became agents. Once we took up our rapiers, we weren't sons and daughters, children with hopes and dreams anymore, just cogs in the machine fighting an ever loosing battle.
But now, touching the letters while the midday sun shone down on me, a spark of appreciation for the collective monument settled in my heart. I had spent years of my life with them, training and working under Agent Jacobs. We had grown up together and fought to keep each other safe. The six of us had been even closer than I was to my sisters, and it felt fitting that they got to share their final resting place.
Pulling my sleeve over my hand, I wiped my cheeks. The constricted feeling in my throat lessened with each deep breath I took, replaced by a sense of tranquillity.
"You'd have liked my new team," I whispered, looking back over my shoulder. Lockwood, George, Holly and Quill were waiting at the gates of the cemetery, talking amongst themselves. George was carrying a large rucksack, stretched out around a ghost jar. They'd stayed back to give me some privacy as I paid my respects. I could just hear my previous team talk about them. Julie and Steph would have loved Holly's sense of style, and I'm sure Paul would have taken the piss out of everyone for their southern accents. Especially out of Lockwood, who would no doubt have tried to copy Paul. "They're good to me." I continued, allowing a soft smile to appear on my face.
I took a moment to dry the last few tears and gather myself before turning around to leave. Despite being surrounded by graves and tombstones, stark reminders of loss and death, my steps felt just a little lighter than when I entered the cemetery. It had been a good decision to come here.
"Ah, Luce. Ready to go then?" Lockwood asked as I slipped through the wrought-iron gates.
"I am." I took the rucksack with the skull in the jar from George, who looked glad not to be carrying the cumbersome thing anymore. There was a brief buzz of psychic energy as I hoisted the rucksack onto my back, but the skull kept quiet. So did my living friends for the first few moments when we started our track to the station.
"Wasn't having to walk everywhere tiring when you lived here?" Quill asked while we walked away from the church and the cemetery. Going to see my former team had been a detour, as the church was located on top of one of the hills just outside the main part of Whitton on Dean.
"I guess we are used to it, there aren't many other options when you can't drive," I replied to Quill's question. "Some of us would ride a bike, but I never really learned. Rebecca would let me sit on the baggage rack of hers when I was little."
"So otherwise you just walked everywhere?" Holly asked.
"Yeah. It might take longer, but everything is within a reasonable walking distance, anyway."
"Well, reasonable distance or not, I can't wait until we can take the underground again instead of having to haul these bags along for two miles," George cut in, demonstratively changing the side which he carried his kitbag on.
"I should've called Grace to see if Peter could drive us back to the station," I said, feeling sheepish. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking clearly when we left the house…"
After the confrontation in the kitchen, I had stormed upstairs to help the others gather our luggage. Five minutes later went out the front door, packed and ready to start our journey back to London.
Nobody had commented on my fight with my sisters so far, and it did not seem like anyone was eager to broach the subject.
"It doesn't matter, a stroll won't hurt us," Lockwood said, waving away my apology. "We should hurry though, if we don't catch the train leaving at half-past twelve we won't be able to get to London before curfew."
He was right. Our detour to the cemetery took up quite some time, even if it eased something inside of me that had been quietly nibbling away at me without my knowledge. Stopping at the little flower shop across from the supermarket beforehand to buy the bouquet of lilies had lengthened our trip to the station as well. I think we had missed two or three trains towards Newcastle.
The rest of our walk was uneventful. The farther we got from the town centre, the more relaxed the mood became. We walked up the steps to the station hall, laughing at a joke George made about the state of Portland row when we'd get back.
"I'm not sure even Flo could get the house into the state it was in when I first arrived within a week," Holly said with a little laugh. We stepped into the hall, and to my surprise, the unease I'd mentally braced myself for didn't rear its head. Of course it was different, being here during the day. The kiosk was manned by a bored looking young woman, a man was using the locker wall we'd pushed back into its original position after securing the source the other night, and a few people were waiting on the benches, reading newspapers or chatting amongst themselves. However, on a deeper level something had changed too. The people seemed to be more relaxed. Even Samuel the porter looked almost cheerful. Somehow the atmosphere was less oppressive, and I didn't feel the usual anxiety being here brought with it.
With a start I realised that all this time, I had felt my father's psychic presence in the station. For years he'd been here, suppressed by his own forgotten silver necklace. Now that we had cleared away his source (it should be burned in the Newcastle furnaces by now), the station felt almost painfully ordinary.
"I'll go buy the tickets," Holly said, digging her wallet out of her bag. She would claim the expenses from Lockwood the minute we were back in Portland row. I should start doing that as well. Heaven knows how often I'd paid for train tickets or groceries when Lockwood or George had 'forgotten their wallets'.
George and Quill walked over to the kiosk to buy some sandwiches for the journey, leaving Lockwood and me standing by the kitbags.
"Are you doing okay?" Lockwood asked after a moment of companionable silence, but before I could answer, someone called my name.
I turned around to find Mary and Grace rushing into the station hall. They paused in the entrance, scanning the room. When Mary spotted me, she grabbed Grace's arm and dragged her towards us, nearly barging into an older couple going in the opposite direction. Lockwood touched my elbow to catch my attention.
"I'll give you some space," he said, before turning around and walking towards George and Quill.
"There you are," Grace panted as she and Mary stopped in front of me. Their cheeks were tinged pink from running up the steps, but they both looked relieved. "We were afraid we missed you."
"We're taking the next train," I replied. "Holly is buying the tickets right now. What's going on?" "Rebecca called when you all left the cottage. She told me what happened, and I-…" Grace didn't seem to know how to continue, so Mary took over.
"We wanted to see whether you are all right before you left."
"Oh," was all I could manage.
"From what Becca said, it was a nasty fight."
"It was, but it- I'm not angry with you two. I'm not sure I'm even angry with Margaret, Judith and Alice anymore."
Mary and Grace exchanged a glance with each other.
"Nobody would blame you if you are, Lu" Mary said, reaching out to grasp my hand. I couldn't help but notice how soft her palm was. She was a hard worker, it was a trait my sisters, and I all shared, but she had a desk job that didn't leave calluses on her hands the way rapier training marked mine.
"You were right to call them out on pretending we're closer than we are. None of us have done enough to stay in touch with you."
Grace nodded in agreement. "We owe you an apology for that. Maybe it's true you could have done more to stay in touch, but I should have written- no, called you immediately after Peter asked me to marry him. I'm sorry I did not keep you in the loop."
Mary squeezed my hand. "We'll do better," she promised.
I did not know what to say at first. I could not recall my sisters ever explicitly apologising to me like this. When we were kids, fights and disagreements were resolved by just not speaking about it anymore and continuing on like nothing happened.
"Thank you," I said eventually. "I appreciate that. I'm happy with my life in London, but I-I missed you."
"Oh Lucy," Grace muttered. Without another word, she pulled me into an embrace, wrapping her arms around my shoulders on top of my rucksack. I hugged her back, feeling a little awkward with the sudden display of affection. "I promise you'll be the first to get the wedding invitation when we set a date."
A chuckle escaped me at the thought of Grace writing me a personalised invitation the moment she and Peter settled on a date. "You don't have to single me out for that. I just want to know in time, okay? Give me a proper heads up." I told her, taking a step back so Grace would let me out of the hug.
"Promised," she nodded, giving me a bright smile. "I'll make sure you will have time to buy an appropriate dress and all that."
"Who says I don't own one?" I asked.
When Mary and Grace laughed, I raised an eyebrow.
"You rarely wear anything besides a skirt and leggings, and you can't come to my wedding in your funeral dress. It's against the dress code," Grace told me.
"Do you have a dress code already?"
"Not yet, but I won't have my guests wearing all black."
"The fight with Margaret, Judith and Alice will blow over," Mary interrupted before Grace could go off on a tangent about what her wedding guests should wear or what the colour scheme of her big day would be. "those fights always do."
"I'm not sure," I admitted, "it was pretty nasty. Rebecca can tell you."
"Give it time. Everyone's emotions are high strung from the funeral, so once we've all calmed down, I'm sure it will be okay."
Privately, I doubted that. This wasn't just a fight over who got to take home the lamp with the crystal foot. I had thrown accusations of our older sisters abandoning the rest of us to our abusive father into their faces. I hadn't gone about it with a lot of tact, but there was no denying I harboured some resentment over it. It was unlikely we would all just forget about what we did and said, but I didn't want to dampen Mary's optimism.
"We'll see."
"I think your friends are waiting for you, Lucy." Grace said, gesturing in the direction of the kiosk. When I looked up, I saw Holly had returned with the tickets, and she and the others were comparing the plastic wrapped sandwiches George and Quill had bought.
"Looks like they are. I suppose we should get to the platform soon."
"We won't keep you any longer," Grace said. She pulled me into another quick hug before stepping aside so Mary could do the same.
"You know, Becca, Grace and I were incredibly worried when you first left for London, but it seems you've found yourself a great group of friends." Mary said, giving me a soft squeeze.
"I have," I agreed, thinking back to how much better I felt since returning to Lockwood and co. "I'm incredibly lucky I have them."
We said our goodbyes, and after another round of hugging Mary and Grace walked out of the station hall together. Once they disappeared from view, I turned to my friends, who had divided the sandwiches between them and were now gathering up the kitbags. I walked over to them, accepted the egg and cress sandwich George held out for me and putting it in my pocket before picking up the last kitbag.
Lockwood walked next to me as we made our way to the platform, the back of his hand brushing against mine every few steps.
"Well, it's time to leave behind your family," he stated a few moments later when the train pulled to a stop in front of us. A soft smile made its way onto my face as I glanced up to meet his dark eyes.
"I'm not," I told him, meaning every word I spoke. "Let's go home."
A/N: And it's finished! Wow, it's certainly been a journey to get here. I'm proud of this story, and I hope all of you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your feedback. And who knows, maybe there will be a small companion piece to this in the future...