I saw your face appear in the scene
There was no one there but you and me
In a lucid haze
- mutual – Alex Amor, 2021
September 1966
"Rosy, what happened sweetie?"
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"What happened, Rosemary?"
"Emma Rosemary Skelton, you've got to talk one day!"
"Christopher had his life cruelly cut short before he could have a chance to live it, but we will always carry him in our hearts."
"You can choose what you want for tea, Rosemary, but you have to tell me, okay? Don't write it down."
"Rosy, you can trust me? It's only me, Patty. I'm always going to be here for you."
I can't. I-I can't.
'e appeared in the dead of night, standing over my bed like a shadow. It was the first day of the summer holidays, I was exhausted and sleep deprived from the end-of-year exams. It didn't 'elp that 'is clothes were dark as well.
I didn't say anything. My brain couldn't function, I just looked. It's all I ever seem to do with 'im. Look. Like 'e's going to fade away from my eyes any moment.
I fell back asleep quickly, not caring about quiet movement and muttering coming from around. The next morning I went out to get the paper and 'e was standing by the front gate watching the house. I almost ran away but I didn't. We just talked. I didn't tell 'im. I didn't tell 'im anything.
I didn't tell 'im 'e'd been dead for almost 8 years.
January 1967
"What's her name?"
"Emma Rosemary Skelton. It's our mother's name, so we call 'er Rosemary, Rosy for short."
"How old is she?"
"Eight years, 4 months. Date of birth is 10th September 1958."
"And your name?"
"Mary Roberta Skelton. I'm 'er sister, I'm 16, 17 next month."
"How long has it been since she stopped talking?"
"Late August, 'asn't spoken a word since the day our brother died. We've tried everything we can but she 'asn't said a word."
"Rosy?"
She doesn't look up. 'er 'ands are trembling, 'er skirt damp with tears. I stroke 'er 'air and whisper comforting words but it doesn't stop until I let her burrow into my chest as she sobs, fragile body shaking with every breath. I look up at Mary and the doctor.
"Can we come back tomorrow?"
From the corner of the room I see Robert avert 'is eyes away from us. Of the 3 children 'e 'as left now, one of them 'asn't spoken for months and none of them are the son 'e loved so much.
I take the key from around my neck and open up the door, pushing it open to the sound of silence.
That's never good.
I gesture discreetly to Chris to enter the house and shut the door behind 'im whilst I step forward further into the 'allway.
"Mum?"
I stick my 'ead round the door to the living one to find 'er trembling on the sofa, rocking 'erself and clutching photos of my father and Chris to 'er chest. Both dead. One gone forever. I rush over to 'er, placing my briefcase beside the sofa and kneeling beside 'er.
"Mum, where's Mary? Patty?"
She looks up at me with her greying brown 'air stuck to 'er cheeks and ocean blue eyes full of deeply embedded grief. A decade ago those eyes would 'ave smiled, sparkled like sun on a glittering sea. Now they're a permanent grey stormy sea of grief and loss, of a mother and wife who lost both titles.
"Patty?" She whispers, voice like a breath on the wind.
"Patricia, Mumma." I mutter and brush her wisps of 'air out of 'er face.
I look over at Chris, who stands in the doorway, and gesture with my 'ead for 'im to go upstairs. Mum lets out another sob.
"Come on, Mumma. Let's get you to bed." I place her arm over my shoulder and 'elp 'er up, walking 'er slowly out of the room and towards the stairs.
She doesn't try to put one foot in front of the other and she's rather 'eavy, but some'ow I manage to get 'er upstairs and tucked into 'er bed. I'm thankful that Mary didn't get 'er dressed today, it would 'ave made it a lot 'arder and I'm already going to rip 'er throat out for leaving 'er alone for so long. We can't afford a carer so we 'ave to make do with just ourselves, and Mary doesn't work because Frank makes enough for the two of them.
I shut the door behind me and storm over to the telephone on the landing, dialling as fast as I can and wanting to chuck the thing through the plastered wall. She picks up after only one dial, I can 'ear 'er breathing down the phone.
"Hello?"
Calm down, Emma.
"Mary, where are you?" I grit my teeth and force down my anger. "I just found Mum on the sofa."
By the awkward silence on the other end of the phone I can tell that she 'asn't thought about Mum properly for many 'ours.
"Emma- "
"It's your responsibility to look after 'er while I'm at school. We agreed this over the summer. Who knows what could 'ave 'appened- "
"Emma, I'm pregnant."
I stop in my rambling. My mouth hangs open in shock. "W-what?"
"I 'ad a doctor's appointment this morning. I'd suspected for a while, and once I knew then I had to tell Frank as soon as I could and 'e was at work." She sighs. "I'm sorry."
It takes me a couple of moments to get my voice back. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." I whisper.
"It's alright, you couldn't 'ave." She says. "I'll be over as soon as I can, okay?"
"I'm going to be an auntie." I say, words like fine thread in the air.
"Yeah. You are." Mary replies. I can 'ear 'er smile. "See you in a bit."
"See you." I mutter and put down the phone.
I bury my 'ead in my 'ands and run them through my 'air. Chris opens the door to my bedroom and leans against it with 'is 'ands in 'is pockets.
"What did she say?"
I sigh and meet 'is eyes. "You're going to be an uncle. That's why she's not 'ere."
I stride into my bedroom as the words register in 'is brain, a process that takes a couple of seconds. I collapse onto my bed and look at the painted ceiling with ghostly flowers spanning the deep dark night sky. I painted this last year over the Christmas holidays, spending all of my time in my room. It's better than what I did the Christmas before, I guess.
"Mary's pregnant?" The penny 'as finally dropped. It took 'im long enough.
"Yeah. She's coming over, so you'd better 'ide in 'ere to make sure you don't knock over anything downstairs." I say and sit up on my bed.
"Can I put some music on?"
"Go ahead. Not to loud, mind yer." I say.
'e kneels down next to my record player and begins flicking through the records. 'e 'asn't really been inside the 'ouse before, 'e normally sleeps outside. 'e says 'e doesn't feel the cold or hunger or needs to sleep but 'e does anyway. 'e tried eating an ice cream once. It went straight through 'im. Literally.
"Who's David Bowie?"
I look over to 'im. In 'is 'ands 'e 'olds my copy of Hunky Dory. I get down off my bed, trying to keep the smile from my face as I kneel down beside 'im
"Bit after your time, I'm afraid." I take the sleeve from 'is 'ands and slide the record out. "I think you'll like it though."
I place it on the turntable, make sure it's set to the right speed and put the needle down.
#...Still don't know what I was waiting for…#
I turn my 'ead to face 'im and smile. With the late afternoon sun glinting off the curtains and hitting 'is face, it's almost like 'e's really, truly 'ere. But the glow around 'im, the faint translucency just at the edge of 'is skin identifies 'im as not belonging 'ere. 'e's not belonged 'ere for 8 years.
I rest my head against 'is arm, just being. Drinking in a presence I 'aven't 'ad for so long and enjoying it.
The ground beneath my feet is just a gravel path, stones jutting out at odd angles and grass surrounding the strips of loose stone. To my right the trees are set at regular intervals, glimpses of the lake water sparkling in the sun between them. To my left the dense forest lurks, somewhere where not even my adventurous young self would ever want to venture. The path continues and loops around the entire lake before joining the small visitor centre and boating area in the shallower water of the lake. Up 'ere is the most isolated, the deepest water that not even the best boaters are allowed in.
I tread carefully across the grass towards the lake, sun warming my pale skin and illuminating the off-white linen of the long dress I wear. The grass is a touch wet; my bare toes barely register it as I approach the edge of the lake. The sun filters through the green leaves and makes patterns on a green background that makes the area ominous, mysterious. I reach the edge of the lake – there's no fence - and lean against one of the trees. My dress blows in the faint breeze and the grass is dry, the water in front of me still and unbending. No one is around, just me and the scene which should be beautiful.
It starts below, in the blue water which turns murky grey then to a deep blue, so dark it looks black. It spreads across the water turning it choppy and horrible as the sky grows cloudy and rain begins to fall, fat drops falling from the sky. I take a step backwards as I feel myself shrinking and my clothes changing, the ground growing slick with water beneath my feet as I become aware of figures behind me. The crackle of thunder accompanies the scene, just after 'e dipped beneath the water for the final time, blue and unconscious.
I'm 7 again, screaming 'is name into a void, through the rain, fear and the commotion behind me. I want to tell myself to stop but I know there's no point, just feel myself collapse to the ground yelling 'is name as 'e slips lower and lower into the water, unable to be freed or saved from 'is fate.
I open my eyes to my bedroom ceiling. The duvet is cold, the room empty. The stars above me look brighter than normal, more real, almost like dots of light. I bury my 'ead underneath my duvet as the tears stream from my eyes, unable to stop myself remembering what I've been told of the immediate aftermath. After that moment, my memory is blank.
No one came for me for hours. 'is mates forgot about me and it was only when the police and ambulance crews found the broken wreck of the girl formerly known as Emma Rosemary Skelton curled up against the base of a tree, eyes blank and unseeing. Aunt Sophia scooped me up and took me 'ome whilst the rest of my family stayed outside whilst the police tried to go out and find 'im. I fell asleep in 'er car on the way 'ome and didn't wake up until the next evening.
I didn't speak another word for almost two years.
It's in English the next morning that Bethan finally talks to me. 'er soft brown 'air is tied back with a simple purple ribbon and 'er grey eyes sparkling in the light. It rained overnight, the world sparkles in the early-autumn sun. The teacher's late, apparently we're finally getting our actual teacher instead of the substitute we 'ad yesterday. She rests 'er body on the end of the table where I sit.
"Hello." She says quietly.
"Hi." I mutter and look up at 'er.
"You alright?"
"Fine, yeah."
She pauses for a moment. I keep staring at her.
"Tabitha told me about what 'appened with your brother."
"Did she? That's interesting." I say and look back at my desk.
"Not tell, exactly. More like mention it after Form when you walked straight past me without a word."
"And you want the full rundown so you can pass it around as school gossip?" I look up at 'er pointedly. She looks taken aback by my hostility.
"No. I j-just want to say that I still want to be your friend." I must be visibly surprised because she looks at me with the same expression.
"Really?" I ask. "I'm not as good as I seem, I'm telling you. You don't know 'alf of it." My voice trembles slightly to my ears, though she doesn't appear to notice
"I liked you from the moment I met you yesterday." She grins. "I want to be there for you, even if sometimes you don't want me to be. So, how about it?"
"Yeah, alright." Is all I can manage to say, still in shock, before the door opens. Both of us look over.
In steps a young woman, younger than any teacher I 'ave this year. She looks to be in 'er early 20s, with dark hair in Farah Fawcett's waves, a wide collared yellow patterned shirt and knee-length brown skirt with tights and simple flat shoes. She carries in a stack of new exercise books which she places on 'er desk and looks bloody terrified for a moment before an instinct what can only be described as "teacher" kicks in and she claps 'er 'ands.
"In your seats, 5th year." She calls across the classroom.
We all share a look. She's not from up 'ere, much like Bethan. I bet some of the kids think she's from the same place as 'er though, but I can tell she's from down London way. It's an accent that's not usually 'eard up 'ere especially in an inner-city Comp classroom. Bethan flashes me a smile and moves across the room towards 'er seat as the rest of the room settles down as much as it can. Our new teacher stands in front of the blackboard and looks around the room at all of us.
"Good mornin', 5th year. I'm Miss Granger, and I'm goin' to be your English teacher for this year."