Chapter Four
I've never quite understood why people dislike graveyards. That probably sounds rather morbid of me, but I do find them somewhat restful. I'd usually stroll in through those heavy gates, admiring the scenery, taking in each moment of silence that struck me as if it were music. I didn't get much peace and quiet back at home, and you wouldn't expect it at school either. It's actually quite impossible. But, instead of walking at a leisurely pace, I'm practically sprinting past all the unimportant headstones and the decorative statues that don't hold any meaning to me. I know exactly where I'm going and I'm…
Oh for God's sake.
The stone podium, upon which a familiar statue stands, is empty. There is usually two figures placed upon the tall platform, and yet I only spy one lone shape. I look at my watch. Three minutes past seven. I've missed her arrival. Well done, Dougie. I'm sure Sylvie will be so impressed when you try and explain this to her. Not only do you actually look like the tramp you walk past in town on the way to school, you look like you've soiled yourself, and to top it all of you're late to see her. This will not do. And where the bloody hell is she? She can't have gone far. Did she go looking for me?
"You're late." There's a cold chill running from where the whisper hits my ear, travelling down my shoulder to my spine. I sigh, somewhat with relief, and a little annoyed at being told off with her irritated tone. "Why?"
I turn and take in her features. I take a gulp of air, and swallow, chewing my tongue in thought, turning over possible answers in my head. It doesn't occur to me that I could tell the truth. My mother locked me in my room with my TV remote for company so I had to escape out of my first floor window. No, it just doesn't seem to be acknowledged.
"Well?" Her bare foot taps impatiently on the bark scattered floor, her gaze has moved from mine and she's staring up at the statue we're both stood by, enclosed by a circular hedge that hides us from the view of possible onlookers. She sighs heavily and moves forward, seemingly forgetting her question, and proceeding in trailing a small hand over her male component of the statue, stroking the cold stone cheek that is turned away, his face always hidden from view.
"Sylvie…" I begin, my mouth twisting in an unusual way, torn between what to look like when she turns to face me once more, one hand clinging on to the stone mans own pleading one, the other outstretched towards me, tears making small streams down her rosy cheeks. I'm not one to know how to comfort a girl, let alone this particular one, if you can even call her that. I settle for a sympathetic smile and hold her hand in mine. I forgot my gloves. She's so cold. Always is.
"One hundred years, Dougie." She pulls me closer, and looks up at the stone figure once more. The guy that had always captivated her gaze, set in stone, and always looking a little miserable; he was looking a little different today. Okay, that probably sounded a little odd of me. His head was turned at a different angle, and he was bent on one knee, one arm held out, his hand carelessly limp and begging, the other arm drawn in to himself, clutched to his chest. I frowned up at the podium and then at Sylvie who's dark eyes glimmered still with tears.
"One hundred years, what?" I ask, looking at her hand in mine, the grip becoming gradually tighter, and her gaze intensifying causing me to glance back up at her again.
"Since I died."
This statement shouldn't surprise me. I'd known for a while. Id never actually asked her, nor had she told me of how she came to be… well, of how she happened to become one half of a statue that sat in a decorative garden in church grounds. It just didn't seem the right thing to talk about at the time. Although, now I doubt I can avoid the conversation.