31

"So this…acquaintance of your father's," Enjolras said, in a manner which was probably supposed to be casual. "Why would he want to hurt you?"

Éponine stared at the tray that Combeferre had just placed onto the table between the sofas, with its teapot and cups.

"He wants revenge," she said, eventually, as Combeferre began to pour the tea. "He…He borrowed money from my father, and he couldn't pay him back. My father ruined him as punishment, and had a member of his gang – Montparnasse – slash his face."

"I had noticed he had quite distinctive scarring," Combeferre commented.

"Sometimes, that's what my father would do," Éponine shrugged. "Scar people. There was this woman, once…she was a prostitute, and my father had been bullying her into giving him most of her earnings, and one evening she said she'd met someone who wanted to marry her. She was showing off about some ring the man had given her, his family ring with an unusual crest on it, and…and he had his friend Gueulemer heat the ring in the fire and then press it to her forehead and cheeks. I was eleven when he did that. I don't think she ever did get married."

She realised that both of the men had become very quiet and were just looking at her. She shrugged.

"My father was not a good man," she said, reaching out for the cup of tea that Combeferre had prepared for her. She raised it to her lips, taking a sip. "I'd go as far as to say he was one of the worst types of men that exist."

She rested the cup on her knee.

"Sometimes – sometimes, I wonder why he's still alive," she continued. "Someone like him, who can be so cruel, who cheats people for a living, who ruins lives and would kill a child if it meant he'd get a few coins, can still be walking the earth when other people are dead."

"Éponine…" Combeferre began, but she carried on speaking anyway.

"It just seems unfair," she said. "I look at you two – one of you had so many plans, things he wanted to see and the other one of the kindest people I've ever met, and I think of Courfeyrac with his big heart and hardworking Feuilly and Bahorel's smile and I wonder how any of you deserved to die when a man as disgusting as my father is still walking around. How is that fair? And Gavroche, his own son, who had so much to do…and then I think, did Gavroche have anything to live for? Really, did he? Because that man, our father, cast him out on the streets when he was barely more than a baby. What sort of life is that?"

Éponine blinked rapidly, suddenly realising the words that had tumbled out of her mouth.

"Maybe…" Combeferre began, slowly, as if he was trying to choose his words carefully, "Maybe we were meant to die. In the grand scheme of things, I mean to say; maybe it was just our time. As for your father…"

"If anyone has ever deserved to not be alive I believe it is that man," Éponine said, her tone edged by bitterness. "At least then he would be here and Douvillier could direct his anger towards him instead of at me."

"Your father's presence would be no guarantee of your safety," Combeferre pointed out. "He might try to hurt your father through you."

"It wouldn't work," Éponine snorted. "If my father ever cared for me, it was a long time ago, when I was still a child. He'd probably just be glad that he wasn't suffering. I know him well enough."

She cleared her throat. "But enough of that, it's depressing me. Enjolras, what book were you reading when we came in? Was it anything interesting?"

She was grateful that the two men allowed the conversation to move on, before she said anything else that made things uncomfortable. She'd never realised before what a knack she had for that sort of thing.

XXX

The following day, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Bahorel turned up early in the morning to take Gavroche horse riding. She hadn't been told this was happening by any of them, but according to Courfeyrac it had been planned for a while. They asked her if she wanted to join them, but she had never had any desire to ride a horse in her life so she turned them down.

Instead, she decided to go to Combeferre and see if he wanted to go for a walk. As she ambled over to his flat, she thought to herself that she needed to find something else to occupy herself that didn't involve walking or reading.

She was just musing on the idea of taking up embroidery as she knocked on Combeferre's flat door and waited for someone to answer. It was Enjolras who opened the door, looking a bit confused.

"Éponine," he said. "Is everything all right?"

"Is Combeferre in?" she asked, linking her hands together in front of her.

He shook his head, blond curls bouncing. "Sorry, he's with Éléonore at the guardian's building," he said. "She's agreed to show him through the procedure of introducing the dead."

"Oh." Éponine bit her lip. "That's…a shame. All right then. I'll see you soon."

"Is it anything I could help you with?" Enjolras asked, as she began to turn away.

"Hmm?" She looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Is it anything I can help you with?" Enjolras repeated.

"Oh – it's nothing I need help with – I just fancied going for a walk and I wondered if he would want to join me." She paused, feeling a bit like she'd said the wrong thing. She cleared her throat. "Unless you wanted to join me, of course."

His eyebrows rose upwards in what she assumed was surprise. "For a walk? To the library, or…?"

"Just…around," she said, vaguely, pulling on the fringe of her shawl. "I don't really have a particular destination in mind, I just feel a little restless."

"Yes, I'll come with you," he said. "After yesterday, and what happened with that man, it wouldn't be fair of me to let you walk around alone."

She rolled her eyes. "How chivalrous."

"It has been known to happen," he said, dryly. "Just wait a moment, I'll go and put on my coat."

A few minutes later, they were walking along the street together.

"I had wanted to speak to you, Enjolras," she said, after a while. It was something she had been mulling over in her head, and it was worth getting it out of the way now, she had decided. "About the other night…when I had been drinking with Inès."

She saw a little blush cover Enjolras' cheeks. Clearing his throat, he said, "What is there to speak about?"

"I had drunk a lot of Bliss," Éponine admitted, "And I was behaving in a silly manner. I'm sorry if I said anything that made you feel uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable isn't the word I would use," he said.

"It is the word I would use, though," she said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," Enjolras said, and he gave a short laugh. "It's not something to apologise for. You weren't mean to me, you were just…teasing. It's no different to how Courfeyrac would behave."

"Still," she said, heaving a sigh, "I do feel a bit…silly."

"Isn't that what that drink does?" Enjolras said. "Makes you feel silly? I think that's the point. But at the time, you were enjoying yourself. It would be wrong of me to begrudge you enjoying yourself for once. Despite what you seem to think of me, I am not a heartless person."

"I've never thought you were heartless," Éponine said, feeling a little surprised at what he said. "I may have implied so in a temper, but I've never honestly thought that. A heartless man would never have gone to the lengths you did whilst you were alive to make a difference to other's lives."

"You're being unusually kind, Éponine," Enjolras said, looking as if he was fighting a smile. "But my attempts were worth nothing in the end."

"I don't know about that," Éponine said. "None of us do, not really. We're not alive anymore. We can only see the living world through Portals…we may have made more of an impact than you expect."

"I doubt it."

"Maybe it just helped towards making progress," Éponine suggested. "Maybe it was never meant to make a full impact. Clearly, it wasn't your time."

"Yes, but you were right," Enjolras replied in a quiet voice. "It shouldn't have been anyone's time to die on those days. You, you shouldn't have been there."

"I was there because…" Éponine twisted her fingers together, then righted her shawl as she began to feel it slip from her shoulders. "Because…I think…I'm coming to terms with it, in my own way."

"Do you still blame me?" Enjolras asked, as they reached the river and descended the steps to the bank.

"I blame…" She clutched a handful of fabric, feeling the smooth cotton beneath her palm. "I blame everything," she said, eventually. "I can't answer your question honestly, Enjolras."

"At least that's an honest answer in itself," he remarked.

She found herself smiling, even though the turn their conversation had taken hadn't left her feeling particularly happy.

"What are we going to do, Enjolras?" she said, staring out over the river.

"Carry on," Enjolras replied, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I don't think we really have a choice, do you?"

"No, I suppose not…" she murmured, and then frowned. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Enjolras joined her at the edge of the riverbank.

There was nothing beyond the river, as usual, just stretching grass, but she could hear something. She could hear murmuring, a collection of indistinct voices but obviously voices nonetheless. She couldn't pick out their genders, but she could hear them, chattering away.

Enjolras' brow furrowed. "I do," he said, quietly. "Just about. Talking, you mean?"

"Yes, the talking." Éponine strained to hear, then glanced around. "There's no one else about."

Enjolras' eyes followed her gaze up and down the riverbank, which was empty, and then up onto the rest of the main town.

"You're right," he said. "There's nobody else in sight."

"But yet," Éponine murmured, "I can hear people talking." The voices were getting clearer now. She could hear women, hear men, hear the high-pitched voices of children.

"Don't look at me! None of this is my fault! I thought someone would be here…"

"Obviously not, how long do you think we'll be stuck on the other side now?"

"This is such a waste of time. I didn't walk all this way…"

"I can hear what they're saying," Éponine said, her teeth sinking in to her lower lip. "Can you?"

Enjolras shook his head, blond curls bouncing. "No," he said, out loud. "I can't hear them. I can just hear mumbling, and even then, it's very quiet."

"None of us walked all this way to be stuck here, Arnaud, so shush!"

"I think they're on the other side of the river," Éponine murmured.

"Éponine, there's nothing on the other side of the river," Enjolras pointed out. His voice sounded very far away.

"If we could find away to cross…"

"I've walked up and down this river countless times," Enjolras said. "I've never once seen a bridge."

"You can't possibly have walked the entire length of the river," Éponine said. "This place is huge, vast – Éléonore said it will take the expert a while to travel – it must be longer than this –"

"Of course I haven't walked the entire length but I am not walking with you to find a bridge that might not exist," Enjolras said, sounding more than a little exasperated.

"But I can hear them!" Éponine pushed a hand through her hair. "I can hear them, Enjolras, and they're over the river…"

A hand touched hers, warm fingers wrapping around her hand and gently tugging her arm backwards. Her hand was limp at first, but when she recognised his touch she gripped his hand back.

"Éponine, I think we need to leave here," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I don't know what it is you can hear, but considering everything else about you that is – unusual, even by this place's standards – you don't need something else on your shoulders. Wait until you have heard from the expert, and then you can come and investigate."

This time, his voice did not sound so far away; it was very obviously behind her, and the voices across the river faded away until they were back to that indistinct murmur.

She pulled her hand away from Enjolras, and turned around to face him. She gave him a small smile.

"You're right," she said, nodding. "I'll…come back another time."

Together, they turned back to the steps, and left the riverbank behind.