After Forever Ends (2 page)

“Kit,” I smile at her, “I have never thanked you for all those holidays you chose to spend with us in the wood. Not everybody understands the magic, but you always did. Your mind is open and your heart is free. You are so much like your granddad.”

Kitty grins, “Thank you, Gran! I’d like to think I’m like him!” She pauses, “You do know how much I miss him, don’t you? I miss his jokes. I miss his stories, especially. He was the best storyteller. He’d have me laughing until I ached.”

I nod. “He was funny, wasn’t he? He and I used to laugh all the time.”

“I remember. You two were always so happy.”

“We were,” I rise, “I need to check something. Are we leaving straight away?”

“We need to leave soon, yes.”

I head into the cottage to make sure she’s packed everything I need. She has. Tucked safely away inside my train case is a small, silver locket. I remove it. My hands are so old and shaky I can barely open it, but I do, and make sure what I’ve hidden in it is there. It is; a little sliver of wood that Oliver gave to me and Alex told me to make sure I had when I came home. I shut the locket and pull the chain over my head.

An hour later the train is picking up speed, racing toward Wales. The cities and factories are fading, giving to rolling green hills dotted with sheep. My heart is soaring. Home, home! I am going home!

“I was born in Scotland,” I tell Kitty after a silence, “You know that, but do you know how I ended up in Wales?” She sets down her magazine. I have her complete attention. “I lived in Edinburgh until I was fifteen, ten years after my mother died. My father fell to bits when she did. He was more like a wet sack than a man afterward. He may have been even before, I’m not sure. He cared about my sister and me. He never lost his temper and we always had a roof over our heads and food to eat. We went to the best schools as well.” I pause, remembering him with a mixture of affection and disappointment, “My father moved us to Wales because he met a woman. She was lovely, good to Lucy, but had little to say to me. He never married her, though,” I pause again. I can’t even think of her name now or why they didn’t marry. Deciding it doesn’t matter, I continue, “Daddy wanted to go back to Scotland after their affair ended, but he stayed in Wales because of me and Oliver. He stayed because he knew he’d have to take me back murdered and in bits hidden in baskets. There was no taking me from my Oliver and he well knew it, so he stayed to look after me and keep Lucy in one school. And he only did that for a short while before he became ill and decided he wouldn’t survive. He went back to Scotland to die and lived more than thirty years.”

Kitty laughs, “I believe that anyone wanting to take you from granddad would have had good reason to be afraid.”

“Yes, they would have,” I nod. “Your granddad and I made a lot of promises to each other and we never broke one. Not a one and never leaving each other was the big one. He couldn’t help but die, could he? Or he never would have left me. We’d still be two old farts running around Wales whacking each other with dirt and talking to the trees, wouldn’t we be?” I chuckle and look at my wedding ring, pausing for just a moment to reflect on that thought. “Now I only have one promise to keep and it’s to be done in that faerie circle, so says your great uncle Alex. So you see, even though I appreciate you putting up with me, I’ve got to go.”

“In the faerie circle, Gran? What is it? Maybe I can help?”

“Ah, I don’t even know for sure.” I sigh, “Alex says it’s important that I get there, that’s all I know. He says he can’t do it without me.”

“You four and your secrets!” She is referring to Oliver, Alexander, me and Lucy, “You know, my mum and her brothers and cousins, they don’t ask questions. They grew up in that wood, so they have an understanding that we grandchildren don’t. But we ask the lot of you anything and all we get for answers is a load of muttering. I’d love it if you’d tell me some of the secrets you keep about the wood.”

“The secrets of the wood?” I shake my head, still chuckling, “Now, those would make a long story and if I told you, you might not believe me.” I think about telling her everything for a moment, but say, “Any time we tried to tell anyone about what goes on in the wood, they walked away thinking we were mental. At first I even thought Oliver had cracked his pot, all his talk about elves and magic and missing socks. But he never doubted it, he just had faith that it was all real and we were all part of it.”

“What was real?”

I finger the locket around my neck. “Faith, love, magic, destiny…it’s a long story, all which happened in the wood. It’s our whole lives.”

“We have time,” She says softly, “And a stay over at Nigel’s for me to boot. Tell me, please. Tell me about your lives,” She looks at me and sees my hesitation. Her voice drops to a sincere tone just above a whisper, “Gran, I know he was your husband, but he was my grandfather, too. His life meant something to me as well. He told me things, but I was so little and I couldn’t understand half of what they were. I only knew they had to do with magic and honouring promises and why he wouldn’t leave the wood.”

“Did you ever ask him why he never left it?”

“I did, toward the end when he was so sick and it seemed it would make better sense for him to go somewhere where he could get more help.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He said that there’s magic in the wood. Old magic. And that there are things that go on there that just don’t make any sense if you say them out loud. He said some things are real and true even if you can’t see them. I know he was talking about the faeries. I remember hearing their voices in the cabin. I remember dropping chocolates into the faerie circle and having my dollies reappear in the bathtub. I knew something incredible was going on, but I never understood just what it was.”

I look at my granddaughter and I see the hope in her eyes. It’s sincere. She honestly wants to know who we were and where we came from. I think of my father and how he refused to discuss our mother with Lucy and me. We were robbed of our mother twice, once when she died and once when he kept her memory from us. I don’t know why I never told Kitty the story of her grandfather and me. I suppose it just seemed so personal, but she’s older now and the truth is, it’s as much her story as it is mine and Oliver’s. If not for our story, she would have none of her own.

“It’s about more than the faeries, Kitty. It’s about so much more. It’s a long story, but I’ll tell it. Where to start is the question.”

“Start at the beginning.”

“Then at the beginning, while I’m still young enough to remember and stronger than my arthritis to think that far back,” I tell her with a quick smile, “Make sure we have plenty of tea, yeah? You’ll want it.”

I don’t honestly remember a day before I met Oliver Dickinson. I think my life must have started right then on my arrival to Bennington College, the boarding school my father decided to send me to that year. I had been boarding since I was seven and, to be honest, I quite preferred it to the summers I spent sitting around our cottage in Edinburgh having to be perfectly quiet while Dad was working. Boarding school was much more fun than home. I always had at least two friends every year to spend time with and no one bothered me for wandering off alone to study. I was most happy about being at Bennington, actually, because there were both boys and girls who attended. At fifteen years old, I was rather interested in boys after having gone to all girls’ school for the last eight years.

Anyroad, my first day I was sitting on a stone bench in the second quad reviewing my afternoon schedule. Schools are always the same. You can tell each and every clique from the next by the looks of them. I had always been quiet and spent much of my time observing those around me. At Bennington, the athletes were all clean cut, shirts tucked in, hair respectably short for the lads and pulled back in barrettes for the girls, who stood rather more boyishly than they should have in their skirts. The brainy kids were all in a huddle beside the statue of a woman walking with a book in her hand and were talking excitedly and waving their schedules at each other. The princesses all stood together in a tight circle and distinguished themselves from the rest by their sparkling barrettes, perfect make up, expensive bags, and manicured hands. The princes were the same, sans make up and sparkling barrettes. They all wore the same expression on their faces as if they smelled something horrible. The misfits, which were the crowd I always fell into, were spotted here and there, individuals who weren’t really interested in what was happening around them, but were more involved in taking in the warm rays of the sun. I was watching one of them…a girl, blonde, who was holding a bottle of water in one hand while trying to open her purse without spilling her drink inside. I was wondering why she didn’t just put down the bottle when… THUNK! Something that felt like a stone hit me on the back of my head.

“Oh! Ow!”

“Oh, great galloping grey goats!” A loud voice came from behind me as a figure rushed around to my front. I had my hands over the back of my head deciding if I were injured or just surprised when I realised a boy had put an arm around me in apology, “I am so sorry! I’ve hit you with the ball! I smacked it right at you, I did! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

I looked up and I swear time stopped. It was not that he was the most traditionally handsome boy I had ever seen, although I can’t say he wasn’t attractive. He was simply out-and-out adorable, so bloody cute he immediately made my insides wiggle. He was one of the misfits, I surmised instantly, and a popular one at that. He had a long neck from which hung a loosened black tie and the top two buttons of his white uniform shirt were undone. His dark brown hair was an intentional mess, obviously kept just short enough to meet regulations at the school. I noticed straight away he had nice skin, a smooth, olive complexion, even though I there was a small nick on his chin from having shaved. He had a straight nose, high set cheekbones, and, I glanced at his hand where he was still holding my arm, long fingers and a very gentle touch. I peeked back up at him and he blinked as my eyes met his, looking at me as if he knew me from a time long ago and was shocked to see me again so soon. Neither of us knew what to say.

“No.” I answered suddenly, moving my hand from the back of my head. My mouth had gone dry, “No…I mean…no…I just…no, not at all…”

“Sorry?” He was amused, still keeping his eyes locked with mine, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. He stood straight and peered down at me with his head cocked as if he wasn't sure what to do. We were lost in an odd moment set apart from time and trying to find our way back to where we had started. “No what?”

“I mean…no. I’m not hurt. Not at all. I’m fine. I’m just…I’m…” He grinned at me crookedly and I felt my face flush as I returned the smile. “I’m just Silvia,” I said finally, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m just Silvia Cotton and I’m just fine, thank you.”

He took my hand in his and held it for a second without shaking it. He just sort of let the weight of it fall against his palm and kept looking at me with that sideways grin. He could have had the devil inside of him with all the mischief of that little smile, but it was too sweet to belong to anything more than an ornery angel. It was at the moment he spoke that I noticed that he had two dimples, one on the left cheek and one on the chin, and that his lashes were long and black. His eyes were the exact colour of baking chocolate melted in a silver bowl, but they sparkled in the sunlight, “I’m Just Oliver Dickinson,” He told me brightly, “It’s nice to meet you, Just Silvia Cotton. Sorry about that, you know. I hope I didn’t tick you off.”

“No,” I started giggling like a mental, like the girls you see in films making fools of themselves, but it seemed perfectly OK since he was still smiling. “I’m not ticked off.”

“Not hurt and not ticked off. Just Silvia. Just Silvia Cotton, eh?” He sat beside me on the bench. It was a few more seconds before he released my hand, “You’re new here. What year are you?”

“Fifth year.”

“Ah, me as well. We’re bound to have loads of courses together.” He glanced at my schedule, which was open on my lap. “Well, maybe not then. You must be clever.”

“I get good marks.”

“What’s that accent?”

“I’m from Scotland.”

“Lovely!” He said sincerely, “No other Scots here that I’m aware of, you’re the only one! Have you met many people at the school yet?”

“No, I haven’t had time. I wasn’t here last night. My father dropped me off this morning right after breakfast.” I couldn't believe I was actually sitting on a bench having a conversation with him. I was usually very shy, but there was something about him that set me completely at ease. Whether it was the kindness in his eyes or his disarming smile I am still not sure, but whatever it was, I felt like I'd known him for a long time and not at all as if we'd just met.

“Oh, well then let me help you meet some,” He turned and gave a friendly wave at someone who had just called out a hello to him, “I know everyone at this place for the most part. I’ve been coming here since I was eleven,” He turned back to me, “You’ll have to meet my brother, Alexander, first. He’s my twin, but don’t think we’re all that much alike. Only just exactly,” He jerked an arm at a group of teenagers across the quad as if to invite them over. I could pick Alexander out from a distance. They could have been the same person. Tall, long limbed and dark haired with a loose tie and his shirt undocked, he gave a short wave of acknowledgement and began to amble toward us. Oliver continued, “The lovely lady beside him is his current flavour of the week, but don’t tell her I called her that. She’s a nice girl, which is a switch for my brother, lemme tell you! Her name’s Sarah Farnsworth. She’s rich as the queen and has the brains of a rabbit,” The group began to approach, appearing to be a friendly bunch, “And that is Merlyn Pierce, the black kid with the hat on crooked. Nothing bad to say about him, he’s a right decent sort. He fancies being an opera singer, but he can’t sing. He goes off into the fields and belts out Puccini every so often and clears the sky of birds,” He paused to shake his head with a mock frown on his face, then turned his head back to me and grinned. Our eyes locked again for several seconds before he broke away, “The one with the scarf is Lance Crosby,” He continued, “He’s a fantastic bloke. Alex’s and my dorm mate. He actually knitted that scarf himself. Can you believe it? Happy colours, he says! He’s quite the quilter from what I gather, too,” Oliver looked at me and winked, “Just don’t ever mention it to Lance that he’s short. In fact, when you greet him, just say, ‘Hello! You’re looking quite tall today!’”