Lament

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  He put his drink on the floor beside him. ‘Shouldn’t I be encouraging her to do that?’

  ‘You said it was difficult, that the Grief Fairy helps you because you find it hard talking about…’

  He nodded in confirmation. ‘I did say that, didn’t I.’

  ‘Maggie’s hurt her knee. If it’s her, she can’t make it to the Grieving Tree. Another feasible reason why the letters have stopped.’

  ‘I think I would have noticed if she spent her time writing letters.’

  ‘Has Eli had a reply?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not for a while.’

  ‘Does she mind?’

  ‘She hasn’t really said.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

  ‘I think it’s pretty shitty of them to walk away now,’ I said, biting my lip. ‘Think of all those kids who are waiting for a reply.’

  ‘And you,’ he replied, pulling me back into him. I sighed in contemplation. ‘Nat, listen to me. You don’t need a fairy sending you benign responses to faceless letters. You can talk to me. I understand you better than anyone.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, cherishing his warmth as he kissed my head.

  ‘Anyway, we have no idea if they’ve stopped for good. Have you considered for a moment that whoever is behind the letters is taking a break? Imagine how many letters they get every week.’ He put his head back and sunk into the sofa.

  ‘You’re tired.’

  ‘I’m not tired,’ he replied, finally opening his eyes. My hands moved to the prominent bulge in his trousers, the one that completely disagreed with how tired he seemed. He let out a soft breath as I held it, stroking my palm along the hard ridge. ‘Nat, I need you tonight.’

  I nodded in recognition and scanned the floor beside him. He was always so organised. Ropes in different colours would be placed out ready for him to choose from, black when he was in a dark mood and red when he wanted to indulge in my body. Decorate me. Take photographs. Make art. I couldn’t see anything on the floor, so I sat up, put down my glass and crossed my wrists, a signal that I was ready and willing to play.

  ‘No,’ he whispered, his voice pained. ‘Not that, not tonight.’ He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. I placed my hands on his face gently, bringing him back to me. His beautiful brown eyes came alive again as they met mine. ‘You’re all I need…all I want.’

  His kiss was soft and searching and I found him with my own. An easy sigh escaped from his throat and into my mouth as his trembling fingers pulled at my dress, freeing me to him. He moved forward, planting a soft kiss on my shoulder as his fingers trailed a pattern of circles down my back. He opened the clasp of my bra, pulling it gently down my arms like I was a breakable object, a delicate flower that would fall apart under his fingers.

  ‘Can you stand up for me?’ he asked softly, so far away from the rough commands I’d become used to as he held the ropes in his hand. I did as he asked and gasped as I felt his thumbs slip into the top of my underwear, pulling them down and releasing them to my feet. ‘Step out.’ I watched as he balled them into his fist and slipped them into his trouser pocket. I gasped, covering my face in embarrassment. Alex laughed against my stomach. Who was this man peppering kisses to my hips? This soft man who I knew was always hiding behind the shadows, the man I hadn’t realised I longed for until I had him with me tonight?

  He let me undress him in silence, the only noise his low, even breathing. He smiled as he lifted his hips to release his trousers and I inched them down with my tongue sticking out in mock concentration. He held me as I put my mouth around his cock, pushed my hair away from my face, feathered his fingers against the sensitive skin of my neck, never letting me go as he watched in wonder. A hitch of his breath the only indication that he was close.

  ‘Baby,’ he rasped, a word of endearment I’d never heard before. ‘Careful. I don’t want to come like this.’ I let him go slowly, his cock popping back against his stomach as he left my mouth, and as his hands clasped my hips, he gently guided me back to him, the tip of his cock right where I needed him the most.

  ‘We need a condom,’ I managed to get out.

  ‘Yes,’ he moaned as I gently pushed his head back. He took one from his pocket, putting it on, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘Are you ready?’ No more words were needed. I guided him into me, sliding myself down until our bodies met and I was straddling his knee. I felt his hands at the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him as he panted quietly. ‘Fuck. That feels good,’ he said, pushing his mouth against mine, our kiss imploding. ‘Ride me.’

  We started rocking together, our bodies in perfect sync, Alex guiding me with the firm grip of his hands to my waist. Our mouths were connected, skin to skin, my breasts to his chest. Every part of us touching each other, blanketing ourselves with a new-found association we didn’t want to let free. ‘Promise it will always be like this,’ he said, the bounce to our rhythm getting faster the closer we came to release. ‘Nat.’ He pushed my face away from his and held me above him, our eyes meeting. He was finding his way through a barrage of emotions and didn’t know which one would pull him down first. ‘Promise me,’ he gasped.

  ‘It will always be like this,’ I replied, my orgasm teasing. ‘I promise.’

  ‘No matter what happens, baby. OK?’

  ‘Alex, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Keep going…fuck…keep going.’

  His hips were relentless now and I knelt up on my knees slightly to allow his thrusts to slide through, my own body stilling to accommodate the rush. He was finding the perfect spot with every deep movement and soon I was falling, clinging to his shoulders, fighting the need to sob out the ache, cry out the pleasure until I was there, my release merging with his in one immense spiral of heavenly gratification.

  He wrapped his arms around my body, loving me, holding me against him as he tried to gather his breath.

  Sex with Alex had always been fulfilling, orgasms guaranteed, and a feeling of adoration racing around my veins, but it was an act, between two people, not necessarily a connection between us more than mutual grief and a whole heap of lust.

  Tonight had been different.

  Something had changed, charged, been brought to life again stronger than before. We’d opened ourselves up in a deeper way, one that couldn’t be erased or ignored. We’d made love for the first time without guilt or regrets, no ropes or decorative knots…just us.

  25

  Nat

  ‘You know, I think your dad may be running late because he’s been held up by the procession of pink unicorns that we saw on our way here,’ Lacey said as Eli laughed loudly, a sound so pure and beautiful. She was sitting on my desk, her feet swinging, completely transfixed by Lacey’s purple hair.

  ‘Or maybe he’s been kidnapped by the dragon that lives in the forest over the bridge,’ Marc said, a loud witchy cackle following. Eli screamed in delight as he tickled her.

  ‘I think he’s stopped at the secret bakery on the high street and he’s picking out a rainbow doughnut with extra sprinkles especially for you,’ Lacey said, smiling.

  ‘Secret bakery? Where?’ Eli gasped, astounded.

  ‘It wouldn’t be secret if we told you that!’

  ‘I wanna go!’

  ‘Are you causing a commotion?’ Alex said as he peered through the door. ‘I could hear you laughing from outside.’ He glanced at me and gave tight smiles to Marc and Lacey. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I replied, apparently swooning because Lacey was drawing invisible hearts in the air. He caught her, and she dropped her hands quickly. A small smile appeared on his face just for me.

  ‘Alex, this is Marc and Lacey, my friends. They’re visiting me today.’

  ‘Back to civilization later tonight,’ Marc said, holding out his hand.

  ‘Which is?’ Alex asked, shaking it briskly.

  ‘London.’

  ‘Not sure if I agree with your take on the city
,’ Alex replied.

  ‘Marc’s my hairdresser,’ I said hastily, trying to avoid the awkwardness. ‘Lacey is his girlfriend.’

  ‘You make stunning dresses,’ Alex said as he shook her hand. ‘I should offer my thanks.’

  ‘I’m sure you should,’ she replied, smirking.

  Alex narrowed his eyes before returning them to mine. I shrugged and the slight smile I loved so much returned.

  ‘I was hoping to see you later,’ Alex said as he picked up Eli from the desk. She wrapped her legs around him, threw her arms around his neck. ‘There are a few things I wanted to discuss with you.’

  He cleared his throat and Lacey tried to tamper down a girlie laugh. She was clearly intrigued with the handsome object of my affection. The mysterious man she’d made the dress for with a taste for ropes.

  ‘I’m sorry, we’re going out for dinner and Marc’s going to cut my hair before they leave.’

  He dropped his eyes. ‘Right. Of course. Erm…another time…soon.’

  ‘Bye, princess Eli,’ Lacey said, brushing her hand over her hair. ‘I love your crown.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘I like your hair. Daddy, can I dye my hair purple?’

  His eyes widened. ‘We’ll talk about it when we get home.’

  ‘Bye, Eli. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said as she waved from Alex’s shoulder.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ he asked, a hopeful question to his tone. I nodded, and his small smile became bigger.

  I shut the door behind them and found Marc and Lacey comically moving their eyes from left to right.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s hardly Mr Fun, is he?’ Lacey said.

  ‘He’s a serious man.’

  ‘I see that,’ Marc replied.

  ‘Intense,’ Lacey said.

  ‘Did anyone else get the vibe that he really wanted to see you today?’ Marc crossed his arms and smirked.

  ‘Whatever could that be about, Nat?’ Lacey joined in the taunting. ‘Perhaps his palm is twitchy.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Ropes don’t Shibari themselves, you know!’

  ‘Lacey!’

  ‘What? He thanked me for making your dress! What’s your orgasm count, lady? I should have charged a pound for every one it encouraged!’

  ‘I’m making a note, beautiful,’ Marc said. ‘Future price scales for your bondage-inspired fashion.’

  ‘He’s always got my back,’ she swooned.

  ‘Come on,’ I laughed. ‘I have a Grieving Tree to show you.’

  * * *

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me!’ Marc shouted as he ran towards the tree. ‘This is all my Tolkien dreams come true.’ He pulled his jacket apart and proudly displayed his you’re Tolkien my language T-shirt.

  ‘He’s in hobbit heaven,’ Lacey said, rolling her eyes. ‘But it’s a fairy, dickwad, not a hobbit.’

  I laughed as Marc took out his phone and started taking photographs, but as I got closer to the door, I saw a piece of red ribbon hanging from the handle.

  ‘They’ve answered!’ I gasped, putting my hands to my mouth. ‘It’s been weeks, I thought they’d stopped.’

  ‘This is so exciting,’ Lacey squealed, clapping. ‘Open it!’

  I walked slowly towards the fairy door at the trunk of the tree, the browns and greens merging together to form one colour. Marc stepped down and stood to the side, watching as I put my fingers against the cold metal of the handle…and pulled.

  Inside was one letter, the bright white of the envelope a stark contrast to the dark of the inside of the tree. My name was written across the front. I took out the pin and held the envelope to my chest.

  ‘How long have you been waiting for this?’ Marc asked.

  ‘A few weeks. Three maybe.’

  ‘I wonder where she’s been?’

  ‘Who?’ I asked, turning to Lacey.

  ‘The Grief Fairy!’

  She was totally immersed in this real-life fairy tale but all I could think about was where this person had been and why it had taken them so long to reply. Sitting on the steps, I opened the envelope and gasped, pressing my hand to my mouth in shock.

  ‘What?’ Marc asked, kneeling next to me.

  ‘Nat? What is it? What does it say?’ Lacey joined him, and I glanced at both of them.

  ‘It says…The Grief Fairy is closer than you think.’

  26

  Nat

  ‘What in the ever-loving fuck does that even mean?’ Marc asked, or more exactly, repeated for the twentieth time.

  We’d left the Grieving Tree in a mass of confusion. I’d passed the letter to Marc, Marc had passed it to Lacey, and we were still no clearer when we decided detective work couldn’t be done on an empty stomach.

  ‘They’re obviously trying to tell you something.’

  ‘But not doing a very good job,’ Lacey replied. ‘It’s like a vague Facebook post and nobody likes those.’

  ‘What are they trying to tell me? I need answers,’ I sighed.

  ‘Preferably before we leave tonight,’ Marc replied, stopping as we reached the high street. ‘Bless.’ He clutched his chest. ‘You have a cinema and everything.’

  ‘Of course!’ I laughed as he shook his head in disbelief. ‘We’re hip.’

  ‘I was almost falling for it until I saw Casablanca is playing tonight.’

  I glanced at the cinema. ‘Oh, it’s pensioner Sunday. All the oldies but goodies. If you were here Friday night, we’d be singing along to The Greatest Showman.’

  ‘Damn my long hairdressing hours.’

  ‘Guys, focus,’ Lacey said. ‘We’re no further forward in solving this clue.’

  ‘I thought we decided to eat first?’ Marc asked. ‘Where are you taking us?’

  ‘There’s a great little Italian near the train station.’

  ‘Yes, but where are we eating?’ Marc smirked.

  ‘You’re on fire today,’ I replied, hitting his arm.

  Lacey arched an eyebrow, a sign that she’d had enough of his jokes.

  ‘A cinema, an Italian restaurant and a train station? You’re surprising me so much today, Nat,’ Lacey said.

  ‘Look at this. A chemist, a butcher, there’s even a bloody independent bookstore.’

  I turned to look where Marc was pointing, and my eyes were drawn to the display in the window. Canterbary Books had been in the village since I was a child. The red paint still bright and vivid, the owners refreshing it with a new coat every spring. The lettering of the signage was silver and bold, matching the books they featured. They had a LGBTQ section alongside travel books, thrillers and erotic romance. The children’s section was towards the back of the shop and I’d spent hours there every Saturday, soaking in the eclectic mix of people who made special journeys just to visit. The displays were a rolling change of colour and interest. They would match the seasons, theme for the holidays or dress the window according to a particular book that was of interest to the area. A local author or a story that could have been written about life in the village. From across the road I couldn’t see the display clearly, but I could see the outline of a tree, an orange ball of fur next to it and a shiny red postbox with black trim.

  ‘What is that?’ I said, squinting to get a better look, holding up my hand to block out the sun, and before I knew it, I was crossing the road, my feet taking me with them, focusing only on the window and nothing else.

  ‘Nat!’ A cyclist wobbled on their bike as I walked in front of them.

  ‘Sorry,’ I heard Marc shout as he and Lacey looped their arms through mine and walked me safely to the front of the shop.

  ‘It’s a mini version of the Grieving Tree,’ Lacey gasped as we looked at the display. A papier mâché tree was the main focus, a perfect replica of the tree in the forest where we’d just left. A door, with a red piece of ribbon hanging from it took centre stage and a cuddly toy fox was peeking out from the side of a postbox.

  One of the owners climbed into the window, waving t
o me as she did. I believe I lifted my hand to wave back, but I couldn’t be sure because as I moved my fingers, she held up a poster, stuck it to the window and my world went hazy and black.

  ‘The Grieving Tree by Jennifer Riley,’ I read slowly and out loud, blinking a few times to get my eyes to focus. ‘Read the heartbreaking final book from the much-loved children’s author.’

  ‘Jennifer Riley? My sister read her books,’ Lacey said. ‘She died a few years ago. I remember watching something about it on Newsround.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I replied, rubbing my forehead frantically.

  ‘I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,’ Marc said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Has the Grieving Tree been some kind of promo tool for this book?’ Lacey asked.

  ‘It must be,’ Marc replied. ‘But if the author died a few years ago, why are they only just releasing it now?’

  ‘Maybe it was too painful for her family?’

  ‘Hold on. I’ll look her up.’

  Marc pulled his phone from his pocket at exactly the same time I left them and entered the shop.

  ‘Hello, Nat!’ Mr Canterbary said. ‘It’s been years. I heard you were back in the village. I’ve been waiting for you to visit the books. How are you?’

  ‘Good.’ I think. ‘Confused.’ Definitely.

  ‘Confused?’

  ‘Do you have a copy of The Grieving Tree I can see?’

  He reached up to the shelf behind him. ‘This is top secret. It doesn’t officially release until next week.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m only doing this because I know you.’ He handed it to me. The same picture of the tree from the poster his wife had just placed in the window adorned the front cover. I studied it, tracing my fingers over the branches before turning it over and reading the blurb.

  What happens when a girl loses her voice? She talks to the fairy who finds it for her when she can’t talk to the adults who are hurting too.

  My eyes scanned the quotes below the blurb.