Next day, her mind full of Nathan’s chatter and her mother’s delight, Jenna found herself going on a detour on the way home from the supermarket.
There was a tarmac’d semi-circular parking area before a knee-high sandstone wall topped with head-high iron railings. An opening just wide enough for a hearse to pass through led to a two-storey Victorian gatehouse, and beyond that rows and rows of graves.
It had been such a long time since she’d visited this place. What had brought her here? she wondered. Her mother’s oblique mention of an old boyfriend who Luke reminded her of, and her ham-fisted attempts at remembering his name?
Perhaps.
And perhaps now that she’d found happiness with someone she could trust, someone who saw her for who she was, she was finally able to move on and let go of the guilt that crowded her mind whenever thoughts of him arrived.
Or was it the time of year? It had been just before Christmas when she found out he’d died. And feeling that she couldn’t not, she had visited his grave. Despite everything, despite the way he had been with her, cossetting, closeting, demanding her whole attention, they’d had a deep connection, and she regretted that she hadn’t been able to make it work.
Or was she kidding herself? Adding a patina of glamour to a relationship that had a bright start, but ultimately never really went anywhere, and to a man who was deeply flawed.
Out of the car, leaning into the chill, she walked through the gates. Chin deep in her scarf, she felt the air spark against her exposed skin and heard her shoes crunching on the frost-furred pebbles. Her hands were fisted so tight inside her gloves she felt the strain all the way into the cords of her neck.
Memory led her faultlessly to his stone. A modest, black, upright slab of marble. The gilded name had lost none of its lustre, but the stone itself was dulled by time and Glasgow’s weather, reminding her that she probably was romanticising the man, while the truth was much less bright.
She stood on the path in front of it, reluctant to move closer, noting that most of the other gravestones around were wreathed in flowers, while this one was bare. The small granite bowl at the side looked like it hadn’t held a bloom since his body was interred. And this, more than anything else, set off the tears. A silent slide of emotion down her cheek that she wiped at with the side of her glove.
Stamping her feet, willing heat into her thighs, she looked around, again questioning why she’d made the journey. There was nothing here for her. Never had been, really.
Behind her, she noticed, was an older section of the graveyard. Here, the stones were much grander – the loss of life observed in a very public, large-scale way. Here, see how big our grief is. Be impressed by how much we spent on lifeless remains.
To her right was a roofless structure, wide enough to fit three coffins. Marble walls rose to head height, on top of which sat a series of pillars, all pushing the memorial into the tree canopy. Above a metal gate stretched a lintel of marble, on which had been carved a winged creature, reminiscent of another culture.
Directly behind her an angel stood serenely on a plinth. Head bowed, sightless eyes downcast, wings tall and proud, and one hand slightly raised, as if pausing while offering a blessing.
Jenna stood there for a long moment, captured by the statue’s grace, feeling a momentary stillness that had evaded her most of her life settle in her mind. Another tear sparked in the corner of her eye. She tilted her neck to examine the sky, saw that it was a uniform, earnest grey. Then she realised, no, it was not a tear, but a first fall of snow.
Face turned upward, she closed her eyes and felt the benediction of the skies spark wet and cold on her forehead, her right cheek, her left eyelid. The wind lifted, sighed in her ear, and she fancied it spoke to her, told her that old life was long gone. That it was time to enjoy and embrace the new.
Silly woman; she laughed at the notion, but savoured the sentiment.
A shift in the air, scuff of shoe underfoot, and she became aware of another’s presence. She turned when she heard a familiar voice.
‘Jenna? What are you doing here?’
She stepped back in surprise. Momentarily unable to speak, she pointed to the small, black stone. And there, with the snow falling around them like ash, reducing the world to a hush and a single, loud heartbeat, she heard Luke ask…
No, demand…
‘How the hell did you know Danny Morrison?’