It also made me question what the hell Maddison had been thinking.
Grace was his light. The love of his life. He’d never put her in danger or risk her. Yet, he’d made a bargain with her father to fix the fight. It just didn’t go down that way. I vowed never to tell her the truth. She’d carried enough questions and guilt about his death, and I refused to burden her further by including her father as a part of it. Not yet, at least.
Through the rain, I kept my hand locked in Grace’s. Her mum and my parents flanked us, like pillars keeping us all standing. She was motionless, except for the gentle rise of her shoulders as she cried softly. Her controlled sorrow was nothing like the sounds that had pierced through the air after she’d first seen his body lying covered in the ring. Those screams would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.
She refused to move after the service, maintaining her vigil over his grave.
She was broken.
Not only did I have to come to terms with the death of my brother, but also at losing the girl who’d held both of our hearts. And there was nothing I could do.
Somehow, the days slipped past, and a new reality dawned, one where I returned to London and to the job I needed. Grace started her new position nearer home. I missed her smile, her laugh, and the wonder in her eyes when she spoke about everything and nothing.
I’d been missing her for years, and the glimpse I’d had was too brief and clouded with pain. We hadn’t talked. Not properly, and we’d both fallen into our own sorrow. And my biggest fear was that this grief was an insurmountable object that neither of us could pass and still come out whole on the other side.
At night, I thought of all the times I’d wished that Maddison hadn’t loved Grace and hoped that he’d pick any of the other girls he could have chosen. And I was immediately struck with shame because I knew I’d never have given her up if that were the case. Yet, I was so angry about what he’d done. Angry that he wasn’t here to answer the questions I had about those last days and why he’d sold Grace out.
A few weeks after the funeral, the police informed me that they had charged Mike Kenner with manslaughter and further crimes all relating to his underground ring and other seedy activities. It made me wonder what Mads might have got himself into if he’d come out of that fight alive.
Mum and Dad knew that the person responsible for Maddison’s death would be prosecuted—they needed the closure—but they didn’t know the connection to Grace. It might be something I confessed in the future, but right now, she didn’t need to hear it, and that weight of knowledge would be mine to bear alone. Maddison would get justice, and that was all that mattered.
Most of my messages to Grace went unanswered, but I didn’t stop sending them. She needed to know I was here for her, and, looking out for her was a distraction from my own pain.
Weeks moved by at an excruciating pace. I spent my days longing for the weekend so I could visit home, and then when I was there, with Mum, Dad, and sometimes Grace, the pain was so visceral that I longed to be back in London. I felt trapped between supporting the people I loved and my own suffering.
The fog of sadness that descended on the house after his death hadn’t left. And it sucked any sense of life from the place. Mum spent her days staring out of the window or pretending that everything was okay—the two extremes she now lived in.
Nothing felt familiar anymore. And as much as I wanted us to repair the damage that Maddison’s death had caused, I didn’t know how to do it.
I continued to support Grace, even when she didn’t want it. Somewhere in those last few weeks, it had become unbearable to imagine life returning to how it had been before Maddison’s death—her moving on with her life, all but forgetting about me.
The centre of my chest felt like a hollow vacuum, empty of life and love when my mind wandered. It was selfish and cruel, but I wanted her to remember that she loved me, too, and not just feel the pain of her loss.
I’d had enough of doing the right thing to spare other’s feelings at the cost of my own. If Maddison’s death had taught me one thing, it was that you couldn’t put your own feelings on hold because tomorrow might never come. I’d buried my true feelings for too long.
The weather was perpetually bleak, but it didn’t stop me from going to stand by his gravesite. The churchyard was always quiet, and despite the hundreds of graves, there was only ever one other person I’d seen visiting. But not today.
“Hey,” I spoke into the air, standing over his grave.
It had felt strange the first time, speaking to nobody, but after a few times, a part of my pain eased as I said the words I wanted Maddison to hear. As though by talking to him, I was keeping a part of him alive in my heart. That gave me a sliver of peace at his death and made it easier to comprehend that he would never answer me again, never push me, or fight with me.
The acceptance was hard, and it didn’t make me miss him any less. More that it became easier to bear.
“Has Grace been by today?” I crouched down, resting on my haunches and bowing my head. “She’s not doing so well, Mads. She’s stuck in this haze and refuses to help herself out of it. She blames herself, the guilt from that day is stuck, and it’s those feelings she’s accepted rather than coming to terms with your loss and dealing with her grief.”
There were two versions of Maddison that I now held in my mind—the one that loved Grace for all she was, who would argue with me for her attention but would protect and help her above all else. And then there was the arrogant version, that only pursued Grace because he had to win, and when that wasn’t enough, he pushed and pushed until he was king of his world.
That was the Maddison who got killed, but it wasn’t the one I wanted to remember.
“Help me out, Mads. I don’t know how, but you’ve got to let her go.” I stood and took a step back as the raindrops began to splash on the path. The tip-tapping of the drops on the leaves around the church was peaceful, soothing, in a way.
I sensed her before she said anything, and I wondered if she’d leave to try and avoid me, but I didn’t want to give her that chance today.
“Hi, Grace.” I turned and saw her several metres up the path, clutching her umbrella. Her long hair spilt out from her collar and danced in the breeze.
She approached with tentative steps, and I hoped the sadness I felt wasn’t reflected in my face.
“Hi.”
“You haven’t been in touch for a little bit. How’s your job? Settled in?”
“It’s fine.” She stared straight ahead and didn’t bring her eyes to look at mine.
For all the years we’d been friends, we’d avoided awkward silences. Now, they punctuated our time together with a tension so thick, it sucked away all the good.
“Grace, why don’t you come back –”
“No. I’m happy here.”
“It’s raining. Let’s catch up.” I reached for her hand, but she pulled away, stepping back from me.
The memory of her squeezing my hand—of her holding onto me so tightly that her nails formed little crescents on the side of my palm—flashed into my mind. I wondered if there would ever be a way to reach that again.