Epilogue

Maybe Elaine had always had this quirk, but James noticed it for the first time when they were both standing before the Aldouin tombstone. Elaine kept her eyes closed and her face turned away, refusing to regard the ominous tablet onto which two new names had been carved.

The family was seeping away. Alone or in duo. Along with family friends — under broad umbrellas and thick coats, disappearing between the poplars. Their stoles, their hats, their jackets got flooded and waterlogged. A soft reprimand sounded as a single child couldn't help but jump playfully in a puddle.

When the rain had started, Elaine hadn't flinched — couldn't, not now. So the two of them stood there, miserable, the rain soaking their clothes, as the people scrambled back. James didn't move because Elaine didn't. And he suspected Elaine wouldn't move for a long, long time.

What can a person do when they're all out of miserable comforting words to say? What can a single person do in the face of misery?

Elaine kept her eyes closed as she stood in the freezing rain, her fingers turning pale, her lips turning purple, her wet curls sticking to her forehead and the back of her head. James stared at the curve of her neck — Elaine's throat kept trembling.

"Elaine, let's go," James said, as gently as he possibly could. He reached out but did not dare to lay a hand on her back.

"Right," she said, her voice not quite steady. The corners of Elaine's mouth quirked into a brief ghost of a smile. "No sense standing here, I suppose."

"Yeah."

They didn't move.

"Are you going to see him?" She asked James.

"I suppose."

"Why?" She said, and he turned at hearing her voice. Elaine was looking up at him, with Mathilda's eyes, James realised. Why had he never seen that before? Tearful, miserable, vicious; reprimanding him. "For god's sake, James. Don't. That dog doesn't deserve it."

Pity swelled in James's chest. As if a dam broke and engulfed him. "Elaine—"

"I don't want you to."

"I won't."

"Promise me."

"No."

Elaine turned back towards the grave and merely nodded. It was a subdued sort of nod, and when James glanced at her once more, he could see her trembling, as if Elaine couldn't find a thing to focus on. He knew that feeling. Everything went by so fast. Everything felt slippery, everything either too close or too far away.

And then, Elaine turned to him and her shaking stilled, and James's heart stopped in his chest for a long, single moment and he felt as if he were the only fixed point in the entire universe. As if he were the one to rectify all of this. But he couldn't, and James wanted to scream it at her: I cannot. I would if I could, but I cannot.

But he wouldn't. So he settled for silence.