After the End

by Natasha Preston

  I stretch my legs out and sip my boiling hot coffee.

  This room needs a lot of work, so I’m going to have to get used to being in here. Tilly is just next door, so I shouldn’t feel so shitty, being here with her memory.

  Fuck this. I put the coffee down and head upstairs.

  Sleep—that’s what I need. In the morning, things will be better. Maybe Tilly will be open to talking again. Maybe I’ll get a grip.

  God, I need to shake that girl off. I’ve tried to over the years. I might love her and miss her like crazy, but I’ve hardly been a saint in her absence. Every woman I’ve been with since I moved has been a blonde, and every time I wake up, I drown in misplaced guilt.

  Tilly isn’t good for me—not because she’s a shitty person, but because of what she does to me. I won’t get what I want with her, and it’s about time I work on getting over her.

  Bad timing though, considering I’m going to have to see her for the next few months. But I tried forgetting about her while I was away, and that got me nowhere.

  How can I make a decision about moving on from her and then change it the next second?

  You don’t want to let her go.

  I use the bathroom and get into bed with my phone.

  Mum texts as I’m about to lock the phone in a drawer to stop myself from reaching out to Tilly.

  Mum: How are things?

  Things. I get the distinct impression that things refers to Tilly and not the house renovation. If she were asking about the house, she would have said.

  Lincoln: Things are fine. How are you and Dad?

  Mum: Good. We miss you though. Have you seen Tilly?

  Ah, I didn’t take the bait the first time, so she went straight in for the kill on the second round.

  Lincoln: Tilly is speaking to me.

  Kind of speaking to me anyway.

  Mum and Tilly were close when she was a kid. As Mum only has boys, she loved spending time with her. In fact, my mum was better than anyone else at braiding hair and that shit, so Tilly would often pop over in the morning if she wanted something more than a ponytail.

  Mum: That’s great. I miss her.

  Lincoln: I know you do.

  Mum chose Stanley. He’s her son, so of course, she did, but that meant that she had to completely let go of her friendship with Emma and Dan and, in turn, Tilly, too. I don’t know how Tilly feels about my mum now, but she’s only just talking to me, so I’m not going to push anything.

  Not that I expected a reply, but Mum doesn’t text back, and I’m glad because I’m trying to forget about the blonde for a while here. At least, long enough to sleep.

  8

  Tilly

  I wake up before my alarm for the first time in years. Miracle. Tilting my phone toward me, I see that it’s five in the morning. What the hell is that about?

  Groaning, I drop the phone back on my bed and run my hands over my face. I’m never up this early unless it’s because I need to leave for a morning flight. When was the last time that happened? We’ve not had a holiday anywhere since Robbie died.

  God, we’ve not done anything since Robbie died.

  Of course, I’ll not be able to go back to sleep now.

  Kicking my covers off, I get out of bed and walk to my window. I open the blinds and glance outside. The sun is rising, casting an orange glow over the clouds.

  Movement from the ground captures my attention. My heart slams to a halt.

  Linc.

  He’s outside, getting some materials from his car.

  What’s he doing up so early?

  Until yesterday, I’d not seen him leave his house. Is this why? Has he been going out early in the mornings to avoid running into me and my parents? He’s not doing a great job of avoiding me; we’re constantly running into each other, it feels.

  I don’t want him to have to get up before dawn because he’s worried about upsetting us. At least, I don’t think I do. Sure, it would be easier to not see him around, but working early mornings and late nights doesn’t seem all that healthy.

  People do like being up at the crack of dawn though. Not any people I can relate to, but it happens. Maybe this new version of Linc enjoys it. I don’t know everything about him now. I didn’t even know everything about him then. I never would have thought he would get into a car with a drunk driver. My brother either.

  I shake my head, clearing haunting thoughts. I still care about Linc. I don’t want him running himself into the ground, getting up too early and working too late just to get out of here sooner.

  Gripping the windowsill, I close my eyes as the ache in my chest intensifies to the point where it might swallow me whole. All Robbie had to do was call someone else to pick them up. Now, I’m stuck with missing him so much that I can’t see a way of returning to any semblance of normal. I walk around every day with this feeling of being so completely lost, and Linc being here is making it worse, much worse.

  Why am I worrying about his sleep patterns and when he works? He’s an adult.

  I leave the window and throw on some clothes. I usually shower first thing in the morning, but it’s too early, and I don’t want to risk waking my parents.

  Grabbing my phone, I freeze. On my bedside table is a picture of me and Robbie. It was taken about six months before he died. We’re pulling funny faces, and he looks so content. Closing my eyes, I wait for the wave of fresh grief to pass.

  What would he be doing now?

  He was super smart, so I have no doubt that he would have been starting some high-flying career. He never really got the chance to do anything.

  Clenching my fist, I take off out of my room and down the stairs.

  I have to talk to my brother. My skin buzzes with the need to visit him. To let him know that I care and that I’m here. I hate that he’s alone there. I’ve always taken comfort in talking to Robbie by his grave. He was such a good listener. He was the person I turned to when I had a problem because he could find solutions instantly. It takes me a lot longer, which is why I’ve struggled over the years to sort my own shit out. Give me someone else’s problem, and I’ll Dr. Drew that shit in three seconds flat.

  I grab my keys from the side table by the front door and head outside.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Linc watching me. He stills and straightens his back. I don’t look over there because I can’t have him try to talk to me right now.

  Don’t look at him.

  Pressing my lips together, I focus on the job in hand. Get into car. Drive car. Forget Linc.

  I just need to go and visit my brother.

  With tears burning my eyes, I unlock my car and get inside. My hand shakes as I shove the key in the ignition like I’m running from a killer in a movie.

  Just go.

  Linc walks around his car and watches me head-on as I peel out of the driveway.

  I got away.

  I press my foot on the accelerator pedal, and Linc slowly gets smaller in my mirror. Then, he disappears completely, and my lungs empty.

  Robbie wouldn’t have cared that Linc was home. Actually, he would have. He’d have loved that he was back, and he would have wanted him to slot right back into our friendship group, but that’s much harder to do in reality.

  How I would love to have my old friend back in any other situation.

  It only takes five minutes to get to the car park opposite the cemetery. The walk to Robbie’s grave is long. He is buried right near the back, morbidly on our family’s plot, near greenery. A light splattering of trees backs onto the end of the cemetery. It’s super peaceful.

  I get out of my car, lock it, and then make the walk along the gravel path to the very end.

  His headstone has been maintained; we make sure it’s always clean and looking tidy. For a teenage boy, Robbie was a neat freak.

  With a heavy heart, I sink to my knees.

  “Hey, bro,” I say, placing my palm over his name.

  Robert Drake.

  No one ever calle
d him Robert though, just like no one calls me Matilda.

  “Sorry I didn’t make it earlier in the week. I’m sure you know why.”

  Linc’s arrival threw me completely.

  “I know what you’d say to me, but honestly, Robbie, it’s so hard to see him. I thought that I would be able to handle it. Sometimes, I can pretend a little better than others. Over the years, I even considered contacting him, but I’d stop before I pressed Send or Call every single time.”

  Robbie would have wanted me to reach out and tell him he wasn’t to blame.

  “I was on his Facebook page a few days before we knew he was coming home, Robbie, ready to send him a message, but I couldn’t do it. My finger hovered over that damn button for five minutes before I deleted it. I can’t pretend like I don’t hold him accountable, too.”

  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I need to hear Robbie’s response. Right now is one of those times. There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for one last conversation with my big brother.

  “I have a problem here, and you know how much I suck at sorting those out, right?”

  I don’t think chucking Ben & Jerry’s ice cream at this whole Lincoln thing is going to work.

  “If the situation were reversed and it were me who died, would you forgive Linc?”

  Maybe the question should be, Would I want Robbie to forgive him?

  I’d like to think I would, but I don’t really know how to answer that honestly yet.

  “Doesn’t matter, I guess. I can’t force myself to want to be around him. Everything has changed. He’ll be gone soon. He’s working on the house full-time, so I don’t think it’ll take him long at all. The house will sell, and that will be the last I see of Lincoln Reid.”

  I curl my toes in my shoes. I’ll never see Lincoln Reid again. That’s what I want. Right?

  I should never want to see him. But a part of me can’t let go of the people we once were. I miss who he was to me. I don’t miss what he turned out to be.

  On a sigh, I kick my legs out and lean back against his headstone. I rest my head where his name is forever carved into stone. “I wish you were here, Robbie. Everything is falling apart. Mum and Dad still barely smile. They’re scared of me going out in case anything happens to me, too, and I’m pretty sure I’ll not be able to go to uni now. It’s been three years since I was supposed to go. I don’t know how to leave.”

  I’m stuck.

  The day Robbie died, time stopped. My parents treat me like I’m seventeen still, and I let them because I’m too scared that they aren’t coping. I don’t want to make things even worse. If they knew how I felt, if they knew they were the reason I’d not yet done anything with my life, they would be gutted. But I don’t plan on telling them, so I pretend like all is well, and I’m just not ready to go out into the big, wide world.

  I’ve been ready for at least two years now.

  I wish I’d taken the leap and gone to uni the following year I was supposed to. One year late would have been no big deal. People take a year off all the time. People don’t often take more than three.

  Fuck’s sake, get ahold of yourself, you twat.

  Gritting my teeth, I bang the back of my head against Robbie’s headstone in replacement of him gently whacking the back of my head when I needed to pull myself together. He would never let me wallow.

  “Okay, Robbie.” See, this was exactly what I needed. A conversation with my big brother always gives me a bit of clarity when I feel like I’m walking around, blind. “That’s enough, huh? Time to stop moaning and make changes.”

  I don’t really like change anymore. It’s kind of petrifying. But scary doesn’t always have to be bad. I have to figure out what I’m doing and where I’m going because I can’t stay working in a restaurant for the rest of my life. There is so much more that I want to do.

  I want to help people. Law still interests me, but my experience with bereavement has made me want to counsel people going through the same.

  To do that, you have to be qualified.

  Now isn’t the right time to leave my parents, not until Linc has gone.

  Way to talk yourself out of it again.

  “I should go, Robbie. If Mum and Dad get up and notice I’m gone without letting them know, they’ll freak out.” Standing up, I brush my fingers over the top of his headstone. “Love you. I’ll be back soon.”

  I turn to walk away, and my heart takes a dive, slamming into the dirt below me.

  Standing at the far end of the path is Linc. He’s watching me but nowhere near close enough to hear what I was talking to Robbie about.

  Thank God.

  Why is he here?

  This isn’t somewhere he should be.

  Shut up. Robbie would have wanted him to visit.

  I ball my trembling hands and take small steps toward him. Seeing Linc near Robbie’s grave has my stomach twisting in knots so tight that I want to hurl.

  Linc doesn’t approach. He keeps still, watching me with haunted eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask when I’m close enough for him to hear.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Why are you here, Lincoln?”

  His eye twitches at my use of his full name. “You looked upset this morning.”

  “So, you followed me?”

  “No, not at first.” He rubs the back of his neck, his dark blue eyes burning into mine. “I was coming here anyway when I noticed your car parked over the road. I was going to leave and come back later, but I was … worried about you.”

  “You don’t need to be worried about me. I’m fine,” I reply, my voice ice-cold as I stare back at him. I don’t like him being here.

  Though he has a right to visit his friend.

  “Have you been here before?”

  He drops his arm from his neck, eyebrows slightly pulled together, almost like he’s in pain. “Yes. I come early.”

  “When there’s less chance of running into me or my parents?”

  He nods his confirmation. “I’ve come almost every morning I’ve been back, and I’d like to continue doing that.”

  He’s asking for permission now. That’s not really up to me. I don’t get to decide who Robbie would have wanted here. My forgiving brother would have probably allowed Stanley to be here, too; he was his best friend. But Stanley, to my knowledge, has never been.

  “Okay,” I say slowly.

  Linc breathes, “Thank you, Tilly.”

  “It’s not up to me. Robbie would have wanted you here.”

  His lips kick at the corner, almost smiling. “I often talk to him. If anyone heard me, they would think I’m crazy because I talk to myself.”

  “I talk to him, too,” I admit. “Though I do it here and not randomly at home or in the street.”

  He laughs, and the sound punches a hole in my heart. It’s not a sound anyone gets to hear much, even before Robbie died when everything was perfect. Lincoln has always been a closed book, preferring to be on the sideline and observe. He’s hard to read. Getting a laugh out of him is rare for everyone else. It used to be a little easier for me, and on the rare occasions when we were alone, his laughter seemed never-ending.

  “I don’t exactly do it in the street, Tilly.”

  “What do you talk to him about?” I realise that I’ve asked an incredibly personal question, and I don’t have a right to know just because he’s talking to my brother’s ghost, but I’m curious.

  “Anything and everything really. I need him to know how sorry I am and that he’ll never be forgotten. Sometimes, I do things that I think he would have liked purely because I think he would have liked it, so I tell him about it.”

  I swallow back the tears prickling my eyes.

  What does it say about me for never thinking of that?

  Robbie’s life stopped at nineteen. He can’t do anything anymore, and I’ve not done anything he would have wanted to do.

  “You do that?
”

  He nods, his expression sombre.

  “I think he would have liked that. I … don’t do things he’d like.” Why don’t I do that? I’m his sister!

  As he takes a step toward me, his eyes soften. “There are no rules here, Tilly. You honour your brother in whatever way you feel.”

  “I don’t really know if I’m honouring him at all.” I’m not doing anything.

  “You’re here, talking to him. That’s enough.”

  Is it?

  “Well, I should go and leave you to visit Robbie.”

  Linc dips his head, his body tensing as I walk past. I don’t look back.

  9

  Linc

  Tilly walks away from me, and it takes every ounce of control I possess to keep my eyes forward.

  I hate that she doesn’t feel like she’s doing enough for Robbie.

  What was I thinking, telling her what I do for him?

  I shouldn’t have said anything, but I wanted to keep the conversation alive. I crave interaction with her, and I’ll take whatever I can.

  Even if I end up feeling like shit after.

  Robbie’s headstone looks brand-new, even four years on. Tilly and her parents have really taken care of it, like I suspected. I’ve been here every day since I got home, but before that, I hadn’t visited him in months.

  It was always a risk, coming back here to visit him. I only ever did it in the early hours of the morning, but I did worry that Tilly or her parents could be with him.

  Every time I was here, I’d avoid my house. I’d go out of my way, so I didn’t have to pass it.

  I walk to my friend and sit down on the grass. “Hey, man. Sorry I didn’t come yesterday. Things have been crazy, getting ready to renovate the house.”

  Shaking my head, I continue, “As you know, my parents decided to sell. I knew they would, and I don’t blame them. As much as it pains me, this isn’t home anymore. I wish it were.”

  Laughing, I nudge the stone above him. “Hey, at least Tilly’s talking to me, right?”

  Robbie asked me if I had feelings for Tilly about three months before he died. I denied it at the time because, although I liked her, I didn’t realise I liked her. He must understand now how I feel. I’ve talked to him about her almost every time I’ve visited.