A Flash of Blue

by Maria Farrer

  “And your gran thought you’d be better if you were out of the house. Let’s all go out and avoid the issue – is that it?” His voice is weary, yet laced with sarcasm.

  “I didn’t know what to do, OK? All I know is that I didn’t want to do nothing. Maybe I was wrong to come to the party. Maybe I should have … I don’t know. Can’t you understand? I – didn’t – know – what – to – do.”

  He meets my eyes and then looks down. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re right. How could any of us know what to do?” He touches my shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “Anyway, let’s look on the bright side; if you hadn’t come to the party, I wouldn’t have found you.”

  “You know where I live – you could’ve found me whenever you wanted.”

  “Like I was going to turn up at your place uninvited!”

  I try to picture my dad’s face if Tyler had turned up. Or if he could see me sitting next to Tyler now. My small act of rebellion gives me a buzz. A sense of power.

  Tyler is watching me. His eyes take in every part of me and it’s unnerving. I find myself unable to move, frozen by his gaze, faintly excited. Finally, he takes a deep breath and, without warning, grinds the car into reverse and manoeuvres backwards and forwards until we’re facing the opposite direction.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What we should’ve done from the start.”

  “Which is?”

  Tyler puts his foot on the accelerator and we jerk forward.

  He drives fast now, too fast. I grip the edges of my seat, pressing my feet into the floor. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. It strikes me how little I know about Tyler – my brother’s best friend – the person who was with him when he died. I must be crazy sitting here beside him with no idea where I’m going. What if Dad was right? What if Tyler was somehow to blame? A traffic light goes red in front of us and he hits the brake hard. The signpost is clear. Tyler knows I’ve seen it. He glances at me nervously.

  “Are you taking me where I think you’re taking me?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Depends. I’m not much of a mind-reader.”

  I stare at the road ahead. I can almost see Liam’s hearse in front of me. On the day of the funeral we crawled along behind it, all the way to the cemetery. I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the blackness, the coffin with the flowers on top. And inside… I close my eyes against the memory.

  “Please, I don’t want to.”

  The light goes green and there’s nothing I can do. I wait for the cemetery to come into sight: the cemetery where Liam is buried. I’d tried so hard to forget the rows of cold, grey headstones, the tidy grass, the moment I saw my brother’s coffin lowered into the ground. My whole body begins to collapse in on itself.

  Tyler slows a little. “It’ll be all right,” he says.

  My heart is beating so hard, it’s filling my throat. My ears are buzzing. I want to throw open the car door and run.

  “I’ve never … this is the first time,” I manage to stutter out.

  “Please don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve been back.” I shake my head. “In a whole year?” His voice is a mixture of aggression and disbelief. “What about your mum and dad?”

  “I don’t know. They’ve never said anything.”

  “How could you abandon him like that? He’s your brother! Well you’re going to visit him now whether you like it or not.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Tyler angles the car into a parking space and gets out.

  “Oh, I understand all right. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  I can’t move, can’t even bear to look. This is what I’ve been hiding from. This is reality.

  He runs round to my side, as if afraid I might try to escape. I would if I had anywhere to go. If I had money or a phone or some way of getting hold of Simon or getting back to Gran’s.

  He opens the door and crouches down beside me. He puts one hand on my leg and smiles.

  “It’s OK,” he says gently. “I promise.”

  I shake my head. How can it be OK?

  “You said you didn’t know what you should do,” says Tyler. “This is what you should do – what we should do. Today. To show him we haven’t forgotten him.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand and close my eyes to try to stop the tears. “Sometimes I wish I could forget him.”

  “Come on,” he says, coaxing me out of the car. “You don’t mean that.”

  The cemetery is heavily fenced with big metal gates. It closes at sunset and it’s already way past that. I’m glad of the barrier between me and the graves.

  “We can’t go in,” I say. “It’s all locked up.”

  “I have a way.”

  Tyler knows where he’s going and it’s not towards the gates. “What if someone sees us?”

  “They won’t. No CCTV in this one.” Tyler links his arm through mine. He doesn’t slow up, even though I’m dragging against the pull. “I’m not going without you,” he says. “Liam would want you here today. I know he would.”

  Would he? My hand goes to my throat where I check Liam’s stone is tucked away under my scarf. The guilt is like a weight round my neck. It makes me bend forward as if walking into a strong wind.

  We stop close by the fence and Tyler points to a small dip in the ground that’s created a space underneath big enough to crawl through. “OK,” he says. “Squeeze yourself through there.” He checks around, presumably to make sure no one is watching. “Did you do this?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Fox, I’m guessing.”

  I don’t believe him. “What if we get caught?”

  He puts his hand on my back and pushes me forward. “We’re visiting your brother’s grave. No one could blame us for that.”

  I give Tyler a doubtful look before lying down flat on my stomach and wriggling my way through. The earth is rough against my skin as my jeans pull away from my shirt. I watch as he slithers through in double-quick time, hops to his feet and flicks bits of dirt from his front. He sets off across the cemetery with me following. Tyler takes my hand and pulls me faster through row after row of old stones until we reach a newer part of the cemetery.

  “How do you know where to go?” My whisper sounds too loud amongst the quiet of the graves. I’d have no idea how to find where Liam is buried. One grave looks much like another. So many dead people.

  “Some of us visit regularly,” he says.

  “Us?”

  He looks at me. “I don’t like to think of Liam being alone.”

  The words hurt and I want to hurt Tyler back.

  “He’s dead,” I say, my voice hard. I’m not about to tell him how I go into Liam’s room, how I talk to him.

  Tyler takes a deep breath – uneven and noisy. He stops and faces me. “You weren’t there when it happened,” he says. “I hate that I couldn’t do anything. I hate that he’s not here any more. Coming here helps me, that’s all. I thought you’d get that.”

  I watch him struggle to control his emotions. I’d never stopped to consider the feelings of anyone outside our family, not really. I’d never thought of Tyler’s grief. I reach out and touch Tyler’s back and let my fingers rest there. He barely moves, barely breathes.

  “I do get it,” I say quietly.

  Tyler sniffs. “Nearly there.” We start to walk again. It’s only twenty metres or so. In the almost-dark, he shines the light from his phone on the headstone in front of us.

  I see Liam’s name, the inscription that Mum and Dad discussed for hours and hours: Run fast, run free, and my breath catches in my throat. In front of the stone is a beautiful bunch of flowers standing in a large jam jar; attached to them, something written on a small card.

  “Someone’s already been here today,” Tyler says.

  “Not you?”

>   He shakes his head and we both crouch down.

  “What does it say – on the flowers?” he asks.

  I read it out loud. “To our most precious child. You are forever in our hearts. With love always. Mum and Dad.”

  When did they come? Early this morning? I imagine them standing here, together, placing the flowers on the grave. Suddenly everything I’ve been trying to hold in is expanding in my body, pressing at my bones and my skin and my head. The pressure pushes tears out of my eyes, slowly and silently. I don’t even try to wipe them away. But I’m not crying for Liam, not like I was this morning. This time I’m crying for me. Because now I’ve seen it written down. Liam, their most precious child. Liam, the child who will always be in their hearts. I’ll never be able to take his place. I don’t deserve to take his place. I stand up and look at Tyler, see him wipe away his own tears with the back of his hand, and suddenly we are holding each other tight. We stand in the darkness, next to my brother’s grave, holding each other and crying.

  There was something, as we stood there by the grave; something that drew us together and, for I don’t know how many minutes, held us close. Now we’re making our way back to the car, using the light from Tyler’s phone, and whatever it was has gone. We’re awkward, walking apart from each other. I don’t know Tyler. He was Liam’s friend, not mine. I didn’t even like him very much. Now I don’t know what to feel.

  I shiver as I wait for Tyler to unlock the car. He starts the engine and puts the heater on.

  “Let’s go back to my place,” he says.

  “Gran’s picking me up from Kelly’s. I should go back there.”

  “I thought you were staying the night.”

  “Yeah – well … yeah.” I can hardly argue, not with my sleeping bag in the back. “But I ought to go back in case Simon’s there. He’ll be worried.”

  “There’s no way we’re going back there now, Amber. The place’ll be wrecked. I suppose this Simon bloke is your boyfriend?”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “No.”

  “Then don’t look so worried,” he says. “I’m sure he can look after himself. It’s only one night and I reckon we could both do with each other’s company.”

  I tell myself to stop overreacting. I try to convince myself that Tyler is right.

  “I’ve got two beds,” he adds. His grin is kind of uncertain and apologetic. I relax a little.

  “Where do you live?” I ask. “Is it far?”

  “In a caravan on my auntie’s farm. Well, not farm exactly, a couple of paddocks, more like. It’s out of town a bit.”

  “Oh.” I tell myself that this is all fine.

  “It’s pretty comfortable really – a bit basic. It’s OK.”

  I massage the back of my neck with my hand, tipping my head forward then back. Tyler laughs a sad laugh.

  “Liam used to do that – you know, massage the back of his neck when he was stressed.”

  I nod and smile a sad smile back.

  “I’m sorry about everything that’s happened,” says Tyler. “I didn’t mean to stress you out by taking you to the grave. I thought he’d like to know that we’re together tonight, that’s all.” He takes a deep breath and then exhales loudly. “And I don’t want to be on my own, to be honest. Too many memories.”

  He pulls my hand from my neck and I feel the cool dryness of his fingers. I let them twist and turn though mine, entwining our memories.

  “I’ll take you back to Kelly’s tomorrow. No one need ever know you were with me. I doubt Kelly or any of her so-called friends will miss us.”

  I shake my head. I doubt they’ll even notice we’ve left.

  “I’ll look after you,” he says, looking straight at me for as long as he dares, given he’s driving. There’s something in his eyes – a sadness that makes me swallow. He needs someone with him. He needs me with him. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps Liam would like it if we were together. Not “together, together” obviously, but in the same place.

  “You have to promise you’ll get me back to Kelly’s before eleven.”

  “Promise.”

  “OK.” I’m too tired to think about it any more.

  He lets go of my hand. I wonder what he would’ve done if I’d said no. We speed up and, before long, the street lamps and main roads give way to narrow lanes overhung with trees. We barely see another car. Eventually he turns on to a muddy track and we stop in front of a gate.

  “Is this it? Are we here?”

  “Yep. Would you mind opening it?” he asks.

  I get out. Beyond the gate I can see only rough grass and a shadowy hedge-line. Pinned in the glare of the headlights, I fumble with the latch and try to work out how it operates.

  “It won’t budge,” I shout over the noise of the engine.

  “Lift it a bit.”

  I do as he tells me. The gate is heavy, but I manage to pull it up a little and the catch gives way with a bang, grazing my knuckles. I hold the gate open as Tyler drives through, then push it closed again with a loud clank that echoes in the quiet. We bump over rough ground until I see the greyish-white roof of a caravan behind the high hedge. We drive down a track parallel to the hedge until we come to a gap, then do something like a U-turn up the other side.

  “Home sweet home,” he says as he comes to a stop. He grabs his phone and swears. “Bloody thing’s out of juice.” He leaves the car engine running so he can use the headlights to see what he’s doing. “I’ll go and get us some light.”

  He walks quickly from the car to the door of the caravan, and seeing his loose, loping walk triggers a memory of him running. I can picture Liam by his side, their styles so different. Liam was a tidy runner, everything balanced, trained like a racehorse; Tyler more like a wild animal.

  He struggles with the door, then disappears inside. In a few moments, I see a hazy, golden circle of light, followed by another. I watch him moving about, a shadow behind some thin material covering the windows. He doesn’t reappear and I wonder if I’m supposed to go in. I open the car door just as he emerges.

  “OK, we can see where we’re going now,” he says, switching off the lights and engine. The silence is huge. He picks up my overnight bag and carries it for me.

  “Careful on the steps.”

  Inside, the caravan is lit by six small candles. Of course! Candles! Now I understand what took him so long.

  “No electricity unfortunately,” he says, noticing my gaze.

  The whole place has a strange smell to it – not exactly nasty, more musty. I’ve smelt this smell before and I try to remember where. The floor is covered in patterned plastic and is dotted with brown circular marks, as if someone’s been stubbing out cigarettes.

  “You can have that bed,” he says, indicating a seat along the right-hand side of the caravan. “I sleep here.” He points at the seat on the left. They are separated by less than a metre. Between them is a folding table, the sides down. He lifts one side and the memory kicks in. Our holiday in Dorset twelve years ago. The last time I was in a caravan. My hand returns to my neck.

  “Cigarette?” he says, removing a pouch from the drawer and beginning to roll the tobacco.

  I shake my head.

  “Still in training?” he asks, licking the edge of the paper and running his fingers along the length of the cigarette.

  “No. Knee injury. You?”

  Tyler laughs, but it’s not a real laugh. “Not competitively. I try to keep fit, though.” He holds a lighter to the end of the cigarette and inhales deeply.

  The smoke in the confined space catches at my throat. I worry about the smell on my clothes and what Gran will say. She’s made her views on smoking pretty clear. She caught me smoking in Granddad’s shed when I was thirteen. Kelly said I needed some practice and that was where I went. Next thing I know Granddad’s got lung cancer and he’s d
ead. In my mind, his death is linked with my smoking. I haven’t touched one since.

  “Can I open a window?” I ask.

  “Go ahead,” he says, smiling.

  The window has greyish moss growing on the inside. I unfasten the catch and push so that it opens just a crack. We sit in silence and when my stomach rumbles loudly, I wrap my arms around it, trying to hide the sound.

  “Hungry?” Tyler says, laughing.

  I blush. “No, no, I’m fine.”

  “Liar!”

  He stubs out his cigarette and gets up. There’s a kind of compulsive speed to everything he does. “Food,” he says. “I didn’t think about food.”

  He opens and closes cupboards, pulling out cereal, milk, bowls, and spoons. I remember the big bag of crisps I’ve got in my overnight bag.

  We sit opposite each other, munching on cornflakes. The milk is warm and tastes slightly sour. Then we eat the crisps. It’s just after midnight. The anniversary of Liam’s death is over. Here begins the second year. Here in a caravan with Tyler.

  “What are you doing with yourself nowadays?” I ask.

  “This and that. Minding the house for my aunt and uncle while they’re away visiting their son in Australia.” He doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “Australia? That’s exciting.”

  Tyler shrugs.

  “How long is your dad… ?”

  “Five years. But I doubt he’ll do that long. That’s how it works – or doesn’t work in the case of my dad.” Tyler stares between his knees then reaches for his tobacco pouch again. “Anyway, tell me about you.”

  “Still at school.”

  He leans forward and stares into my eyes. “I don’t mean that. I mean what’s this last year really been like. How’ve you managed?”

  “Fine.” I nod my head in a determined way and he sits back and smiles.

  “Fine as in not fine?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “So your dad is… ?” Tyler leaves a space for me to fill.

  “Working. Away a lot. Determined to turn me into a runner like Liam, disappointed in me for never winning, angry at me for being injured. He wants me in the athletics squad.”