Chapter 37 Simon
Simon
The soil on the grave has begun to settle, the turf overlaying it beginning to ease down, to bed in.
The stone is up now. It is an angel.
Simon has not seen any other cemetery visitors since he left the car park, and the graveyard is the largest in the county. It’s a wild, rambling, expansive place, its sightlines littered with statues and monuments. It feels safe enough, anonymous enough.
He stands in front of Melissa’s angel, and what he feels is hard for him to fathom.
She was so far away, out there, in the clearing in the woods, and now she is back here, with so much time having passed in between the two. Yet she is forever stuck in that day, like he is in his dreams.
He places his tightly wrapped flowers down on the wet grass, a spray of cornflower blue now atop the green of her grave.
Forget-me-nots.
It seemed fitting, when the lady in the shop said the name, because he can’t forget her.
Odd, he muses, the breeze licking his skin, that he drove her so far away, odd that he walked for so long over hills and streams, through woods and brambles, carrying her, just for them to bring her right back here again.
He looks around, the gray pallor of suburbia on the horizon hitting hard against the shocking white-stone iconography of heaven.
He kneels, jeans dampening, as if it will bring him closer to her long-extinguished magic, to her knowing smile, to her forgiveness.
“I told you I’d get you back here in the end,” he says, and winces.
He meant that to sound nice but it sounds awful. He was lying back then, and he’s still lying now. People in uniforms brought her back here.
“I kept the other promise, though,” he tells the stone angel, her expression fixed, filled with sorrow. “I’ve been good. I haven’t done anything else.”
He considers his choice of words, then nods at the truth of them.
“I saw your parents, on TV. They’re okay now, I think. They got divorced, but they’re happy.” A crow shrieks above, drawing his eye up and away.
In his peripheral vision, he spots a figure approaching in the distance. He decides to risk staying a little longer; he doesn’t intend on ever visiting again.
“I just wanted to come, to say I miss you. Every day I miss you. And I’m sorry. It should have been different. I know it could have been different—we were too young. I was too— If it was now, it would be different,” he concludes, then falls silent.
“Thing is, I’ve met someone, Lissa. I feel for her, as strong as I feel for you. I haven’t let myself until now. But now I know it’s safe to be with someone. I am safe.”
The stone angel remains silent. Drizzle patters.
“I knew you’d understand. I just wanted to tell you—to reassure you.”
The figure approaching in Simon’s peripheral vision is now impossible to ignore. He rises and turns, scuffing down the front of his jeans.
The figure is now about a hundred yards away, a man in his early fifties, short, rotund, cheerful. He looks up and smiles as he nears, then waves.
Simon steps away from the angel and ambles back toward the main drag of the cemetery path, hoping the newcomer will not have made sense of which grave he has come from.
“Don’t see many people out this side,” the cheerful man calls ahead. “You an old school friend of hers?”
Simon’s blood freezes. The newcomer knows exactly whose grave Simon was at.
The cheerful man draws nearer, coming to stop by Simon, bested by his long walk, hands keenly coming to rest on his hips as he catches his breath.
“Sorry?” Simon answers, feigning ignorance.
The cheerful man nods over toward Melissa’s angel. “Melissa Craig. You knew her?” he asks, with a sympathetic tone.
Simon looks back at the stone angel, but she offers no help.
“No, I never knew her,” Simon answers, after a moment. “I remember when she went missing, though. It was sad. Sticks in the memory.”
The cheerful man grunts in agreement. “Yeah, you read so much about these things, don’t you? You almost feel like you do know them personally. I’m into my true crime, so I’ve looked at the cold case a bit. Weird one, for sure. Sad is right.”
Simon nods, waits, then asks, “Who are you here for?”
The cheerful man gestures along the path toward a large, sleeping stone lion.
“The black cross next to the big lion. Dad. Always come on his birthday.”
They both stare back at the cross. “Nice,” Simon responds, sympathetically.
The cheerful man turns back to him suddenly, as if realizing something. He squints his eyes appraisingly for a sustained moment, studying Simon’s features. Simon’s skin bristles.
“You look familiar,” the man finally says. “I think I might remember you from Leewood, actually.” The man chuckles, satisfied. “Yep, I never forget a face. I was substitute PE, lower years, for my sins. You still in the area?”
Simon shakes his head. “Nah, London now.”
“Oooooh, very swish. Ever think of coming back?”
Simon lets out a laugh, relief flooding him. “God, no. Not my scene at all. Couldn’t get away fast enough.”