Epilogue
Tomorrow's a story that ain't been written yet.
— Sarah Crossan, Moonrise
It was just an open gate between a pair of stocky pillars and a concrete road. Less than impressive.
From the outside, it could be easily mistaken for a park.
But it wasn’t.
It was a cemetery.
The first day of winter had brought a dusting of snow upon London. Frosted grass scrunched under their feet as they walked through the lawns between moss-eaten headstones and newer ones that someone was still honouring with flowers.
There was nothing in front of the grave Eris stopped by. Only weeds forcing their way up a patch of gravel at the foot of a plain headstone and a name carved above two dates. No photo to remind Eris what the bastard had looked like.
Not that she cared.
She put a knee down on the ground. The frost soaked through her jeans.
This was how she had often imagined her own grave would have looked like: a wretched piece of stone made to be overlooked and forgotten.
Crystals of snow had stuck to the rough surface of the granite, glittering in the pale winter light. It didn’t seem right that something so pretty would grace the eternal rest of such an ugly person, but everyone was the same here, good and bad, rich and poor. A garden of bones and stones.
Denny squatted down next to her. The bouquet of orange lilies in her arms was a burst of colour among all that grey and dull greens. She set it down by the headstone, then put a hand on Eris’ shoulder, not for comfort, but for support.
Eris slid her hand into her boot. The knuckle knife slipped out smoothly as it had hundreds of times before. One last time.
She flipped the knife open. The movement that had once been second nature had become unfamiliar, like the cold metal in her palm. A few months with Denny turned her former life support into a redundant prop.
She stabbed it into the ground, right in front of the lilies, savouring the grit of the gravel, the tearing of the soil as she pushed the blade knuckle-deep into it.
“Enjoy your silence, old man.”
She clutched the green stone around her neck, holding on to the future while watching her past sink through the weeds and the mud.
A symbolic gesture wouldn’t heal all the trauma she carried, but Eris still felt liberated by it. Therapy would deal with the rest.
“Let’s go home,” she said. She pulled Denny up with herself, took her hand, and led her away.
When they walked out of the gates, she finally allowed herself to feel the holiday atmosphere.
She was excited.
She’d never been in the Cotswolds.
* * *
On the way back to the shop, they stopped at Marks & Spencer to grab lunch and booze to celebrate―not only the closure Eris had finally found, but another closure that involved both of them: Blake had signed the agreement papers. Eris was safe. Denny was free. For good.
Eris went straight to a specific spot in the wine aisle to grab a bottle that snatched a grin out of Denny. She would recognise it among thousands.
They got back just in time to reopen the shop for the afternoon.
Business was always slow right after lunch these days: the cold and the clouds were keeping most people indoors as long as possible, which was fine by Denny, because in just two days the shop would be closing for the Christmas holidays.
The bottle lay by the cash register with a couple of coffee mugs that weren’t exactly ideal for a libation, but nothing else was immediately available.
Denny didn’t like alcohol, but Eris had guaranteed this wine was closer to grape juice than actual wine, so she’d decided to give it a lash, if only to find out what the punchline of one of her favourite jokes ever tasted like.
“To new beginnings,” she said, lifting up her mug.
Eris did the same and clinked their mugs together. “To new beginnings.”
The bell above the door jingled. A woman in tattered denim overalls rushed in, a huge bunch of keys dangling from a hand while the other lifted to adjust the pirate-like bandana on her head.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt.” Her eyes zeroed in on the wine. “I’m renovating a flat across the street,” she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder to point at a green van parked outside with hazard lights on. “Would you mind if I used your loading spot for a few minutes while I―”
Eris cocked an eyebrow. “―unload?”
The woman’s eyes became thin slits.
“Of course!” Denny intervened. “No worries, it’s for public use!”
“Ta. I’ll be quick.” The woman’s attention fell back on the bottle on the counter. “Soft & Fruity… Just how I like it.”
“Oh.” Denny’s innocent heart failed to catch the innuendo. “Would you like some?”
“Sure,” Eris grumbled, “let’s squander my five-quid wine with strangers…”
A scolding swat hit her arm.
The woman didn’t need to be told twice and keenly accepted the offer despite, or because of, Eris’ dirty look.
Denny filled up Rocco’s mug way above the level that Eris would’ve considered acceptable.
“What are we celebrating?” the woman enquired.
“Eris not going to jail. And her abusive father’s demise.”
Eris raised a hand. “Eris here.”
“Oh, right. Denny.”
The woman lifted her mug up in acknowledgement. “My two and a half friends call me Ren.”
“Short for Renovator?” Eris deadpanned.
A slight curl appeared on the woman’s mouth.
Denny was more concerned about another detail.
“Two and a half?”
“Long story. Well, here’s to Eris’ freedom!”
The three mugs clinked together.
The woman gulped down her share in a go.
“Sweet. I needed it.” She set the mug down a bit too energetically.
“Cheers, ’preciate it.” She flipped up a business card.
“Buzz me if you need a glow-up.” She gave it to Denny with a brazen wink.
“Well done for not going to jail, Eris!” Another insufferably cocky wink, then she strode out, leaving a waft of earthy cologne in her wake.
A dumbfounded silence fell in the shop.
Denny blinked at the door. “Well, that was interesting.”
“Understatement.” Eris snatched the bottle and poured herself another mug so that she and Denny could redo the toast by themselves, no nosy strangers involved.
The business card was thrown on top of the other dozens of business cards collecting dust in the drawer under the register.
Just in case.