Chapter Twenty-Nine
C HLOE HAD BEEN avoiding going to the graveyard since she had moved back to Wellbridge. Moving back into the house was difficult enough, but seeing Mum and Dad’s graves, side by side, felt like too much.
One day , she had told herself. When I’m ready.
She was glad that her first visit to Lucy and Thomas Keeton’s graves was with her sister.
On the way there, they sang along to some songs, the few of them they could agree were good when they were teenagers.
The car park was empty, and a sense of calm stole over Chloe as they climbed out of the vehicle and into the cold autumn air.
Gwen’s long blonde hair rippled down her back like a golden curtain as they walked together. Chloe had opted for a high ponytail, her chestnut-brown curls just reaching her neck.
‘I’ve always been so jealous of your hair. It’s just like Dad’s,’ Gwen said as they walked through the car park towards the graveyard.
‘You like mine?’ asked Chloe in surprise. ‘I’d never have thought it.’
Gwen took her arm, linking them together as they reached the expanse of green.
It was a beautiful stretch of land that held the sense of quiet that always seems to accompany the resting place of the dead.
A stone chapel, worn by time, watched over rows and rows of gravestones, many of them in the shapes of crosses.
Trees, almost void of their browning leaves, dotted the area.
The grass crunched beneath their feet, the frost clinging to the blades, as the sisters walked together in search of their parents.
They held bouquets of flowers in their free hands.
Chloe had chosen roses for Mum and Gwen had gotten some orchids for Dad.
Though their parents had loved both their children equally, Chloe had always felt closer to Mum.
Their trips to libraries and bookshops, the way Mum would braid Chloe’s hair and read to her before bed.
Gwen liked going swimming and playing chess with Dad.
That was until the family had fallen out over Gwen kissing Liam, and Gwen had run off with her older boyfriend.
Chloe was scared to ask how many times Gwen had seen Mum and Dad in person since she had left at eighteen.
She was only aware of that one Christmas during Chloe’s first year at university.
Gwen could probably count all the times she had visited them on one hand.
Whatever guilt Chloe was feeling for not contacting them enough, Gwen’s must be a hundredfold.
She could tell by the way her sister’s shoulders had slumped, the way she looked sadly down at the flowers.
Chloe couldn’t think of any reassuring words; like her, Gwen had likely assumed Mum and Dad would have years left, and there would be time to patch things up. So she just gave her arm a squeeze.
They talked as they walked, sharing memories of them all together, visiting a theme park, going to the theatre in Buxton, and their holiday as kids in Spain.
‘Remember how Dad got burned? Mum had warned him to put on sunscreen but he didn’t listen.’ Laughter rang in Gwen’s voice.
‘Oh, yeah. He looked like a lobster.’ Chloe giggled. ‘And Mum was entirely unsympathetic.’
‘ If you’d just listened to me, Thomas . . . ’
Dad had been bright red for the rest of the holiday. ‘We’ll have to see if we can find the old photos,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m sure there are ones of Spain in the attic.’
‘That’ll be tough,’ Gwen admitted as they passed some old gravestones, people who had passed away over a hundred years ago. ‘Seeing the pictures, I mean. But maybe it’ll be . . . I don’t know, therapeutic, too.’
‘Let’s do it when we get home.’
Chloe couldn’t remember exactly where the graves were. The memory of the funeral was a blur. They passed a familiar-looking part of the graveyard, and a gravestone caught Chloe’s eye.
‘Did you find them?’ asked Gwen as Chloe slowed to look down at the stone that read,
HERE LIES JULIE ASHCROFT, LOVING DAUGHTER AND WIFE. 22 ND APRIL 1996 – 30 TH MAY 2023.
A bouquet of flowers sat on the grave, more freesias and daisies like before. Harry had been here.
Chloe moved on. It didn’t take them long to spot the twin graves, shinier and newer than most of their counterparts.
‘Here they are.’
A lump formed in her chest and crawled up to her throat.
Suddenly it was summer last year again, the birds chirping and the sun shining in a brilliant blue sky like there was nothing wrong in the world.
Mournful music, some old rock song Dad liked, played as the caskets were lowered, side by side.
Auntie Paula’s gnarled, firm hand patted Chloe’s as she murmured words of comfort Chloe didn’t hear.
The stone of the graves glimmered in the weak morning sunlight, the tops sparkling with frost. The letters, gold engravings, shone bright as new.
HERE LIES LUCY KEETON, LOVING WIFE AND MOTHER. 19 TH FEbrUARY 1970 – 3 RD AUGUST 2024.
Seeing her mother’s name engraved in stone broke a dam inside Chloe. She knelt to lay the flowers before the gravestone, sniffling, tears slipping hot and fast down her cheeks. Gwen sighed beside her, laying her orchids on Dad’s grave, which read,
HERE LIES THOMAS KEETON LOVING HUSBAND AND FATHER, 16 TH JANUARY 1968 – 3 RD AUGUST 2024.
‘We should come here more often,’ said Chloe when they had wiped away their tears.
‘Definitely.’ Gwen nodded, palming her cheeks. ‘We owe it to them. I owe it to them,’ she added more quietly, and Chloe squeezed her hand. Her fingers were cold.
They cleaned the graves, swapping memories good and sad, from the games they played as kids to trips to the beach.
It was funny how grief could blur memories; Chloe could not recall one of the many forgotten arguments, the times their parents scolded them for something or other.
It was a marvel how some memories only Chloe remembered, and others Gwen reminded her about.
Sometimes Gwen would mention a day and the memory would resurface.
They cried as they talked, the sadness broken suddenly by laughter from recalling something funny.
‘Chloe, do you remember when Mum wanted to try a tester for that moisturiser?’ Gwen’s tear-filled giggles had led to hiccups, and her chest jumped every now and then.
‘Oh my goodness, I do.’ Chloe closed her eyes, remembering their mother, her greying blonde hair in a bun that day.
‘She squeezed way too much out.’ Gwen rearranged the flowers on Dad’s grave. ‘And was standing there with a big pile of goo in her hand, not knowing what to do.’
‘We were the most moisturised children in Derbyshire,’ Chloe said, and they both burst out laughing, clutching each other.
Chloe could feel the rift between her and her sister heal almost like a physical force, a bridge that had broken down slowly slotting back into place, brick by brick, a feat as wondrous as the magic of the library.
Years of things left unsaid, of time wasted, of experiences missed.
In this moment, surrounded by nature and close to their parents, Chloe wanted to stay in Wellbridge.
Stay here with her sister. She wanted to catch up on everything that they had missed out on, spend time together and make new memories.
She liked this town. The good memories were becoming more abundant than the bad.
She had Gwen, their home, her wonderful job at the library, her friend Hannah and . . .
And Harry.
His dimpled smile materialised in her mind for a moment, bringing on a different sort of ache.
His black eye, earned by defending her. She glanced around the graveyard.
Harry had been here, too, and the thought was a comfort.
He was leaving flowers, flowers he had researched the meanings of, for his late wife.
They left the graveyard behind, and Chloe’s heart felt lighter than it had in months. It was as if by shedding the tears and sharing the memories with Gwen, they had healed something between them and in her heart.
The sun rose and peeked out from behind the clouds, warming their skin.
This really was a beautiful place. Sad, of course, but with the dried autumn leaves blowing around and the last of the frost glittering on the headstones and in the grass, it felt cold and peaceful.
Sad and serene. Two clashing emotions that made her feel both romantic and melancholy.
They had almost reached the car when Chloe’s phone started ringing. Brow furrowing, she pulled it out. It took a moment for her to register that someone was calling her from the library phone.
For a moment, she felt alarmed. Today was her day off, right?
‘Hello?’
‘Chloe, is that you?’ Eric’s panicked voice reached her. There was a strange noise in the background. Banging and ripping and . . . was that a scream? ‘Um, where are you?’
‘It’s my day off. I’m at the graveyard,’ she said, then the concern caught up to her. Neither Eric nor Mrs Cook had rung her on her day off before, and those sounds definitely did not belong in the quiet library. ‘Eric, what’s going on? Are you all right?’
‘We . . . Um, there’s a problem. I’m really sorry, but we need you here right now.
’ There was another crash in the background, making Chloe flinch.
‘It’s the characters. The book characters.
A lot of them have escaped their books and we have no idea how.
Dozens of them, more than Mrs Cook and I can handle. Please come and help us!’
Gwen watched her, eyebrows raising in expectation. ‘Who is it?’ she mouthed.
‘The characters have escaped their books?’ said Chloe, dazed. ‘What? How?’
‘We don’t know. None of them were glowing this morning and no one’s been reading them. I don’t think so, anyway. No, stop! Put that down!’ he screamed. There was a scuffle and his fast breaths rushed down the phone. ‘Chloe, please come. This is getting out of control.’
‘Right,’ Chloe said. ‘Hang on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked her sister.
Chloe hesitated. She hadn’t told Gwen anything about the library’s magic. Where would she even start? And was Eric right? Were there love interests and purple monkeys causing havoc inside the library right this moment? It certainly sounded like it.
She was about to tell Gwen she’d drop her off at home, but an extra pair of hands might be just what they needed. And she felt a sudden fierce desire to tell Gwen everything.
‘I need your help with something. Here.’ She thrust her phone into Gwen’s hands and clambered into the car. ‘Ring Harry and ask him to join us. Then I’ve got something to tell you about the library.’