Gray (2)

Granny knows that I see them. We sat in the garden tending to the herbs in their separate bed. It was a warm day when the sun came out from behind a scattering of grey clouds. Granny had assured me that it wasn’t going to rain, but I’d worn my boots anyway. My feet were hot and I pushed my small spade into the earth to make room for a rosemary plant.
“Have you not seen Adam anymore?” she asked passing me the watering can, I shook my head.
“No, it was about a month ago now, but he hasn’t moved on. Doris’ cat has been following me around though,” Granny laughed,
“That cat always loved you,” she chuckled. “How do you know he hasn’t moved on though?” she asked.
“I just do,” I replied tipping the can and watching the earth as it swallowed the water greedily.
“Hmm,” Granny murmured. “It’s been a while though,”
“I know, that’s what I don’t understand,” I said, “People usually leave within a week at the most,” I pushed the rosemary plant’s roots into the soil and then pressed more earth around its base.
“I wish you and your Granddad had planted that one first,” Granny commented, motioning to the plant, “I’m cooking lamb for dinner.”

People leave imprints of themselves on Earth. Whether it’s in their favourite place or on a person, you can feel them even if you don’t have my sight. You might look into a girl’s eyes and see the sister that never made it through infancy embedded in the pupil staring back at you, or you might notice a brown patch in the lush grass at the park which was the favourite seating place of someone passed away. They’re like handprints on clean glass, no matter how much you try and wipe them away someone will always come back and replace them with new ones.

I knew he hadn’t moved on. I’d walk through the corridors to my next lesson and see a flash of red, a glimmer of blonde, but it wasn’t him. I wished that in those moments when he had stood before my table, his mouth poised ready to speak that he had. I knew what his voice sounded like but not how it would sound when he spoke to me. Why didn’t he come and see me? Everyone else did. I’d asked this question to a young girl who sat on the edge of my bed. She had been visiting me for a couple of days now. She never smiled at my little jokes or bitching rants about people at school but I didn’t mind. I think she was around my age, maybe a little older. I had turned fifteen a month before Adam had gone missing. I was always curious about these people’s names. I wanted to call them something, so sometimes I made up a new name for them. I believe that we shouldn’t name people until their older and then you can judge what name would suit them best by how they looked. This girl sitting on the edge of my bed looked like an Alice with long, wavy blonde hair, held back with a headband, pale blue eyes and a small mouth. My Mum’s name is Heather, but I think she looks like a Sue. Or maybe I just imagine all Mums are called Sue. I called her Alice but she didn’t react, she just stared at me with her pale, dead, blue eyes.

The news reader tried to look solemn but I could tell that she was one of those people that always had a smile etched onto their face, even when they were upset. The type of person who always answered, I’m fine, when inside they wanted to stab something.
“In a Police statement today Cambridgeshire officers claim to have discovered the identity of Adam Gray’s killer, the young boy from Peterborough who went missing two months ago, found on the roadside of the A43.” She readjusted her mouth again so that her lips stayed straight and solemn. A photo of a tired looking man, with heavy lidded eyes, filled the screen with the name Greg Brooke underneath. “If anyone knows the whereabouts of this man then please call this number..” He was sitting next to me, his green eyes intently watching the television screen.
“Hello Adam,” I studied his pale face with its large eyes and sugary lips. He continued to watch the television, the coloured lights from the screen dancing on his skin. The news reader had moved onto another story. Mum walked in and sat down in an arm chair carefully holding a cup of tea, I was glad that she hadn’t sat where Adam was. I’d watched people do that before; freeze burn all over must be a horrible feeling.
“Have you done your homework?” she asked me.
“Mum I’m in sixth form I rarely get homework,” I replied. Adam was watching her now,
“You had homework the other week,” she took a sip from her cup and watched me.
“Yes, but I don’t have any today,” I replied. I turned back to watching the television and Adam did too. I wanted to talk to him but now she was sitting there I couldn’t.
“Just trying to make conversation,” she muttered. We all sat in silence for a couple of minutes, “God Emily this is depressing,” she commented as the news reader began to talk about a stabbing in East London.
“The world is depressing,” I said, not bothering to look at her.
“Pass the remote,” She held out one of her skinny hands to me. I ignored her. She sighed, “Fine I’ll go watch something in the kitchen,” she stood and left the room and I rolled my eyes. Adam smiled at me.
“Ugh, such a pain,” I muttered. His smile widened and I thought he was going to laugh but his partially open lips snapped shut again. I wanted to hear him laugh. I frowned and we continued to watch the news in silence.

© Copyright Jade Tolley 2011