Chapter Fourteen
A Choice is Made
They got back as the sun stretched behind the fields. Charlie had nothing left to say to James - he was too stunned.
On the slow and quiet walk back to the Room he let his eyes follow the tips of his trainers, skirted by the cloak, pacing the pavement. He spent a long time testing names in his head:
James Scripton.
Flora Mercier.
Flora Scripton.
Etienne Scripton.
Etty Scripton.
It sounded wrong to him: too many consonants. Then again, Charlie supposed, had James survived the war and gone on to raise his children and grandchildren, considerably fewer of them would have had French names. What might Etty have been? Emma? Ethel? Charlie grimaced at the thought, and then felt annoyed with himself for thinking about her again. What other thoughts could distract him from the ever-present image of her heart-shaped face, apricot hair, straight and thick and just brushing her shoulders…
Oh. Of course there remained the problem of Victoria. Charlie was in half a mind to tell James he’d return to the Room later, but when he lifted his head, he groaned: they were already at the threshold. James didn’t step in straight away.
‘You can’t hide from her forever, chappie.’
Chappie. And so the nickname list gained another embarrassing addition.
Sighing, he pushed through to the Room before he could change his mind. Everyone else seemed to be present, having either lounged around for hours or very recently come back from duty.
Charlie scanned the chairs and sofas. There she was, her back rigid and turned away from him. She was more difficult to spot than the others - with such dark hair accessorizing a midnight-black cloak, Victoria blended right into the shadows.
He could have sworn the moment of his entrance had been scripted, the way the other Grims ceased all conversation and put their attention solely on him. Victoria continued not to move. He wished he had some idea of her expression; he cleared his throat.
‘Hey everyone.’
Silence. Bobby threw Charlie a look from across the Room that said, Wish I could save you from this awkward moment, mate, but…
Charlie curtly raised his eyebrows in reply. Take Two.
‘Victoria. Can I talk to you…please?’
There was the most imperceptible turn of her head, a few degrees to the right. Her voice was measured and exact.
‘Private conversations are hardly our forte, Charles. Anything you have to say, feel free to say them right now, from where you are standing.’
He could feel everyone hanging on his unsaid words. If only a director could step in now and yell, “Cut!” Breathe in.
‘Sorry doesn’t cover half of what I want to say, but I hope it’s a start. I hope you’ll forgive me at some point, but only when you want to. And I hope we can be…civil.’
Self-reproach sprung up as he finished speaking. It sounded like a bad impersonation of Victoria, which was obviously not what he was aiming for.
YOU ARE READING
A Blue Sky Existence
ParanormalCharlie lived a perfectly ordinary life until an afternoon in August, 1990. His family has to cope with an enormous loss, and it seems as though their world will never be the same again. When an elusive cloaked figure shows up after the tragedy, ho...
