Katherine Hanna - Breakdown

“Kevin never made it here. He rang, said they were coming, but—”

“Kevin’s dead,” Chris told him.

“He was in London, but I don’t know, maybe—”

“He’s dead, Jon. I was in London. I went to his flat.”

The revelation was another jolt. Jon had to breathe in, then out. “You were in London? When?”

Chris didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened, he looked down. “Last year.”

“Last year ?”

“I’d just come in on a ship from Canada. Came into London, went to his flat, to see if I could find out anything. The door was marked, for all three of them, deceased.”

“Charlotte. And Penny,” Jon said, his mind shoving their names forward amid the conflicting emotions. “They were engaged. He’d told me a few weeks before Christmas. He was going to tell you, when you came. He’d finally popped the question.”

“Huh,” Chris whispered. “Good for him.”

Something broke through the jumble in Jon’s mind. His stomach turned over. “Sophie—”

Chris shook his head, swallowed. “No, they’re both gone. Right at the start. Long time ago now.”

“Oh God, Chris, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Chris said. He put up a hand to wipe at his eyes, then put his arms around Jon again and hugged him hard. “It’s okay now, right? I’ve found you.”

“Where have you been?” Jon said then, hugging back. They parted, and Chris adjusted the bag over his shoulder. “Here, let me take that,” Jon offered, reaching for it.

“No, it’s okay; don’t worry about it.”

“Where have you been, Chris?” Jon asked again, for an instant jealous of Brian and his long bus ride back from Bath with Chris, wanting to hear all the things Chris must have told him during the trip. They started to walk back toward the others waiting in the yard.

Chris seemed to be thinking. “Different places. It was a few years before there was any way for me to get over here, of course. I finally made it to London in June of last year. I’ve been a few places since then.”

“Where?”

“It’s a long story.”

“When did you get to Bath?”

They reached the others. Fiona was smiling, but Brian’s expression was guarded.

“Wednesday, I suppose it was,” Chris said. “I’ve been staying at your flat…had to get a blood test, then went looking for whatever I could find out. Found Flynn on Thursday.”

“He said you’d been there,” Brian put in. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite believe him.”

Chris eyed him and shrugged.

“We checked at the Government Center,” Brian went on. “They didn’t have you registered.”

Chris shook his head. “No, I didn’t register. That can be tricky.”

Jon noticed the tension between his brother and Brian immediately. Every time Chris looked at Brian, it took him two tries: his eyes shifted in Brian’s direction first, then to his face. Brian was not smiling. Jon nearly chided them both, but stopped himself. It was all in the past. They would figure that out soon enough, he was sure.

“Let’s all go inside, so Chris can sit down,” Fiona said. Jon bent to pick up Chris’s bedroll from where it had fallen. Chris put out a hand for it, but Jon waved him off, slung it over his shoulder.

“This is nice,” Chris said as they went inside. He stopped just inside the door. Jon could see him glancing around, taking in the Aga, the light fixtures, the long table, the row of fresh bread loaves on one counter. “Um, is Laura here?”

“She’s not back yet,” Fiona told him. “She should be here in time for supper. Simon, too. You know Alan, right? You’ll meet Vivian, his wife. They live in the gatehouse. I’ll have them over for supper, as well.”

Chris nodded, put his hands in his pockets, then took them out again. He stepped away as Brian came in the door, as if they were opposing magnets, unable to touch, repelling automatically.

“Do you want to sit down, have a drink or something?” Jon asked him.

“If there’s time, I’d like to have a wash. I’m a bit grotty, I’m afraid.”

“Plenty of time,” Fiona assured him. He nodded, stared at her face, as if needing to reassure himself it was really her.

“Come on up, then,” Jon said, “and you can shower.”

Jon led him out of the kitchen and up to his own room. Chris surveyed the bed and bedside tables, the bureau with its framed pictures, the desk and chair in the corner, the bookshelf full of books, the electric lamps.

“Posh,” Chris said.

“Is it?” Jon asked, and Chris shifted his eyes over.

“Compared to some places, yes.” He made a quick gesture toward the bedside lamp. “You’ve got lights.”

“Yes. Not awfully reliable. We lose them if a good wind blows. For years we didn’t have any. But we can get news on the radio most nights. And we have the solar, of course. That runs the well pump and the Aga, and we can charge batteries for torches and the like. One of Simon’s extravagances that turned out to be invaluable.” He put Chris’s blanket roll on the bed.

“And a shower?”

“Sure.” Jon shrugged. “Or a bath, if you’d prefer.”

“No lugging pails up the stairs,” Chris said quietly. He moved into the room, pulling his duffel bag off over his head.

“You had to do that? Where?”

“In Breton, a little town near Portsmouth. I worked on a farm there. If it was warm enough, we washed outside, in a little room built against the house. But Grace never liked—” He stopped, did not look at Jon, put his bag on the bed, and unzipped it. “Showers in London, though,” he said, as if to change the subject.

“How long were you in London?”

“Couple of months.” Chris rummaged in his bag, pulled out some clothes. “None of this is really clean.”

“I’ve got clothes you can borrow.”

“I couldn’t carry much, so I left some stuff behind. I’ve got coupons, though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon said. He opened drawers and gathered everything Chris would need.

Chris stood still, watching Jon. “I didn’t expect to find you.”

“Why not?”

“You were reckless. Kevin was careful. I guess he was too careful, stayed where he was, like he was told to do. He should have tried to get out of London.”

“That’s what he said, when he rang me. He said, ‘They told us to stay put.’ I told him to pack what he could and get out. I told him it would be safer in Bath.” Jon shook his head. “It wasn’t much safer, really. But he said he was coming. I think he just needed someone to tell him what to do. He said he’d been trying to ring you, but couldn’t get through. He wanted you to tell him to get out.”

Chris took a long breath and let it out slowly.

“It’s not your fault,” Jon said.

“Yeah, I know. But if I’d made it here, after Christmas, he’d have come out from London.”

“Maybe.” Jon waited, holding the clothes, and when Chris didn’t go on, he asked, “What happened, on your end?”

Chris straightened with a little shudder. “Sophie drove me to the airport. We took Rosie along. There’d already been some flight cancellations, but not mine, so she left me and went home. They canceled my flight after that. I stayed the night, got on a plane the next morning, but it turned around after a few hours and went back. Then they held us at the airport for days. Things were starting to go all to hell. By the time I got home, Rosie was gone, and Sophie…died that night.” Chris pulled a few pieces of clothing out of his bag without really looking at them, then glanced at Jon. “Do you know where Mum is buried?”

“Yes. There was still a bit of room left at her church. Some of the members helped me dig her grave.” The memory of that hellish day, hacking blindly at the frozen ground for hours, remained jagged-edged. “I’ll take you, if you want.”