Inhale

15.

Lord, what you're doing to me (yeah yeah)I have spent all my years in believing you

But I just can't get no relief, Lord

Somebody (somebody)Ooh somebody (somebody)

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

Somebody To Love - Queen

(A/N: Some discussions of grief, neglect/alcohol abuse. Not graphic at all, but always be safe!)

(A/N 2: Some insensitive language is used later in this chapter. Once again, this reflects the time period of the story and not at all my personal beliefs/language.)

We entered the house through the back door, having cut through the back of the grounds. Ellie had insisted it was much nicer than the winding roads up front, where cars could come hurtling at immense speeds, protected from camera views by dense trees. She was correct, of course (Wright is always right, I suppose) and I was grateful to escape the rain that had just started as soon as the door closed behind us.

Dorian had left a small array of crisp pastries and tea on the table for us to get started on before lunch rolled around. All the stools had been brought in so we could eat at this little table in the kitchen, rather than the dining room. The dining room had been my mother's thing. It felt too strange to eat there without her, like starting dinner before the last family member sat down at the table. She would always be somewhere beyond those four walls, and I would tell myself she was stuck in traffic, or had stopped to buy something after remembering we were short of it because she was thoughtful that way.

Ellie sat herself on one of the stools, picking at the plate nearest to her. Her other hand came up to support her chin, making her look a bit like the statue in the courtyard. Granted, her expression had less ambiguous despair, but all the same thoughtfulness, as though stuck on a bramble on the way out of her mind.

"What is it?" I sat down near the corner, leaving some space between us. It was still warm from the oven and the heat spread across my shins.

She straightened up somewhat. "What? Oh, just a little...I don't think sad is the right word."

"No," I agreed. "It's not." I reached for a powdered bun I knew wouldn't have any jam in it. Ellie pushed the plate towards me, not really paying attention to the action. "Something up with Cyrus?"

"No," she said, but it was too rushed. She drooped in her seat, setting down the crumbling pastry. "You know their mum isn't well, Jay. She's-"

"Sick," I filled in. I knew they had all been dancing around the topic because of mum, especially due to the anniversary coming up. It's not that I was oblivious, because I wasn't. But I knew they felt better about themselves for whispering about it. If it made them feel like better people to 'spare my feelings', then it didn't bother me. "she's sick."

Ellie nodded. "How's Josiah?"

My stomach tensed and flipped once. I had tried very hard not to think of him on the way back. It seemed to take twice as much effort to listen to what Ellie was saying to me with all the distractions. No matter how much I fought it, his face kept swimming back into my thoughts at the sight of Marcel and his cigarettes, the conkers and barely-crisp leaves. At times the thought of the distance made me think I could burst into flames. There was an unimaginable urge to find his home in the phonebook, to call. A helpless hope in the base of my chest suggested that hearing his voice might take me away. Away from the mourning and whispering and gentleness, as though I might break.