All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(70)

The room had been Daddy’s office before Nana had moved in with us. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this before, but it was the room where Daddy was murdered. The first night Nana came to stay with us, I had thought she was going to sleep in Mommy and Daddy’s old bedroom, but she told me that my parents’ room would be my new room – I had been sharing with Natty to that point – and that she would use Daddy’s office. Even though I was only nine, I didn’t think it was right that she should have to sleep where her own son was murdered (there had still been bloodstains on the rug!), and I told her it wouldn’t be a problem for me to bunk with Natty. ‘No, Anyaschka,’ she’d said. ‘If we don’t use this room, it will forever be the place where your father died. It will be a memorial when what it needs to be is a room. It is never a good idea to keep a coffin in the middle of one’s house, my darling. And besides, you are a big girl, and a big girl needs a room of her own.’ I didn’t entirely understand what she was saying at the time, and I can remember even being a little angry at her. Daddy died in that room! was what I had wanted to say. Show some respect! But now I realized how much strength it must have taken for her to sleep there. Daddy had been her only biological child: though she hadn’t let on, she must have been grieving, too.

I looked atop Nana’s nightstand and then in the drawer to see if she’d left me a note. Nothing except pills and Imogen’s copy of David Copperfield.

I sat down on the bare mattress. I closed my eyes and imagined Nana saying, Get a bar of chocolate and share it with someone you love. I opened my eyes. No one would ever say those words to me again. No one would want me to have something sweet, just because. No one would care whom I shared my chocolate with. There was less love for me in the world than there had been even twenty-four hours ago. I buried my face in my hands and I did my best to cry without making any noise – I didn’t want to wake my siblings.

Nana had loved me.

She had really loved me.

And despite this, I was relieved that she was dead. (The truth of this made me cry even harder.)

I fell asleep in Nana’s room that night.

I woke to the sunrise, which I couldn’t see from my own west-facing bedroom. I could understand why Nana had liked this chamber. The closet was bigger than mine, and the morning light was spectacular.

Mr Kipling and I had discussed the importance of sticking to the regular routine, and especially of Natty and me needing to attend school as usual. And so we did. We were swollen-eyed and unprepared, but we were there.

I told Scarlet in fencing. She cried and said nothing particularly helpful.

I told Win at lunch. He wanted to know why I hadn’t called or told him earlier. ‘I would have come,’ he said.

‘There was nothing for you to do,’ I said.

‘Still,’ he insisted. ‘You shouldn’t have been alone.’

I couldn’t help thinking about my discussion with Mr Kipling. I looked at Win, and I wondered if I should give him up. More to the point, I wondered if I could give him up. ‘Win, do me a favour. Don’t tell your father about my grandmother dying yet.’

‘As if I would,’ he said. ‘I don’t tell him anything.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to end up a problem for your father to solve.’

Win changed the subject. ‘When’s the funeral?’ he asked. ‘I’ll go with you.’

‘There won’t be a funeral, just a wake at the Pool this Saturday. Family only.’ I didn’t think it was that great an idea that Win go with me.

‘If you don’t want me to come, you can just say, you know.’

‘It’s not that . . .’ Suddenly, I was exhausted. I’d slept very little, and I was having trouble being sensible.

‘It’s not as if I have nothing better to do than go to your grandmother’s funeral,’ Win said.

‘I’m tired,’ I said. ‘Can we discuss this later?’

‘Sure,’ Win said. ‘I’ll come over tonight. If I didn’t manage to say so before, I am incredibly sorry about your grandmother.’ He kissed me, though not in a sexy way. Gentle. Tender. Then the bell rang, and he had to get to his next class. I watched him jog across the chessboard cafeteria floor. His hips were slim and his shoulders were square and broad. He moved gracefully, almost like a dancer. From behind, it was obvious to me how much of a boy he still was. Yes, he was a boy. He was just a boy. It wouldn’t be easy, but I decided that if I had to, I could give him up. As a Catholic, I had learned early to accept renunciation as a part of life.

‘Anya Balanchine?’ Someone tapped me on the arm. It was one of Natty’s teachers. I’d never had her. She was new, had only been teaching a year or two, and had the sort of cartoonish enthusiasm one might expect in someone so inexperienced. ‘I’m Kathleen Bellevoir! I was hoping I’d run into you today! Do you have a moment to talk about your sister? I’ll walk you to your next class!’ It was all exclamation points with this lady.

I nodded. ‘Sure. If Natty was a little off in class today, well, we recently had a death in the family, and—’

‘I’m very sorry to hear that, but no, it’s nothing like that. The opposite, in fact! I wanted to talk to you because of how well she’s doing! Your sister has a gift, Anya.’