He linked his arms through hers again and they began to walk back to the vicarage. Suddenly he stopped. 'Is this where your sister's buried?' For a moment she almost denied it. 'Show me.' She continued to hang back. 'Please, Mara.' She had never heard him ask like this before, and she turned and led him in the direction of the new graves. It was just getting dark, and the white headstone seemed to gleam in the dusk. They stood in silence, and she dreaded some disparaging coment on the words. He spoke:
'I can but trust that good shall fall. At last - far off - at last, to all. And every winter change to spring.'
She felt herself starting to cry at the bitterness in his tone. 'Oh, can't we drop the clever quotes just for once?'
'Have you read In Memoriam?'
'Stop trusting Tennyson down my throat!' she burst out. 'Don't tell me what to read. It won't help. Nothing does.'
'Oh, I don't know. A bit of poetry, a bit of music, a bit of whisky. They all help a little.'
'Well, you've managed. You've managed to make me cry,' she sobbed and stumbled off between the graves. He caught up with her, putting an arm round her shoulders. She was too miserable to thrust him away. The blackbird began whistling from the church roof again. Their feet sounded on the road. After a moment he spoke:
'When I was seventeen, my best friend was killed in a car crash.' Shock ran through her. His tone was so casual. 'Pissed out of his skull and not wearing seat-belt. He hit a lorry head-on and was killed instantly. Stupid bastard.' Mara glanced at him. At that moment the village street lamp came on, casting light across his face, and she thought, This is what grief looks like so many years on. Does it never fade? She felt fresh tears falling, this time for him and his loss, and slid her arm round his waist. For a second his grip tightened. They walked back in silence to the vicarage.
tt almost made me teared on my way to work this gloomy morning.. Does it never fade?
