Archive of Our Own

It starts with a knock—three knocks, actually—uniform, sensible. Lucy knows those knocks, so she refuses to open at first, just stares at the door from her place on her bed. How did he find out where she lives?

Of course, it’s not like her residence is a secret; after all, she has new business cards with her address. There was also an advert on the newspaper.

Three more knocks. She stands up. The room, of course, is a mess. The skull is under a dirty jumper on her table. Her laundry, which she had started picking up earlier, lays scattered on the floor. With a quick swipe to rid her face and pyjama top of errant biscuit crumbs, she heads for the door. The sun is not up yet and she's barely had a chance to settle in after arriving home from a case.

As she approaches the door, her resolve hardens. She will send him away, will make it abundantly clear that his schemes hold no sway over her. He holds no power to coax her back.

Unless the only purpose of his visit is to return whatever belongings she left at 35 Portland Row.

Lucy stands behind her door, forehead on the peeling wood, and takes a deep breath. Then she opens the door for Anthony Lockwood.

A part of her mind, the one that likes to fantasize about Lockwood showing up at her flat begging her to return, telling her the company—he—can’t survive without her, always imagined him dressed in his best suit. This Lockwood, the real one, looks just like he just got back from a job. There’s dirt on his shirt and his tie is loose around his neck. Lucy chastises the part of her mind that thinks too highly of herself.

"Luce," he greets her. It’s the first time in two months she’s heard the nickname. The feeling in her stomach is akin to hope and delusion.

"Lockwood." What is she supposed to say next? "What are you doing here?"

"I—" he swallows and looks down. Suddenly, he looks insecure. "Can I come in?"

No.

Lucy nods and steps aside. Lockwood seems to be taking in the room—the peeling linoleum, the dirty cups littering every surface, her unmade bed, the clothes on the floor.

Lucy imagines he will make some sort of comment about how…quaint her flat is, but he doesn’t.

"Lockwood, what are you doing here?" Lucy repeats.

For a second, he looks like he forgot she was standing behind him.

"Can we sit down?"

Tough luck with that one, she wants to say. There’s only one chair and her bed. She considers telling him to sit on the bed, but that feels like too much, too personal, so she settles for dragging the chair and setting it in front of her bed.

Lockwood clears his throat before speaking. His hands are on his knees. "We got a phone call. For you," he clarifies. "It was from Mary."

Her sister. Of course, she would call Lockwood & Co, because that’s where everyone thinks she is. In the hecticness of her new life, she has forgotten to update her sisters and mother on her new residence and work. It also means she hasn’t spoken to them since she visited months ago. They didn’t even call for Christmas. But then again, neither did she.   

"What is it?" There’s been a growing pit in her stomach since the moment Lockwood knocked on her door.

"Luce," Lockwood grabs her hand and Lucy wants to shake his off. “It’s Norrie.”

The pit snaps closed and Lucy feels like she’s imploding. For one second, she can pretend that it’s good news. As long as Lockwood doesn’t tell her that Norrie is dead, Lucy can pretend he’s going to tell her she woke up.

"I'm sorry, Luce,” he squeezes her hand and Lucy realizes this is the most anyone has touched her intentionally since she left Lockwood and Co. “Norrie passed two days ago. I've been trying to reach you, but you didn't leave an address or a phone number."

Lucy has to give it to him; there is no recrimination in the last words, no guilt or anger. He just seems sad for her.

"I finally got your address from Barnes. I wanted to come last night, but I had a job and... this is the earliest I managed to come."

"It's alright.” His words sounded apologetic and Lucy feels the need to reassure him.

Lockwood shakes his head. His other hand hovers over her shoulder for a second before returning to his knee. Lucy wants him to touch her, to anchor her down so she doesn’t float out the window.

"I need to cancel a couple of jobs," she says finally. It wouldn't do well for her reputation as a freelancer if she just didn't show up; she needs to give them an excuse at least.

Standing and letting go of Lockwood’s hand, Lucy heads to try to find her overnight bag. She will need to pack and call the train station. Would she be able to pay over the phone and have them reserve a ticket? Or are any trains even available? She’ll need a cab. How long will she need to stay for?

“Did she mention when the service will be?”

Lockwood nods. "Tomorrow afternoon. Mary said you could stay with her. She’ll come get you from the station. "

"Thanks, Lockwood.” Lucy moves towards the door, tries to make it clear she needs to be alone. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, seems to get the hint. “It was kind of you to come all the way here to tell me."

The heater hasn’t kicked in, so her room is freezing. It will be even colder up north. She needs to pack accordingly.

"Of course, Luce." He hesitates at the door. "Look, why don’t I help you before I leave? I can call the station while you pack. I can go get you some breakfast. Did you have breakfast already?"

The kindness makes her achy.

"Alright," Lucy finds herself saying.

Lockwood tells her to make her phone calls while he runs to the corner shop and gets breakfast for both of them. He’s gone before she can mention that the store is probably not open yet.

The first call is easy. The client, a Mrs. Mortimer in Belgravia, tells her she’s sorry for her loss when Lucy says she had a loss in the family and has to travel back home. She only sounds mildly annoyed at been bothered so early. The second call to a Rotwell supervisor doesn’t go as well, so she ends it by telling the supervisor to find another Listener. She’s not too worried about that one. Lucy knows, despite her boorishness, Rotwell will call her again because she’s that good.

By the time Lockwood returns, she’s trying to decide if the one black dress she owns is fitting for the service. She has already packed another outfit to return home, pyjamas, and the essentials she will need.

"Not as good as Arif’s, but I got a couple of donuts," Lockwood tries to joke. "I got them to pack a couple more for the trip. I also got you coffee. Figured you needed something strong. Have you slept yet?"

Lucy is overtaken by his presence. He seems larger than life, too tall for her room. "Yes, about an hour maybe,” she lies.

"Alright, what do you need me to do, Luce?"

"Nothing, it’s really alright, you can go home." The muscles of her face don’t contract in the right way to smile at him reassuringly.

"Nonsense," he smiles. "I’ll call the station for you.”

Lucy thanks him and gathers her things to shower quickly. The water is not hot enough and there’s always a weird draft in the bathroom, but it’ll have to do. Her skin is covered in goosebumps as she gets dressed.

When she returns to her room, Lockwood has taken off his coat and jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He’s rinsing a cup, which joins the rest of her plates and cups now clean and drying on the worktop. Lucy can almost imagine they’re back at Portland Row and he’s lost a bet and is now on dish duty. He’s also gathered all the clothes on the floor and set it on her chair. Lucy blushes realizing he had to pick up her pants as bras too.

"You didn't have to do that," she tells him and shoves the toiletries into her overnight bag.

"Well, not a lot to do except wait for you to be done and I wouldn’t want you to come back in a couple of days and these are still here." She won’t tell him that some of the cups are definitely from more than a couple of days ago, but he can probably tell anyway.

"I called the station and they wouldn’t let me purchase a ticket over the phone, but they assured me there’s plenty of space on the 8:30 train to Newcastle."

"Thanks."

Lockwood just smiles like it’s not a big deal, like this isn’t one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for her. But she guesses Lockwood is familiar enough with loss that he knows what to do. She wonders if he had anyone to wash his dirty cups when Jessica died.

"Alright, once you’re ready, I will call a cab for us."

"For us?" She asks.

"Of course. I will go with you to the station and then I can go home. And before you say anything, I know I don’t have to, but I want to."

Once again, Lucy finds herself unable to say no.

"What do you want to do with the skull?"

This isn’t something Lucy had considered. She doesn’t want to take him, but she can’t just leave him there.

"I... I don’t know."

"I could take care of him for you. Like pet-sitting. Skullsitting?"

"I don’t want to inconvenience you."

"You’re not, Luce. Look, we can get the cab to make a stop at Portland Row on the way." Her eyes widen and he rushes to clarify. "You don’t have to get off the car. I will take care of it and leave it in the basement. I can drop it off when you get back."

She finishes getting ready while Lockwood pages through the book she’s been reading for months. He doesn’t seem to notice it’s a book she took from the library at Portland Row.

The regular puffer she’s been wearing won’t be enough for winter up north, so she digs through her clothes to find her heavy winter coat.

The skull seems annoyed to be moved around and looks at her with a peculiar expression when she removes the jumper covering the jar and he notices Lockwood. She sets him on the worktop and opens the valve just enough to rush out, I have to go north and you’re staying at Portland Row, but I will get you back when I return in two days, and shuts the valve before he has the chance to reply.

Lockwood is looking at her with an amused expression. "Well, that’s an effective way to communicate."

She shrugs. "I just don’t want to deal with him."

"Hey, don’t worry. At least I don’t have to feed and walk him. Unless you’ve taken to walking him around the neighbourhood.” Lockwood gives her a warm smile and hands her the book to pack away in her bag.

She does one more check of the room and they step out of the flat together. Lockwood insists on carrying her bag down the stairs. He hails a cab fairly quickly for the early hour and gives the driver instructions to get to Portland Row and then to the train station.

He tries to start a conversation a couple of times, but Lucy doesn’t have it in her to reply. The first time is to ask if Lucy was able to move the jobs she had scheduled. The second time, he asks her if Norrie had any siblings and Lucy just gives him a flat no.

As the cab parks outside of 35 Portland Row, she realizes why he’s asking. He knows what it’s like to be the one left behind. Lockwood tells her he will be back quickly as he takes her rucksack from her.

Lucy gets the urge to call off the plans as she waits, to tell Lockwood they should go back inside and just spend the day with George, to stay in London and pretend Norrie is still alive.

By the time she’s made up her mind to get out of the cab, Lockwood is back. He’s bundled up, wearing a jumper over his shirt and carrying a hat in the pocket of his coat.

"Thank you again, Lockwood."

His gloved covered hand covers hers. "No worries, Luce."

The trip to the station is shorter than the one from Tooting to Portland Row. There are families and businesspeople bustling around. It’s a lot busier than she would’ve expected for a Friday morning, but they make their way together to buy the ticket. Lockwood manages the purchase and even gets her the times for the trains from Newcastle to her town. She tries to pay him back and Lockwood shakes his head. “I owe you for all the times you paid for the cab when it was my turn,” he jokes.

They sit on a bench to wait for the train. Lucy tries to start a conversation once. She asks how George is doing and Lockwood says he's fine. George wanted to go to Tooting with him, but they had a client meeting in the books already so he stayed behind to handle it with Holly.

The silence comes back and Lucy its chilly presence, so she goes to get them a cup of tea. She still feels the buzz of caffeine from the coffee earlier, but it's not enough. She needs to get her limbs warmed up, lest she gets stuck to the bench, frozen solid on the spot.

“Thanks, Luce,” Lockwood expresses when she returns with two cups of tea, hot enough to burn through the fabric of her gloves.

“Was the shop open earlier?”

Lockwood chuckles, the sound as warm as the tea she’s sipping. “No, but I think the owner felt bad because of how terrible I looked.”

“You didn’t look terrible,” Lucy retorts.

“Luce?”

“What?”

“Let me come with you,” he says, his voice low.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me come to the service with you. I know you’ll have your family there too, but...”

Lockwood trails off, but she imagines his next words, I know what it’s like to have to face something like this alone. Lucy starts shaking her head before he’s even done speaking. Lockwood coming with her will only complicate things, will only make their weird boundaries even blurrier.

“Alright,” she finds herself saying.

Lockwood gives her a smile and dashes to purchase a ticket. Lucy feels something like sick anticipation. This is a terrible idea surely. The image of the Fetch is imprinted on her mind, always taunting her with its predictions. Allowing Lockwood to come with her feels like the worst of her transgressions. Yet she can’t stop herself from being selfish right now.

“I called George,” Lockwood says upon his return.

“What did he say?”

“That everyone will think I’m an arsehole Londoner.” Lockwood stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans back on the bench, a picture of tranquillity and relaxation. “He also said to stay warm and not come back sick.”

Lucy scoffs. “Yeah, those are both possible.”

“I will need to buy something to wear when I get there.”

“You can wear this to the service,” Lucy assures him. “And we can find you something else to wear in the meantime. I’m sure you can wash your suit at Mary’s.”

“Is there a dry cleaner in your town?”

Lucy cackles. “And that’s the kind of question that will make people think you’re an arsehole Londoner.”

Lockwood’s only response is to roll his eyes.

“Thank you,” Lucy whispers. He will never know just how thankful she is that she won’t have to do this alone.

“You never have to thank me, Luce.”

The train arrives and they make their way in. Lockwood continues carrying her bag. He finds them two seats in an empty car.

“How was Christmas?” Lucy asks him. Her Christmas wasn’t eventful, only the skull and takeout for company. She’s been curious about what her former colleagues got up to in her absence.

As Lockwood begins telling her about Christmas dinner with the Karims, she finds herself lulled to sleep despite the amount of caffeine in her system. The feel of Lockwood’s shoulder under her cheek helps warm her up.

When she wakes up, neck bent in an odd position and the cottony material of Lockwood’s trousers under her face, the world is covered in white outside. Lockwood is reading a magazine she didn’t even notice him buying. His coat over her like a blanket. She blushes at being asleep on his lap, but Lockwood only smiles down at her.

“We’re getting close to Newcastle and we might be able to make it on the earlier train to your town.”

The Newcastle station is significantly less busy than London, but they’re still almost running to get to their train. She stops by a phone box to call Mary and tell her she will be on the next train. Lucy is out of breath by the time they make it, Lockwood laughing at her side.

“Hungry?” He asks once they find their seats and digs through her bag before she can answer to hand her a donut.

“Sorry I fell asleep like that.”

“No worries, Luce, you must be tired.”

“I will pay you back for my ticket.”

“You don’t have to.”

She eats her donut in silence while Lockwood continues reading the magazine.

“Anything interesting?” she asks.

He smiles. “Well, they mentioned one of our cases and spelled all our names correctly.”

“Good for you, Andrew.”

 He laughs, but sobers up quickly. “Will you tell me about Norrie?”

Lucy wants to tell him, wants to speak about her, but the grief chokes her up, like chilly air is fills her lungs and makes her mind hazy.

“Not right now,” she replies.

Lockwood's voice breaks the quiet as he draws her nearer, setting aside the forgotten magazine resting in his lap. “Hey,” he begins softly, seeking assurance. “Is this alright?” Her silent nod is all the confirmation he needs. Pulling her into an embrace—a rare occurrence between them—he murmurs that she will be fine. Lucy, not believing a word he says, drifts once more to sleep.

Lockwood’s head is on hers and he’s softly snoring when the speakers announce their stop is coming up next. It must’ve been only twenty or thirty minutes since this train ride is less than an hour. Lucy recognizes the fields outside the window; they’re getting closer to her town. Mary will probably be at the train station already. Now Lucy realizes that her sister doesn’t know Lockwood is also coming.

Last time she saw Mary, her sister was getting ready to move into a new place with her boyfriend. Thinking back to the stilted interactions with her family, that visit feels like a bad omen in retrospect.

Lockwood jolts awake and she moves away.

“Are you alright?” she asks him.

“Yes, sorry, Luce, didn’t mean to scare you and wake you up.”

“I’ve been awake.”

“Oh,” he blushes.

“We’re getting close,” Lucy says.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far north, except when my uncle would take us to his summer home in the Lake District.”

“Did you like that?”

“Yes, it was one of my favourite places growing up.” He doesn’t volunteer more information and Lucy lets it go.

It's almost amusing in a way that turns her stomach. Nearly two years have passed since she travelled this very route in reverse, heading towards London. Now, as she returns, she carries with her a piece of that London life. Though calling Lockwood a piece of her London life doesn’t cover who he is to her. Though Lockwood is not really a part of her life anymore.

She sees the station in the horizon and wonders if she should tell Lockwood that her father died there. Though saying that will make it weirder between them somehow. He’s never asked much about her parents, probably in fear that she will ask about his in return.

Lucy is sure to grab the bag from him as they step out the station. She’s not too keen on Mary meeting Lockwood for the first time while he holds Lucy’s bag.

“Lu!” She hears Mary call. She looks around until she spots her.

Mary Carlyle is, in Lucy’s opinion, the prettiest of the Carlyle girls. All her older sisters–Anne, Diana, Hilda, Catherine, and Nora–are alright looking in their own way, but Mary has always been the prettiest and kindest of them. Now, at 20 years old, she wears her dark hair long and in waves. Her face is always made up in the way that makes people wonder if she’s actually wearing any makeup. Her clothes, despite being usually from charity shops, always fit perfectly.

Right now, she’s wearing a loud yellow puffer coat that would look horrible on anyone except for Mary. Lucy is sure that if she tried to wear the colour, she would look like an overgrown bird, but the colour actually makes the golden undertones of Mary’s hair brighter even in the snow.

She runs to Lucy and hugs her. “Lu, I’m so sorry about Norrie. I called you as soon as I could. What is that about you leaving the agency? Where are you now? Did your boss kick you out?”

The last question makes Lucy choke on her own spit as her eyes travel from Mary to an amused Lockwood next to her.

Mary seems like this is the first time she notices Lockwood despite his height. “Oh, you. You’re Anthony Lockwood.” she says.

Lockwood smiles, but it’s a bit off. “Yes. Nice meeting you, Ms. Carlyle.”

She waves him off. “Ugh no, none of that Ms. Carlyle nonsense. Call me Mary, please.”

“And you call me Lockwood please.”

They shake hands and Lucy looks between the two of them. Lockwood, all elegance and sharp angles and Mary, bright and vivacious, with a warmth that radiates from her.

“So,” Mary says. “How about I get you both home?”

They nod and follow Mary across the street to a black Ford Fiesta that has seen much better days. Mary has had this car for years, and before that, it was Nora’s, and before that, it was Cate’s. Before that it was their mother’s. If Lucy had stayed, the car would’ve been hers eventually.

Lucy offers Lockwood the front seat since his legs are longer and she settles in the back after putting her bag and their rapiers in the boot of the car.

“Only one bag?” Mary asks.

“Yeah,” Lockwood replies. “It was sort of a last minute idea for me to join.”

Mary looks at Lucy in the rear-view mirror and Lucy averts her eyes, feeling like her sister can read her mind. Mary is taking the scenic route, not doubt to show Lockwood. The usual green hills are icy white in the January winter.

They park outside a small house with a dark brick exterior, not far from Lucy’s old home. She lets Lockwood handle her bag as they follow Mary through the garden. While everything is blanketed in snow, Lucy imagines there will be flowers out here come spring. A bereft tree—Lucy is not sure what type of tree it is—stands solemnly in the corner of the lot, its barren branches reaching out as if longing for the touch of life once more.

“Robbie is still at work,” Mary tells them unlocking the door. “But he will be home later. I’m taking the next couple of days off. Please don’t mind the mess or the fact that we still barely have furniture. Oh, Lockwood, Robbie is my boyfriend.”

As Lucy enters Mary's small house, she takes in the simple setup. The sitting room has a worn green sofa and a small television. There’s also a desk in a corner covered in small electronics and tools. Robbie has always been a tinkerer and will fix random things for neighbours for free. Mary wasn’t lying about the scarcity of their furniture.

“Down there,” Mary says pointing at the hallway extending from a side of the sitting room. “We have two bedrooms and a bathroom. I’ll get you set up in a bit. We also have a lovely patio, but that’s unusable until spring.”

Mary leads Lucy into the kitchen, which feels cosy with its orange-tiled floor. A modest table and four chairs dominate the space. Lucy sees Mary’s touches all over the house. From the green of the couch to the patterned rug under the table and the handmade candles on the kitchen worktop.

“Mary,” Lockwood says. “Where is the nearest clothing shop? I need to get a couple of things.”

“Ah, of course, I can take you there if you want.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

“Yes, it will,” Mary replies, leaving no place for arguments.

“He’ll need to wash his suit as well,” Lucy points out.

Mary looks between the two of them and puts her hands on her hips in a way that reminds Lucy of their mother. “Then I will need that suit if you’re planning to wear it tomorrow. I’ll throw it in the wash for you.”

“I can do it myself—”

Mary raises an eyebrow.

Lockwood gives Mary one of his big smiles, the ones that he reserves for friends and agrees to give her his clothes for washing when he returns.

“Now,” Mary says standing in the hallway that divides the kitchen from the sitting room and leads to the bedrooms. “I will prepare your room and finish a couple of things and then we can go down to the store. Lu, have you decided when you’re going to see Mam?”

Lucy takes a deep breath and hopes it will get earn her some time. She had not planned to see her mother, but their feeble relationship will surely suffer if she doesn’t. The again, her mother and most of her sisters seemed so uninterested in her life last time she stayed, they probably won’t care much if she skips the visit.

“Do you think she will come tomorrow?”

“She probably will.”

That makes it easier for Lucy. “Then I will see her tomorrow.”

Mary looks like she wants to say something else, but just sighs and heads towards the back of the house.

Lucy sits down on the green couch and Lockwood follows her.

“What do you think?” Lucy asks. She cares for his opinion, always has. She wants him to like Mary. Not that it really matters, it’s not like Lockwood is her boyfriend and she’s introducing him to her family. They also won’t be seeing each other much—maybe ever again— after they get back to London. She just wants him to be comfortable. Though Lockwood has a chameleonic ability to adapt to any situation, she still worries.

“Mary is very nice,” Lockwood replies. “She seems like a good big sister.”

“We were always close growing up,” Lucy explains. “We grew apart once I started at Jacob’s. Of course, once I went to live in London…I don’t know. We just have different lives.”

Mary chooses that moment to return. She’s been wearing dark brown trousers and a cream jumper under her yellow coat, but now she’s added a matching knitted cap.

“It’s somehow getting colder out there,” Mary observes, pointing her intertwined fingers first at Lockwood and then at Lucy. “Alright, so here’s the plan. Lockwood, I can drop you off at the shop and you can find whatever you need. It’s just past two in the afternoon now, so we will only have a couple of hours until sunset. Lucy, I figured you would want to stop by the Whites to say hello. How does that sound? You should both bring your rapiers, just in case.”

They follow Mary out to the car. She was right, it is getting colder. Lucy is wearing her thickest pair of leggings under a black skirt and a thermal shirt under her jumper and coat. Tomorrow when she wears her black dress, she will have to wear another pair of thick leggings under that or risk frostbite.

Mary drops off Lockwood right in front of one of the small shops in town, one Lucy and her sisters didn’t frequent much growing up. It’s started snowing again, and Lockwood pulls his hat down over his ears.. He squeezes Lucy’s shoulder before getting out, a gesture that makes Mary raise an eyebrow at Lucy.

Mary turns right two streets down and heads to the Whites’ house. Lucy grips the sides of her seat.

“How are you, Lu?” Mary asks after parking outside the house.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Mary, we were all expecting it. It was going to happen sooner or later.” They were expecting it. When she visited, the signs of Norrie’s deterioration were evident. Her collarbones were pronounced under her pyjamas, her hands were bony when Lucy held them. Her face had lost every sign of life. Lucy was almost sure that her freckles were disappearing.

“That doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Lucy feels exasperated. “Mary, I promise I’m just fine.”

Mary sighs. “Sure, Lucy, whatever you say.”

Neither of them moves or gets out of the car to go knock on the door.

“That boy of yours is quite a looker, I must say,” Mary tells her interrupting the silence.

Lucy is sure she must be blushing. “He’s not. I mean, he’s not my boy.”

“What? You’re not together?”

“No, of course not.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. “He said you aren’t working for him anymore. I assumed you had quit so you could date him. So why did you leave then?”

Lucy finds that she really wants to confide in Mary, tell her about the Fetch even. But Mary wouldn’t understand. Norrie would’ve.

“It was time for me to move on.” That’s the standard answer she’s been giving anyone that asks. “I had other opportunities and I wanted to see if I could do it alone.”

“So you also moved out?”

“Yes, I don’t work for him, so why would I stay?”

“Where are you living now?” Mary asks.

“I have a flat in Tooting, it’s not that far off.” Lucy puts all her trust on Mary not being familiar with London neighbourhoods.

“Why did he come with you if you’re not dating?”

“Because he’s a good friend.” Lucy is aware that it’s a vague answer that leaves a lot of room for assumptions, but it’s the best she can come up with.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Luce?”

“Yes,” Lucy says, completely unsure, and opens the passenger door. Mary will wait in the car; the visit shouldn’t take long anyway.

Norrie’s house is limewashed, almost blending in with the snowy road. Her room is on the second floor. There used to be lavender bushes outside the house, one of Mrs. White’s proudest achievements. Norrie always got roped into taking care of them. Though she cared little for gardening, she loved her mum and the lavender bushes made her mother happy. And now spring will come, and there will be no Norrie to take care of the lavender, and summer will arrive, and she will no longer grab long stems and crush them and stuff them in the pockets of Lucy’s uniform when she's not looking.

But it’s been years since Norrie has been gone, so the lavender might’ve dried out already.

Lucy stands in front of the door for what feels like a long time, though it’s probably only been a minute. She shouldn’t be here; after all, Norrie’s parents are probably busy preparing for tomorrow. This is a terrible idea. She’s starting to step back when the door opens.

Mrs. White, Nel, looks exactly how Lucy imagines Norrie would’ve looked in 30 years. Her hair is pulled back, red greying at her temples. She's more slender and taller than Lucy. She used to always favour the sort of dresses that would make Lucy’s mother roll her eyes and complain about showy people in expensive clothing, but she’s wearing black trousers and a velvet-looking maroon blouse.

“Lucy,” Mrs. White says, stepping aside to allow her entry. The house appears unchanged, just as Lucy remembers from a couple of years ago: Norrie's photos at various ages adorn the walls, complemented by pristine white furniture and dark oak-coloured floors—always so clean you could chop your salad on them, as Norrie used to say.

The hug takes Lucy by surprise. She didn’t really expect Mrs. White to disdain her. She allowed Lucy to visit Norrie everyday she was in town a few months ago, but a part of Lucy, the guilty part, almost wants her to. After all, Lucy came back, now Norrie never will.

Mrs. White asks if she wants some tea and Lucy is reminded of the first time she visited Norrie at home, with braces and a terrible haircut and so little love in her life. Norrie’s parents had immediately embraced her and treated her as another daughter.

"No, thank you, Mrs. White. I can't stay long. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

"If you’re sure."

"Where is Mr. White?"

"He had to go pick up a couple of relatives from the train station."

"Oh," Lucy replies. Of course. Norrie’s family is from Newcastle. They only moved to the town when her mother took a job at the local clinic as a nurse. Her dad is some sort of engineer or architect or something that has to do with building things.

"I'm very glad you came, Lucy. I'm sure Norrie would be too."

Lucy almost wants to ask how it happened, how she finally went, but it’s probably like any other long-term ghost-lock story. Maybe an organ failed, her heart gave out, her brain stopped trying. Lucy doesn’t really want to know, but she wants to fill in the details that her brain has tried to decipher.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. White," she mutters.

"I know, darling. She loved you so much. I will never forget when you joined Jacobs. She came home that day and said, mum, I will not stop until we’re best friends. She always believed in you, you know? Always knew you were destined for bigger things."

Lucy tries to smile at her. She wants to say Norrie was too. She should’ve gone to London with me. Instead, she stays silent, afraid her voice will crack. It won’t do to cry in front of Mrs. White, she’s dealing with enough grieving her daughter and having a crying teenager on her sofa won’t help.

"Sometimes I feel like a bad mother," Mrs. White confesses. "A part of me is almost relieved. I don’t know if she suffered or if she felt anything, but I hate to think she was in pain. I’d like think she passed because she was ready to go."

Lucy wants to believe her. She's not sure she does. Her brief experiences with ghost-lock tell her that Norrie was probably dreaming the whole time. She hopes it was a nice dream.

"I wanted to give you something of hers," Mrs. White says. "But you know how the regulations are. All her belongings were sent to the furnaces down in Newcastle, can’t risk her coming back as a Visitor." Lucy wishes she could scour Norrie’s room for possible sources, if only to be able to talk to her one more time.

“I understand,” Lucy offers and stands up. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. White.”

“We had to burn your tapes with the rest of her belongings,” Mrs. White says. The sheet of ice that settled in Lucy’s chest when Lockwood gave her the news is expanding slowly. Lucy wonders if she will be able to move by the end of this trip or if she will remain a frozen thing stuck up north. “But we played them all for her. I was sad you stopped a couple of months ago.”

She left her recorder at Portland Row. That was the only real reason. Then she never got around to buying a new one. Too busy, too careless, too self-involved.

"I don’t blame you for leaving this village, Lucy," Mrs. White says as Lucy is putting her coat back on. "And I know Norrie would’ve been proud of you. Look at you now, part of an agency in London. I’ve seen the pictures. Did you travel here alone?"

"No. The head of the agency accompanied me.”

"Ah," she smiles softly. "That’s very nice of him."

Lucy just nods before saying goodbye; she doesn't have it in her to tell Mrs. White she left the agency months ago.

She stands outside for a minute, eyes closed, snow falling on her closed eyelids, brushing her cheeks. Her skin will be irritated from the cold tomorrow; well, it's probably already red. She doesn't care much for her appearance at the time. She walks down the path of the house, and finds Mary leaning on the hood of her car.

“Ready to go?” Mary asks. Lucy nods.

They head back to the shop to pick up Lockwood. The drive to Mary’s home is thankfully quiet.

“Did you find everything?” Lucy asks Lockwood once they’re in the warmth of Mary’s sitting room.

“I did,” he smiles. “Now I need a shower and to wash this.” He says pointing at his suit.

Mary directs him to the bathroom and tells him where to find towels. Lucy stays in the sitting room, half lying on the sofa, but hears Mary telling him to store his things in the guest bedroom.

“Wanna help me with dinner?” Mary asks once she’s back. Lucy is thankful to have something to do.

Mary starts pulling things out of the fridge and Lucy is surprised at how elaborate the meal is.

“I’m making stew. Hope you both like it.”

“I’m sure we will,” Lucy says.

She’s put on vegetable chopping duty.

Silence with Mary is not as uncomfortable as Lucy thought it would be after their conversation in the car. It sort of reminds her of being young girls and being left alone in the house while her mother was working. They would each find a corner of the house and spend time alone. Lucy knows she wasn’t lonely when she was little, but maybe she should’ve had more company since she had so many sisters.

“How’s Robbie?” Lucy asks just to have something to say.

Mary smiles as she stirs the heavy pot brimming with vegetables and broth. Lucy wonders what that’s like, to hear someone's name and smile because of how much you love them.

“He’s great,” Mary answers. “I’m going to tell you a secret.”

“Are you pregnant?” It’s the first question that comes out of her mouth. The women in her family are notoriously fertile and all have had children around Mary’s age.

“I’m not,” she laughs. “Robbie is proposing on Valentine's Day.”

“Oh,” Lucy says, not particularly surprised. “Congratulations, Mary. How do you know?”

“We discussed it, of course. We picked my ring together last month. We always knew we would get married young. We’ve been together for six years already. I want a winter wedding. I hope you can come, Lu.”

“I would love to,” she replies. She really would.

“Maybe Lockwood can be your wedding date,” Mary teases.

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Not likely.”

They finish dinner right on time for Robbie to get home. Mary goes to greet him and kisses him. Lockwood had joined them earlier and Mary had instructed him to slice bread for dinner. Mary takes care of introductions.

Robbie is only a few inches taller than Mary, with sandy hair and a scruffy beard. He’s stocky in a way that makes him look like a lumberjack, Lucy has always thought.

“My family owns the grocers in town,” Robbie explains when Lockwood asks what he does. “Mary and I work there and will probably take over the business one day. Mary here is studying so she can handle the books.”

“Were you ever interested in being an agent?” Lockwood asks. “Mary, the stew is fantastic.”

“Ah yeah, I have some sight, but stuck around here to help my parents with the shop,” Robbie replies. “I wonder if our kids will have any Talent. Maybe they will take after Auntie Lu over here.”

Lucy laughs. “They can come to London with me if they want.”

“No, you could always move here and run the agency.”

A sombre mood settles over them, and Lucy feels the guilt rusting her insides. She’s here having fun with her family and Lockwood, while Norrie is dead, while all her old teammates are dead. She doesn’t feel very hungry anymore.

“How’s Jacobs?” Lucy asks.

Mary huffs. “That drunkard? Tried to restart the agency and no one would work for him, not that there are a lot of prospects. Right now, we’re just contracting from nearby villages when there's a problem. I really do think you could run a great business here, Lu.”

She feels Lockwood stiffen next to her. “I like London; I want to stay there.”

Lockwood relaxes and she feels his leg next to hers, thighs grazing each other.

Robbie says he will handle the dishes after dinner and Mary kisses his cheek.

“So, Luce,” Mary says. “You and Lockwood can take the guest bedroom.”

Lockwood coughs. “It’s alright; I can sleep out here.” Lucy almost tells him not to be silly and to just share with her, but doesn’t. She can't think of something more awkward than having to share a bed with Lockwood while her sister is in the other room.

Mary looks at them with an odd look and tells Robbie to go get blankets and a pillow for Lockwood and to show him where everything is in case he needs something else.

"Why don’t you just tell him to sleep with you?"

"Why would I do that?" Lucy asks offended.

“I mean you said you’re not dating, but surely there was something there? Well, aren't you two, you know…"

"Are we not what?"

Mary raises an eyebrow suggestively. Lucy is almost concerned they will need to set up a second funeral for her if the heat burning her face is a sign of the fact she’s going to explode.

"We most certainly aren’t. We're just friends. Not even that. He’s my former employer."

"Hey, Lu," Robbie says behind her. She turns, and Lockwood is standing behind him, seemingly very interested on the hem of his shirt.

"Yeah?" she asks, still trying to get Lockwood to look at her.

"Let me show you where everything is in the room."

"Thank you." She passes Lockwood, but he's already moving into the sitting room, asking Mary something about her job.

Robbie shows her to the room. It's small, more like a cupboard turned into a bedroom, but it's warm and there's a bed big enough for two. Maybe she can tell Lockwood to sleep here, but that would just be trying to soothe the offense and she doesn’t think Lockwood will appreciate it.

The bedspread is one that Lucy recognizes as Mary’s old quilt. It’s white with little cornflowers that now appear more green than blue because of how faded they are.

"Thanks, Robbie."

"The bathroom is down that way if you want to take a shower before bed. Not that you have to go to bed yet; it's early, and I know you have a messed-up sleep schedule because of work."

Sometimes Lucy wonders if what Mary saw first in Robbie was his kindness and compassion. They didn't grow up with much of those, so they're very noticeable traits in other people.

Lucy thanks him and drops her bag on the floor. She stretches, her muscles aching as she moves.

The shower is much hotter than the one she took at the bedsit, which feels nice on her tense muscles. Her neck is still sore from the way she slept on the train, so she lets the water fall on her shoulders and lets her mind ruminate. Norrie is dead and Lucy’s up north and Lockwood is here and now she has hurt him again.

She dresses in her pyjamas, a nicer pair than her regular grey ones she bought recently, hair wet and nearing her shoulders. It’s too long now; maybe she can have Mary cut it while she's here.

The thought of going into to the sitting room to see Lockwood before she goes to bed occurs to her, but she finds him already burrowed under a blanket on the couch and Lucy doesn’t want to disturb him.

Lucy tries to sleep, but it’s too quiet. It's like her brain is now used to the sounds of London and won’t let her settle in the quietness of the town. It starts snowing again and she sees some flakes outside the window. Maybe Lockwood is cold. She should go get him a blanket. Lucy is not sure she’s ever been this cold before.

She pads to the sitting room as quietly as she can.

"Luce?" Lockwood asks in the dark.

"Sorry if I woke you?" Lucy asks.

"No, no," he says. "I can't sleep."

"Too quiet?" She asks and sits on a side of the couch by his feet.

"Yes," he replies. "I hate to be such a Londoner, but yes, it’s way too silent."

She laughs. "I agree. Look, Lockwood, about before…"

"It’s alright, Luce. It’s been a long day for you. You don’t need to justify yourself to me."

"I didn’t mean to imply we’re not friends."

"Luce, it’s really okay."

"Lockwood, Jesus, I'm trying to apologize," she states.

"Alright," he says with something like resignation in his tone. "Apology accepted."

"How’s the couch?" she asks him curiously.

"It’s lumpy," he replies with a chuckle.

"You can come to the room," she says. "It’s fine."

"What about your sister and Robbie?"

"You can come out here in the morning if you don’t want them to get the wrong idea."

"It’s not that."

"What is it then?"

"It’s going to be a long day tomorrow." Lucy appreciates he doesn’t mention the service. “I don’t want to disturb your sleep.”

"You won’t," Luce says. Lockwood must really be exhausted or the sofa must really be uncomfortable because she doesn’t have to insist much for him to agree. He follows her to the room.

"Did you buy that?" Lucy asks pointing at his pyjama pants and long sleeve shirt.

"Ah, yes. I also got a new jumper for tomorrow."

She takes the right side of the bed and Lockwood takes the other. For a second, she’s concerned she will turn in the night and fall on the floor after noticing how close she is to the edge. 

"Are you awake?" Lockwood asks after some time.

"Yes," she replies in the dark.

“Do you ever miss it here?”

“Sometimes,” Lucy confesses. “But maybe not as often as I should.”

“Why not as often?” Lockwood turns towards her.

"I often wonder what life would be like if I had stayed here. I think, if the Mill had never happened, I would've never left. Maybe I would be like Mary, about to be engaged to a village boy."

“I don’t like to think of a world where I don’t know you.”

Neither does Lucy, but saying it brings forward the possibility of her having to live in a world where he no longer exists. I think we would’ve met somehow, she wants to say.

“If the Mill hadn’t happened, I would still be here and so would Norrie," she says. She finally voices what has been in the back of her mind all day. If she could, would she trade off her life to have Norrie back? Would she trade places with her?

"I wish you'd met her and George. Even Holly. I think she would’ve made me see I could’ve been kinder to Holly."

Lockwood laughs. "Luce. I meant what I said at the café, if it was Holly–"

"It wasn’t. But let's not do this right now."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

There’s a chill that has settled in her bones and Lucy finds herself moving closer to Lockwood, hoping his nearness will tame the ice.

"I think it was because of Norrie," Lucy says after some time, unsure if he’s still awake.

"What do you mean?"

"I think trying to be Holly’s friend would’ve felt like a betrayal to Norrie."

"Oh, Luce. You are allowed to have other friends."

"Yes, but...It was Norrie."

"We should sleep," he says.

"Yeah. We should.”

“Did you see Norrie’s mum?” Lockwood asks.

“Yes,” Lucy doesn’t elaborate.

They’ve both migrated towards the centre of the bed and Lucy wonders if Lockwood is also cold. She should probably get another blanket. Instead, the lie on their sides, not touching, but so close she can feel Lockwood’s breaths on the back of her neck.

It’s a long time before either of them is lulled to sleep.

The sun filtering through the window doesn’t wake her up. Her sister’s snickering does.

Lucy cracks one eye open, but the second thing she feels after Mary’s laugh is Lockwood’s arm around her waist. She looks at Mary with an angry look and tries to slip from under Lockwood’s grasp, but the sudden movement wakes him up and he calls her name.

He notices Mary next and sits up in bed.

"Oh, Mary, good morning," he says, and Lucy can sense the sly smile in his voice, but she won't look at him.

"Breakfast is served for when you two are ready," Mary says, slipping out of the room. “But no rush, it’s still early.”

Lucy turns to look at Lockwood, a blush creeping up her neck.

"Morning," she says. She wonders if her hair looks fine. Lockwood’s looks like he woke up an hour early and styled it to unkept perfection. 

"Good morning," he replies. "How did you sleep, Luce?"

He’s like a human furnace. She didn’t feel cold in the entire night. "Well," she replies. “You?”

He covers a yawn with his hand. “Really well.”

Robbie is still in his pyjamas in the kitchen when they come out. Mary serves them tea and toast, which Lockwood promptly butters for Lucy. Her sister keeps sneaking glances at the two of them with a knowing smile and Lucy mouths to knock it off before Lockwood notices.

"What’s the plan this morning?" Mary asks.

"I want to show Lockwood around," Lucy says. Lockwood seems to perk up at the mention of his name. “We don’t need to be at church until ten, right?”

Mary confirms the time and Lucy rushes to finish her toast so they can leave.

“What time are you two leaving tomorrow?” Mary inquires.

Lucy looks at Lockwood who nods for her to reply. “First morning train.”

After breakfast, Robbie leaves to run some errands and Mary says she needs to catch up on schoolwork. Lockwood and Lucy are left to their own devices. She knows exactly where she wants to take him.

"Let’s go on a walk?" She asks Lockwood, who answers with a smile.

They bundle up in their clothes and Lucy gives Lockwood her warmest scarf, the one she picked knowing how icy it would be. He’s wearing a pair of dark blue corduroy trousers and a grey jumper under his coat.

"Where are we going?" Lockwood asks after they’ve left the populated part of town; Lucy is taking him to the water meadows.

"Care to see where I encountered my first Visitor?"

"So, Mary and Robbie?" Lockwood asks as Lucy leads them through the trees.

"They’ve been together for ages," Lucy replies. "Met in school. I think we always knew they would end up together. They did break up once—we go this way—but it was for maybe three weeks."

"Robbie broke up with her?" Lockwood asks as he offers her his hand so she can jump over a branch.

"Thanks," Lucy replies and yelps when her feet sink into the snow. "That was deeper than I expected. Mary broke up with him. It was right before I left. She got too in her head about their relationship. They were already living in Robbie’s parents’ house by then. I think it was scary for her to know everyone expected them to be together forever. Then she begged him to get back together when a rumour started that he was going with the butcher’s daughter."

"Was he?"

Lucy shakes her head and some snow falls on her shoulders. "No, his friends started the rumour to take her jealous."

"It worked," Lockwood laughs.

"Carlyle women, we are an interesting bunch."

"That you are," Lockwood replies, looking at her. They’ve reached the place.

"We’re here," Lucy says.

"So here’s where you saw it?"

"Her," Lucy replies. "Penny Nolan. My Mam said she died because of love."

"You don’t believe it?"

"I don’t know. I don’t want to, I think. It’s rather sad. She drowned herself out here. They’ve never found her source, so they rerouted the path. Now the place is covered in wildflowers come spring.”

They sit together on a tree stump. They should probably head back, but Lucy likes it out there; this is something she misses from up north. Suddenly, it feels silly to show Lockwood where she saw her first ghost. His firsts were his parents, her experience pales in comparison.

"Did you ever bring Norrie here?" Lockwood probes.

She doesn’t particularly want to speak about Norrie, so she attempts to change the topic. It feels like an open nerve to think about her. The service will be hard enough. Dwelling on Norrie being gone won’t bring her back.

She thinks of Penny Nolan, drowned so close to where they are. She wonders what the limit is for desperation.

"I did," she replies. "We should head back."

She starts walking away, with Lockwood trailing her.

"Luce, wait," Lockwood calls after her, but she needs to leave. She did bring Norrie to the water meadows. They used to spend afternoons by the riverbank talking about what their lives would be like in London. And now Lucy is in London, Norrie is dead, and she'll never get to show Norrie her attic or her friends or anything. Not that she still has the attic or her friends.

"Luce," Lockwood stops her.

"I want to go home, please." Lucy is not sure what home she's referring to. Does she really have a home anymore?

"You can talk to me, you know?" He says, fingertips brushing her cheek. His hands are frozen, yet they feel like the warmest thing that has ever touched her. He's echoing her words from years ago, and she would be laughing if she didn't finally understand the way he must've felt that night. She knows she could talk to Lockwood, but that will not make the pain disappear; it will only make it spread like poison ivy.

"I know," she replies. "Let's get back to town.”

They're quiet on their way back. A few people stop her to speak, and she has to put on her bravest face and make small talk with people she used to know that now act like they know everything about her. It’s like everyone has forgotten the Mill. Even the obelisk looks abandoned in the centre of town. Lucy’s name should be etched there. Has Norrie’s name been added yet?

Lockwood is her saving grace, telling everyone that stops them to greet her that they have an appointment. No one points out that it’s not even nine in the morning on a Saturday and they’re from out of town. Lucy introduces Lockwood as her colleague from London.

They run into Mrs. Gardens, her teacher from before she joined Jacobs, and Lockwood makes it clear that they have somewhere to be in just 10 minutes. Mrs. Gardens, now greyed from the years and somehow smaller than Lucy remembers, practically beams at Lockwood.

"Oh, this is a handsome boy you got yourself, Ms. Carlyle. So polite."

She disappears before Lucy can clarify that Lockwood is definitely not a boy she got herself.

The boy in question is smiling coyly to himself.

Back at Mary’s house, Lucy feels oddly sweaty and decides to take a shower before getting ready for the service. The water leaves her cold and with her hair semi-wet, which means that if she doesn’t dry it, it will probably freeze or look a total mess when she tries to do it later.

Mary is in the kitchen. Her hair is in a simple chignon and her makeup lighter than usual. Her dress—scoop neck, knee-length, and black—looks pristine and fashionable compared to Lucy’s black dress. Hers is a simple long-sleeved dress that would be too short if it weren’t for the thick tights she wears under it. The high neckline almost makes up for the length.

Robbie is sitting at the kitchen table with a notebook. Lockwood is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Lockwood?”

Mary looks up from the tea. "He said he would be back."

Lucy wonders where he went, but maybe he just needed to call George and went off to find a more private phone.

"What happened to your hair?" Mary asks.

Lucy self-consciously touches her hair. "Well, it got wet in the shower."

Mary examines her for a second and then Lucy is being dragged by her hand like a child. Mary leads her to the main bedroom. The bed is still unmade, white sheets with a soft yellow comforter, which makes Lucy feel a sense of kinship towards her sister. There’s a vanity tucked in a corner of the room and Mary makes her sit in front of it.

Mary sprays Lucy’s hair with something that smells chemically sweet and starts brushing it.

"Do you like your hair up?" she asks. "You never did growing up, but your hair was very rarely long enough for Mam to be able to put it up."

Their mother rarely had the time or dedication to help them do their hair, but Lucy doesn’t point that out.

"Yeah, up is fine." .

"You know," Mary says as she pins Lucy’s fringe behind her ears. "I used to be so jealous of Norrie."

Lucy jolts and tries to look back, but Mary pulls her hair accidentally.

"Ow!"

"Stop moving and it won’t hurt."

"Sorry," Lucy whispers apologetically. "What do you mean you were jealous of Norrie?"

"I was your best friend before she came along, and then she stole you."

"Norrie didn’t steal me."

Mary sighs. "I know she didn’t. But it felt that way, like she had replaced me in your life. You had Norrie’s to escape to when Mam was angry."

Lucy meets her sister’s eyes on the mirror.

"I’m sorry.”

Mary smiles. "It’s alright, Lu. Just promise you will call more. I need your new number, by the way."

"Maybe you could come visit," Lucy suggests. "You and Robbie. What about your honeymoon? Why don’t you come to London?"

Mary perks up. "That would be lovely actually. Maybe you can help me plan."

Lucy nods and finds herself actually excited at the prospect of helping her dearest sister plan her honeymoon.

"There," Mary says and Lucy looks at herself. Her hair is not long enough to be gathered into a chignon like Mary’s, but she has twisted the top half together with a ribbon.

"Thanks, Mary."

"Of course, Lu.”

Lockwood is back when they come out of the room. He’s dressed in his suit; Lucy figures she missed when Mary handed it back to him.

"I believe in paying for good quality things, but I also go through enough clothes with my job that I’m not going to waste my money,” Lockwood is telling Robbie as he puts on his coat. He’s wearing a dark grey jumper under his jacket, white shirt and black tie peaking from underneath. “But I do have a good tailor, which is oddly hard to find in London if I’m honest."

“God, Lockwood, stop boring Robbie,” Lucy says grabbing her boots. “He doesn’t care."

"Lu, maybe I will start wearing more suits. You don’t know."

"The only suit you need," Mary says throwing her arms around Robbie’s neck. "Besides the one you’re wearing, is the one for the wedding. And that we’re going to get in Newcastle."

Lucy smiles at their banter and she meets Lockwood’s eyes.

"I like your hair like that," he says. Lucy pats the side of her hair that feels stiff with hairspray, but she smiles at him and gives him a weak thanks.

"I got some flowers," Lockwood says, pointing at the worktop. He did, two bouquets of lavender and lilies.

She grasps his hand and squeezes his fingers. "Thank you."

"Flowers are always nice."

"They are."

Mary clears her throat. "Alright, shall we? We could walk there, but I’m wearing heels and I’d prefer if we drove down."

They all agree and head to the car.

"Lockwood, do you drive?" Robbie asks.

Something crosses Lockwood’s face, but he shakes his head. "No."

"City boy," Mary says with a laugh.

Lockwood sits in the back with Lucy and holds her hand all the way to the church. Lucy doesn’t remember the drive.

St. John still stands at the far end of the town square. The red bricks and white columns Lucy has known her entire life still fading with time. She used to come when she was younger with her family, all the girls wearing their nicer dresses. Lucy’s dress was always a hand-me-down from one of the older girls. Her mother always terse, harrowed, and reverent.

As Lucy and Lockwood push open the heavy oak doors of the church, a wintry hush blankets the church. Outside, snowflakes drift lazily as newcomers loiter outside the doors, all dressed in black and dark greys. Inside, the scent of incense mingles with salt, iron, and lavender.

The stained-glass windows, usually ablaze with colours, now filter muted light. The pews, polished and worn, await people draped in heavy coats.

Lucy sees her mother. She’s speaking to Mrs. White near the front pews, putting one hand on the woman’s shoulder, and Lucy finds the gesture odd and out of character. She wonders if her mother would’ve cried like Mrs. White is crying now if it was Lucy who had died.

Lockwood touches the small of her back and Lucy jumps in surprise. He moves his hand away and Lucy wants to ask him to keep it, but the moment is broken.

"Shall we find the seats?" Lockwood asks.

“One second,” she replies. “My mother is here.”

Lucy goes to greet the Whites and introduces them to Lockwood. Mrs. White gives her a hug and Lucy knows she put her hands over the woman’s shoulders, but her skin feels numb.

“This are for you,!Mrs. White,” Lockwood says handing the woman a bouquet. “We also brought some for Norrie.”

Lucy allows him to give her credit when she did nothing of the sort.

The Whites excuse themselves to go speak to Father Thorpe and Lucy turns to Mrs. Carlyle.

“Lucy,” her Mrs. Carlyle greets her. “You didn’t come to see me.”

Perhaps if she had harboured any hope of a better greeting, Lucy would be upset. “I figured I would see you here.”

Her mother looks at Lockwood expectantly.

“This is Anthony Lockwood, Mam.”

Lockwood, ever the charmer but with a weary look directed at her mother, shakes her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Carlyle. Your daughter is the best agent I’ve ever worked with.”

Thoughts of Lockwood admonishing her for her methods come to mind.

Mrs. Carlyle barely acknowledges him before turning back to Lucy. “I’m sorry about Norrie. Your sisters couldn’t make it.”

Somehow, it feels like the most sympathetic thing she will get from her mother and it’s almost enough to break through the ice in her chest.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, she wonders if her mother will hug her, but all she offers is a pat on Lucy’s arm and the benevolence of not pretending to be someone she’s not towards her daughter. This is probably the last time she will see her mother for a long time. The thought doesn’t cause her any additional pain, but it doesn’t soothe her either. For the first time, there are no emotions, no fear towards her mother, just resignation.

Later, Lucy will only recall parts of the funeral mass. There’s no casket of course. The body has been cremated.

Lucy’s hair has gotten singed before, the smell is awful. Hair burns fairly quickly. She wonders if Norrie’s hair burned blazing red in the flames.

There’s a ray of sun turned blue as it filters in through the stained glass. Lucy focuses on it and how it reflects on the cross throughout the opening rites. Lockwood and Mary, sitting next to her, tell her when it’s time to stand up or kneel.

Father Thorpe, who doesn’t look a day beyond 85 and has looked that way since before Lucy was born, is followed by Norrie’s mother. Her words are buried under frozen water and Lucy can’t break the ice to reach them.

There’s a picture of Norrie to the side, Lucy doesn’t dare look at it, but she does notice the flowers around it. Including the ones Lockwood bought.

The wood, Lucy realises when they kneel to pray, is going to tear her tights. There are no words in her mind, no requests for Norrie’s soul. All Lucy finds is the cold wood under her knees and Mary’s hand on her shoulder.

Mass concludes with no body to be taken to its final resting place. Mary and Robbie lead the way, their pace brisk. Suddenly, Mary sharply veers, attempting to divert Lucy from the church's front, prompting Lucy's instinct to look back. There he stands—Jacobs—dressed in a rumpled black suit, balding, taking a not-so-subtle swig from his flask.

Jacobs exits, and Lucy, compelled by a strange impulse, follows him. Lockwood's urgent calls fade as she pursues Jacobs into the garden, Lockwood trailing behind.

Before she knows it, Lucy shoves Jacobs, sending him sprawling to the ground with a curse. He turns in the snow, arms sinking into the ground as he pathetically tries to stand up.

Lucy stands over him, fists clenched and anger roaring within her. Her thoughts race, the ice in her body replaced by anger and grief.

"Carlyle?" Jacobs slurs.

"It should be you lying there," Lucy's voice quivers with restrained fury, her words punctuated through gritted teeth. "I wish it were either of us instead of her. I hope you die soon and you’re only remembered as the vile, careless drunk you are."

She stops herself from kicking him and starts walking away. Lockwood looks perplexed, but he follows her. The ride back to Mary's flat is quiet. Lockwood is looking at her, but he hasn’t touched her again. She feels like a wild snake ready to attack and spill her poison.

"Let's get an earlier train," she tells Lockwood when he waits for her outside of the car.

He nods. "Alright. Let’s change, and then we can leave, yeah?"

Lucy shakes her head. "No, let's go. I need to go back to London."

"Luce," Mary says, following her into the bedroom. "You’re leaving earlier, aren’t you?"

"Yes, I’m sorry Mary."

"It’s alright, at least I had my little sister for a bit."

Lucy scribbles her number on the back of a business card and gives it to Mary. "I will call though?"

Mary nods. "Alright."

Lockwood is waiting for her when she comes out with her bag. She stuffed his belongings in there as well.

"Alright, Luce?" he asks.

She nods. Robbie offers to drive them to the train station while Mary calls to get the times. They are lucky enough that there's a train in an hour.

They don’t speak. Lucy lets the snow outside the train window drift away with the rest of her past life.

When they arrive in Newcastle and need to change trains, Lockwood leaves her sitting on a bench to get tea for the two of them.

Lucy sees him walk away, still in his suit and coat. She's still wearing her dress, didn’t even try to change before leaving Mary’s. They probably make quite the pair right now, probably look older and like two people going somewhere important. But Lucy is not going anywhere important; she’s going back to Tooting. Of course, the rapiers are a dead giveaway of who they are.

"I think they might come here and try to charge for how much sugar I just put in your cup,” Lockwood says handing her the tea.

The right side of her mouth lifts and she takes a sip. "It’s perfect."   

The next train from Newcastle to London is late by an hour and Lockwood talks her into getting something to eat. While they wait for their food, she goes to the restroom in the small café in the station. The black tiled floor feels a bit slippery under her boots. She has to wait for a few women to be done before she can use the stall. After, she examines her reflection in the gold-framed mirror. Mary's handiwork is starting to fall away, leaving some stiff strands of hair poking out the sides of the half updo. Lucy decides to leave it like that; she will have to wash it when she gets back to her bedsit to get rid of all the hairspray.

When she gets back, Lockwood is reading the newspaper, though upon getting closer, Lucy realizes he’s not reading; he’s merely holding the newspaper and looking out the window at the passersby.

"Are you ready?" she asks, approaching the table. Lockwood looks up with a smile.

"Ready to go, Luce."

The train arrives soon after and they're on their way back to London. Lucy spends the train ride looking out the window, thinking of how many phone calls she will need to make to reschedule her cases. She sleeps after.

The train jolting backwards due to inertia wakes her.

Lockwood, ever the gentleman, grabs her bag once more as they leave the train and the station and head out onto the streets of London to get a cab. It’s just past sunset now, and the streets are almost deserted, which makes it easy for a couple of agents like them to find a night cab.

The heating is off in the cab, but she doesn’t ask the cabbie to turn it on. It’s not snowing in London like it was in the north. Yet the temperature feels the same.

"I’ll get you settled," Lockwood says as they go up the stairs. "And then I can leave."

Lucy wants to ask him to stay, but all she manages is a nod.

She has to dig through her bag to find her keys. It’s true what Lockwood said, getting home and finding that she has a clean kitchen area and the floor is cleared of dirty clothes does help her not want to throw herself on the bed and not leave for days.

"Luce," Lockwood says, calling her attention. He’s set her bag next to her bed. "Luce, you haven’t spoken since we left Newcastle."

Hasn’t she? That doesn’t seem right.

"You—"

"I'm fine," she croaks out. Maybe it's true that she hasn’t spoken in hours.

Lockwood doesn’t seem to believe her. "I’ll go get the skull and some food and then I’ll be back, alright?"

Lucy wants to tell him there's no need, she can go get the skull tomorrow and she's not terribly hungry.

"Do you want to sit down?" Lockwood asks.

"No, I need to change first."

He nods and squeezes her shoulder on his way out.

Lucy is all alone for the first time in 36 hours. It’s like the weight of the days has settled over her suddenly and she feels weighed down by the sadness. So she sits on the floor. When that’s not enough, she lies on her side.

She lets her mind drift, closes her eyes and attempts to sleep. A question lingers in her mind. Why did she make it out of the Mill? There are no answers on the floor of her bedsit.

There, beneath her bed, nestled in the corner where the walls converge, lies a forgotten piece of paper. At least, that’s what Lucy assumes it is. She is not sure how it got there; perhaps it was left behind from the old resident. If Lucy had the energy to get up, she would abandon her spot on the floor and get it, maybe throw it away. But who would that be fooling? She's not the neatest girl after all. And so, like Lucy herself, the paper will likely linger, a fixture on the floor for the foreseeable future.

Lucy focuses on the piece of paper until her vision starts to blur, unsure if it's because of how long her eyes have been wide open or due to the tears that are slowly filling her vision. There's something so silly about crying while lying on your side, Lucy thinks. A lone tear will always find its way from your eye to the curve of your ear. The ticklish sensation making you want to laugh. Laughter, however, feels like trying to stab the pain with a dull knife.

The spot on the floor where her cheek lies has turned warm from the contact or perhaps due to the heater being on now. The rest of her body remains frozen. She’s been so concerned about getting stuck in the cold up north that she failed to realise the ice is coming from her own body.  .

The memory of an article on grief’s impact on the brain she read in a DEPRAC waiting room once pops into her mind. It explained how embracing grief is the 'start of your healing journey.' She'd found it patronizing and stupid back then. When did grief ever wait for permission to be felt? Right now, it's a lump lodged in her throat, suffocating her.

Norrie is dead.

She wasn’t buried. People don’t get buried anymore. She will be burned, turned to ash just like a source. She’s probably only ash by now. Her belongings will burn too in case she comes back.

Let her. Let her come back so I can talk to her. Lucy wanted to tell Mrs. White.

But Norrie is dead and Lucy is on the floor of her loft as the weight of the past 36 hours starts settling in. This is the first time she’s cried about this, but now she fears it will turn into wails. 

That’s where Lockwood finds her. Lucy realizes he took her keys with him. She hears him set something on the worktop as he softly whispers her name. He walks around to sit on the floor in front of her.

"Did you know I used to send her tapes?" She asks not really looking for an answer. “It doesn’t matter. They’re being destroyed now. She’s dead. Norrie is dead so they have to burn her belongings.”

Lockwood nods and his hand cradles her face. He never used to get this close to her, but the gesture still feels familiar; perhaps when you’ve wished for something for so long, it becomes real in your mind.

"Let's get you to bed alright?"

"I like the floor more," she replies weakly.

Lockwood huffs, lies down next to her.

"There's a piece of paper under my bed."

"Huh?”

“Right in the corner," Lucy points at it.

Lockwood seems to be looking for it. "Huh, yeah. I can get it for you tomorrow."

She thanks him, but her voice is a watery thing. Now that she started crying, it seems like she can’t stop. The tears softly trickling down her neck make her want to tear her hair out, so she does the next best thing and starts undoing Mary's work.

Lockwood eventually persuades her to move to the bed. Shedding his jacket, jumper, and tie, he joins her as she removes her ripped tights. She’s facing the wall when Lockwood lies behind her. This is a narrower bed, but seeking each other feels deliberate this time. His hand is on her waist, deft fingers tracing the stitches of her dress. The ice is slowly thawing.

As Lucy counts Lockwood's steady breaths, she gradually drifts into sleep.

Hours later, Lucy awakens to find Lockwood still asleep behind her.