The Last Keeper (26 page)

Lying on the ground were three things I never wanted to see. Three things that I thought about far too often for my tastes. It was a small gift that the picture frame had landed face first on the gravel, though the faces were ones I made sure to remember. The book was written in my own hand, and was the first book I’d translated. But it was the small box that had tears springing to my eyes.

I would always know what was in that box, and I would always feel guilty about having taken it.

“Serenity? Is everything . . . ?”
 

Helen rose and slowly crunched her way over the drive. She was by my side when she noticed what was on the floor.
 

“Oh dear! Come here.”

She gathered me into her arms as the tears ran down my cheeks, unable to be contained any longer.

“I miss him
so much,
” I cried.
 

She knew whom I meant; I never needed to say his name. Never would if I could manage it. Not out loud. Ray’s name was my most frequent thought.
 

“We all do, honey. We all do. You’ll see him again, I promise,” she said, trying to soothe me.

I wasn’t the only one who believed, at least in part, that he was still alive. Some days I was more convinced than others.
 

“You can’t know that. What if . . . ?” I began, dredging up the same arguments I used every time she or Lizzy told me I would see him again.

“Yet, I do. That grandchild of mine has been telling me that since she first knew of him. You of all people know not to argue with her,” she told me sternly.

Even after all the years, Helen still had it in her to make me smile, if only occasionally.
 

“I know.”

It was a few moments before I calmed myself enough to continue with unpacking the van. Reaching down to pick up the dreaded items, I felt Helen take hold of my arm. “I’ll do that,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Nothing more was said about my slight emotional breakdown. They’d been coming more often over the years. Little things would happen and my whole world would collapse, shattering into a thousand pieces. After the first time I cried over him, I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again. When Helen found me sitting by Sam’s grave in tears, she made me promise never to hide again. A promise I’d managed to keep. One of only a few.
 

Most of the time I kept a carefully constructed façade in place, and I rarely let anyone past it. Other than my family, there was no need. My extended family, of sorts, all knew what had happened, and they knew better than to bring it up.
 

Sammy, the daughter of a family we’d lived near before we moved, had mentioned it. She’d been asking Lizzy about it and I’d overheard. The sound of Ray’s name, spoken out loud for the first time in almost thirty years, had caused me to collapse in the hallway, unable to move . . .

It hadn’t been pleasant for anyone.

It took most of the day to unpack the vans after my little breakdown. The house was bigger than anything we had lived in before. I’d specially designed it, and it was absolutely perfect. I’d included three stories, a basement, and plenty of loft storage. The top floor was mine for the moment. Not that I needed the obscene number of rooms that were up there. But the house wasn’t for me. It was for everyone else.

For everyone else 
. . . That had become my mantra of sorts over the years.
 

The first floor was perfect for Lizzy and Jayne, the ground floor had rooms for Helen. They each had an en-suite bathroom, a study, their own bedroom, and a spare room. It was big enough that they had all the space they needed, and small enough that they were close to each other should they need anything.
 

Other than Helen’s rooms, the ground floor of the house was fairly standard: kitchen, dining room, living room, and bathroom. Of course, the living room was about the size of a tennis court, and the dining room could seat more people than there ever would be here.
 

It was a safe house. Similar houses had been set up in various places. All had the same purpose, and all had at least one family residing in each. If the time came . . .
when
the time came, they would be needed.
 

Any day now. Any day.

The niggling voice was right. He would be fifty-nine if he was alive. If . . .
 

Perhaps it was for the best. If he was alive, and I couldn’t find him, then The Seats were as helpless as I was. They were resourceful, but I was better.
 

Every time we moved, I’d searched. Each country we visited, I’d checked. Each new home that I acquired, I’d looked. Just in case.
 

Someone had cleared his house out not long after I moved away from London. But by the time I found out, the house had been sold, and any paperwork on the matter had disappeared.
 

“Excited about starting university?” I asked Lizzy when she came nosing around for something to eat later that evening.

“Not really. I can learn anything I want from you, and without the stuffy professors.” She started rummaging through the refrigerator.

“Then why don’t you take me up on my offer?” I suggested, and not for the first time.

“Because, you need a piece of paper to get a decent job, and I might want to work at some point. How else can I afford to travel the world?” She straightened, a piece of ham in her hands.
 

“You’d get more accurate knowledge from me, and I can get you your
piece of paper.
As for money, you know you can have anything you want. Anytime.”
 

“That might be true, Aunt Sere, but I want to work for it myself.”
 

I really did try to spoil her. It didn’t work.

“Well, the offer is always open.”
 

Her attention shifted suddenly, from the piece of ham to me. “There is one thing I want.”
 

“Oh, do tell.” I was hoping for a distraction.

“When will my Firebird be here?”
 

“Three days.”

“Can I borrow your bike until then?” she asked, sweetly. Batting her eyes wasn’t in her nature, but the look she gave me came damn close.
 

“Remind me what happened the last time you borrowed my bike?” Holding her stare, I tapped my foot lightly, waiting.
 

“That was three years ago, Aunt Sere, and I said I was sorry. It’s not like I
meant
to wreck it. And it wasn’t even my fault, not really,” she muttered, glancing away.

I’d loaned her my bike, my personal, customised motorbike.
 

Not a full hour after she left, we got a phone call. My bike was on the side of the road, deep in a ditch. Mangled. She’d been going a touch too fast, had taken the turn wrong, and ended up crashing. It wasn’t so much her fault as a lack of experience at handling speeds, but Lizzy had been lucky enough to survive without any broken bones. She’d been banned from ever riding my bike again. As well as being grounded for breaking the speed limit and had her own car taken for three months.
 

“Lizzy?” Jayne called.

“In the kitchen.” I was careful not to call too loud; Helen had not long ago retired for the night.
 

“So, is that a yes?”
 

“Tell me you’re not considering what I think you are?” Jayne interrupted, a look on her face that made me think about reconsidering. Just for a moment.

“Not at all,” I answered, before turning back to Lizzy. “Two days.”

“For what?”

“The bike.” I smiled a semi-genuine smile.
 

“Are you shitting me?”
 

“Language!” Jayne and I chastised her.

“And keep your voice down,” I added.
 

“Sorry, but
really?
”

“Conditions. First, you stick to the speed limit at all times. Second, scratch, crash, or damage her in any way and I’ll make you work off every penny of it.
Every single penny.
”

“Anything. I’ll do absolutely anything if you let me use your bike for a couple of days.” She was practically begging now, bouncing up and down.

My motorcycle was not only the star of my collection, but it was my most essential item. She was sleek, fast, and perfect for what I needed her for. I had several cars and bikes stored around the world. It was often handy to be able to change cars in the middle of a journey, and it normally stopped anyone who tried to follow me.
 

“Two days, and I’m serious. I’ll own you for a very long time if you damage her in any way.”
 

“Right, time for bed for the humans. You should try to get some sleep, too,” Jayne suggested, effectively ending the discussion.
 

“When do I sleep?”

“Still, you should try.” She was too much like Helen on occasion.
 

I should. Thirty-four years was a new record for me. But the last time I slept had been after the most wonderful night of my life. It didn’t matter how long I tried, or how hard, or how worn out I was, there was no sleeping without him.
 

It wasn’t like I actually needed it. Or so I kept telling myself. But I was running on empty. Permanently.
 

It wasn’t long before I was pottering about the books in the basement. Heavy books as old as I was. Smaller ones that were as new as the shelves. All of them held a piece of history, a piece of my life.
 

They’d gone into the boxes in order and they came out the same way. Two hours was all it took to put them on the sturdy, oak shelves that lined the walls.
 

That was exactly what they were going to become. History. They were currently an ongoing record of what I did, but soon they would be nothing more than a record of a time gone by, a race extinct.
 

Though I planned on keeping the books, they still needed to be translated, and it wasn’t long before I turned my attention to the task. Set up in the corner was a brand new Mag Card Executive. It looked like the typewriters I’d seen countless times, except it wasn’t as pretty. Aesthetics weren’t the reason I’d bought it. The countless stacks of magnetic tape cartridges were why. When I’d told Jayne what I wanted to do, she found me the best available. I could translate the records, keeping them safe on devices few people could make use of, and I could update them.
 

Translating kept my mind busy. It kept it off other, more depressing matters.
 

It was nice to see some of the things that happened before my time, like the exploits of my mother and how she met my father. When I delved into the records, I remembered my sister and the situations she’d gotten herself into. I recalled us at our best, instead of at our worst.
 

There were books upon books of the stories that were passed down through the generations. Tales I’d wanted to pass on to my own children.
 

Stop it,
I scolded myself.
 

There was no point in thinking like that. My dreams and hopes were long gone. There was no point in dwelling on them.
 

The hours of my life ticked away, each faster than the last. The saying goes that tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow may be a new day, but each new day could be my last.

I was standing in the back garden, watching the sunrise, as I did every morning. It marked the passing of another day. One I’d lived through.
 

   
“Morning, Aunt Sere. You want a weather prediction for the week?” I glanced over my shoulder to see Lizzy standing in the doorway in her pyjamas.

“If you think a prediction will get you my bike for any longer, you can think again,” I said, knowing full well what she was after.

We used to play a game when she was younger. She would give me a series of predictions and I’d give her something in return for each one she got right. It started with trivial things like the weather or the news. Then we went on to bigger things, the types of people she would meet in school or a conversation I would have.
 

It had been a while since we’d played that game, but she tried to resurrect it on occasion. Especially if there was something she really wanted.
 

“What am I going to do if my Firebird takes longer than a few days to get here?” she asked, laying her head on my shoulder.

“How about you predict whether it will turn up on time?” I suggested.

“Worth a try.” She sighed. “You want some breakfast?”

“Not today.”

“You know, one day I’m gonna ask you that and you’re gonna say yes.”
 

“Not likely, and it’s
going to,
not
gonna.
”
 

She asked me the same question every morning, and every morning I gave her the same answer. I rarely ate when we had company, and I never ate when I had the choice. What was the point in eating when nothing had any taste? It wasn’t like I needed the nutrients.