Текст книги "After Forever Ends "
Автор книги: Melodie Ramone
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After Forever Ends
A novel
By
Melodie Ramone
Cover Photo by Cynthia Heim
Cynthia Joy Photography
Plymouth, Indiana
Story edited by Sean Comer
Mesa, Arizona
All contents copyright 2012 by Melodie Ramone. All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.
I Melt With You
Words and Music by Richard Ian Brown, Michael Francis Conroy, Robert James
Grey, Gary Frances McDowell and Stephen James Walker
Copyright © 1982 UNIVERSAL – MOMENTUM MUSIC LTD.
All Rights in the U.S. and Canada Controlled and Administered by
UNIVERSAL – POLYGRAM INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING, INC.
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
For my children, who believe in elves.
For my husband, who dared me to write a love story.
For Randall, who’s whispered secrets to me all my life.
And for everyone who was ever brave and lucky enough to have
loved somebody with their whole heart, and, to have had somebody
brave and lucky enough to love them back.
CHAPTER ONE
“Gran?”
I can hear Kitty’s voice from the back of the house, but I am not going to answer her. I am sitting on my chair in her garden trying desperately to hear a natural noise, something other than the dim hum of a freight train from several blocks away. All I hear at her cottage are air planes, freight trains, auto-mobiles, motorcycles and lawn mowers. All day long. They hurt my head. It makes me wish I had been blessed with the deafness that Alexander has acquired over the last few years.
It’s nothing against Kitty. Kitty is my favourite grandchild. I’ve never made too much of a secret of it. She and I have been a duo since the day she was born and it was more than generous for her to invite me to stay while I mended from my surgery. When Alexander and Lucy couldn’t handle me anymore, Kitty was the only choice to take me on. I was hell to deal with when I first arrived, but the Scottish blood I passed on to her runs strong in her veins and she dished my unpleasantness right back at me. I would reckon not too many could go toe to toe with her and survive, which is why, because of my age, I surrendered and stopped bickering. It wasn’t easy. Nothing bothers me more in this world than a person who behaves as a sheep and not as a dragon.
I love Kitty to bits. I don’t suppose that her home would be in a place of my choice, being as I was not consulted when she and her husband purchased it, so I shouldn’t complain about the noise. No, Kitty is not my problem and neither is her house. My problem is that I am homesick. I miss my little house in Wales where the only sounds are the chumming of the stream that leads to the lake, the tweeting of the birds and an occasional owl at night. So different it was there from everything here in England. I haven’t lived in a city since I was fifteen years old. I’m out of practice with the noise.
It does get quiet here at night, though it’s an eerie sort of quiet. It’s as if everyone in the world has gone away and left on the lights. The back garden is the darkest spot I can find. I can’t see the stars for the illumination of street lamps, but I often slip back there and watch the bats dart past the lights. Swift, silent and graceful, they remind me of myself as a girl. Darkness gives them the chance to finish their business and live their lives without interference from those that misunderstand them. In that way, they are more like Oliver.
My Oliver. He was my best friend. He was my husband and my whole life. I’d give anything to spend one more minute with him, to feel his arms around me or listen to his heart beat inside his chest. But he crossed the veil last summer. I was never lonely a minute in my life before he went away. And although his memory keeps me company, sometimes his absence wakes me up in the night. I’m eighty six years old now and I cry just like I did when I was separated from Oliver at Bennington those two weeks after we returned from the cabin. I may be an old lady, but in my heart I am still just Oliver’s girl.
I do have a trick, though, that keeps me from doing something stupid while he‘s away. It’s really very simple and I learned it in the wood. If I sit quiet and I think about him hard enough, concentrate long enough, I can see him anyway I want, at any point in time that I can remember him. It’s like watching a film almost, but it comes in flashes. Thank heavens I have a lifetime of memories. The one I love the best of Oliver is the tall, dark haired lad with the contagious grin that I fell in love with. I watch him with his twin brother and their friends playing football on the grounds of Bennington. I listen and I can hear their laughter gliding along the breeze. Oliver is yelling, “Foul! Foul!” and Merlyn Pierce is jumping on to his back, trying to pull him to the ground. Instead of going down, Ollie spins and jerks poor Merlyn until he falls off. Two years later, I hear Oliver whisper, “I love you, Sil.” I can see his hands around my middle and feel his chin resting on my shoulder as we watch the sun set over the lake at school. We were still students at Bennington, so very young. Yet still, I love him just as much when he is that old man standing in the doorway of the home we built together, always with that grin, telling me I am as beautiful as I was the day he met me. Seconds later he is confessing that he has only weeks to live.
“Now, Sil,” He tells me, “I need you to be strong through this. We’ll get through it together like we always have. I’ll love you still even more after I’m gone. That’s part of the magic.”
“Oliver!” I whisper out loud, suddenly coming back into the present. I often talk to him when I think no one is listening. I think he can hear me better when we’re alone, “I did something last night. You’ll laugh. After my bath I looked at myself in the long mirror. It was hysterically funny, Sweetheart. You would not believe how old I am! I’m a shrivelled, saggy, silver haired old lady. You’d never know I’d once been a curvy red headed bombshell with boobs no one could believe!” I chuckle, pulling my fingers through my hair, “Carolena talked me into letting her cut off my hair. I don’t know why I let her do it, except it was always in knots and I have trouble sometimes holding the brush. It’s at my shoulders now, curlier than ever. It’s not the same. I wonder if you still think I’m beautiful,” Tears spring to my eyes, “I miss you, Ollie. I miss you more than you can imagine. I miss you more every single day. I know you’re inside my heart, but…”
I pause for a moment, waiting to hear from Kitty again, but her voice does not come, “Anyway, listen to me, I walked right up to that mirror and I looked at myself closely. I’ve lost a ton of weight. The skin on my face is loose, so is the skin on my neck. I have loose skin everywhere, really. I look like a turkey, I swear it. I don’t look so good and my eyes… they’ve faded. They used to be so blue they’d catch people off their guard, but now they’ve tamed down to a sort of grey,” I sigh, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. “I’m tired, Sweetheart. I want to go home. I’m inclined to lose my faith. Oh, Oliver, I don’t want to be here anymore! If I can’t go home I thought maybe if I told you, you’d come and get me. So…”
“Gran?” It’s Kitty, leaning out the door. She is thin and straight backed as a rail, “Are you here?”
I stop speaking and look back at her, pretending I am scratching my face and not wiping my cheeks. My granddaughter is absolutely gorgeous. Her mother is the perfect combination of Oliver and me; tall and thin like her father with high cheekbones and dark chocolate coloured eyes, but she has my flaming red hair, and round, pale face. Kitty is an exact copy of her mother, only younger. “Yes, Kit?”
“Gran, are you OK?” She asks quietly. She comes out into the garden and leans over me, setting a mug on the stool, “I thought you might like your coffee. Were you taking to someone?”
“Talking to the winds,” I tell her, “And the whispers. I’m missing the trees.”
She sighs and puts her hand over mine as she sits, “I know you are.” Kitty pulls her chair to face me. “You’ve been looking a little down lately. How’s the ankle?”
“Itchy.” I tell her, “I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying, unless it’s from an overdose of drama,” She says this as a joke, but she does not laugh and that is a good thing since I don’t think it’s funny. She checks the incision scar on my leg, which didn’t want to heal for a time, and then changes the subject, “I was thinking about your little house in Wales.”
“Yes?” I am not going to allow myself to be hopeful that I will ever see it again. I have the correct suspicion that certain people in the family think that I’m better off not being there since my fall. That’s the dilemma that came with getting old. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but the children sit around and wonder when I won’t be. They watch carefully and intrude on my decisions while they call it love. And it is love, I suppose, that spawns their interference, but it puts me in a situation. If I go ballistic and throw my weight around, they’ll be in a position to say I’m not in my right mind. And if I am too patient and too passive, they will run me over like a marble pastry roller on soft dough. I always have to figure out how to play it so I win.
“Well,” She is still looking down at my leg, “Nigel went out there to have a see. He said Warren cleared the downed branches from the lot this spring and had the well repaired. That was a big job. Warren says everything is fine, but Nigel…well, you know, Nigel knows all about maintaining property because of his dad’s work. He says the front part of the cabin is in decline. He wants to take down that half and build a new one…”
I can’t help it now. Tears fill my eyes and spill over. I know Nigel is right. The original part of the cabin is well over two hundred years old and much of it is wood instead of stone. It’s more than likely in the condition he says. But still, the thought of taking down our house is breaking my heart. The history of that place is overwhelming. That house was our home.
“Gran, please don’t cry. Just listen. This was a while ago and Alexander went positively ape about it. You know how he can get. I’m sure Nigel nearly lost a limb!” She looks me in the eye and chuckles, “From what I understand when he was through shouting at Nigel, Alex rang Gryffin and shouted at him, too,” I have to smile now imagining Alexander going off on those two, but at the same time I pity them both, “When it was all done, Gryffin told Nigel not to do a thing with the cabin and reminded him that it’s not his decision. So don’t you worry. Gran, please stop crying, because I have a surprise for you.” She waits for me to take a few breaths as she gently pats my hand. When I have recovered, she speaks softly, “You know how Devon and Zachary have their rugby tournament in London this weekend?” I nod, turning my head to look up into her dark eyes, which are catching all the light from the morning sun and reflecting it back at me, “Well, I love my boys and I’m as proud of their being athletes as anyone, but I told their dad and them that I’ll not be coming to this one. I told him it’s time me and my old Gran took holiday on our own and I take her back to Wales.”
My heart is pounding, “Really?”
“Really,” She grins. Oh, how she looks just like her mother when she smiles. “I want to take you home, Gran. I’d like to see it again as well. We can check it out and see if Nigel’s right or he’s gone mad.” She stands up, “Your ankle is mended well enough. We can’t hold you hostage here forever, although I’d like it. Nigel and Warren and Natalie are there if you need them. Nat says she’ll come and stay with you if you need. You know Warren would, too. Any of us would.” She pauses, “Right. I’ve already got you packed, but I want you to go have a pee before we leave off. We’ll be taking the train to Wales and I know how you hate public toilets.” She pauses, her face suddenly serious. “Do you think you can make it to the house, though? With your leg? I rang Warren to let him know and he says the path is cleared right to the hill, but you know it’s steep.”
“I know I can,” I say. I know my old legs may not be able to make the climb up the hill, which is indeed steep, but I am sure of one thing; if I cannot, Alex will berate them until Nigel or Warren carries me. I know I will make it there somehow. I have to. I promised Oliver I would stay and protect what he no longer could.
I know Kitty is not certain that I can make it to the house, but she’s not going to say it. She’ll see to it that I do. That is the power a good grandmother has over her granddaughter who was loved as much as mine. The child will do anything for you when you’re too old to do it for yourself.
“Kit,” I smile at her, “I have never thanked you for all those holidays you chose to spend with us in the wood. Not everybody understands the magic, but you always did. Your mind is open and your heart is free. You are so much like your granddad.”
Kitty grins, “Thank you, Gran! I’d like to think I’m like him!” She pauses, “You do know how much I miss him, don’t you? I miss his jokes. I miss his stories, especially. He was the best storyteller. He’d have me laughing until I ached.”
I nod. “He was funny, wasn’t he? He and I used to laugh all the time.”
“I remember. You two were always so happy.”
“We were,” I rise, “I need to check something. Are we leaving straight away?”
“We need to leave soon, yes.”
I head into the cottage to make sure she’s packed everything I need. She has. Tucked safely away inside my train case is a small, silver locket. I remove it. My hands are so old and shaky I can barely open it, but I do, and make sure what I’ve hidden in it is there. It is; a little sliver of wood that Oliver gave to me and Alex told me to make sure I had when I came home. I shut the locket and pull the chain over my head.
An hour later the train is picking up speed, racing toward Wales. The cities and factories are fading, giving to rolling green hills dotted with sheep. My heart is soaring. Home, home! I am going home!
“I was born in Scotland,” I tell Kitty after a silence, “You know that, but do you know how I ended up in Wales?” She sets down her magazine. I have her complete attention. “I lived in Edinburgh until I was fifteen, ten years after my mother died. My father fell to bits when she did. He was more like a wet sack than a man afterward. He may have been even before, I’m not sure. He cared about my sister and me. He never lost his temper and we always had a roof over our heads and food to eat. We went to the best schools as well.” I pause, remembering him with a mixture of affection and disappointment, “My father moved us to Wales because he met a woman. She was lovely, good to Lucy, but had little to say to me. He never married her, though,” I pause again. I can’t even think of her name now or why they didn’t marry. Deciding it doesn’t matter, I continue, “Daddy wanted to go back to Scotland after their affair ended, but he stayed in Wales because of me and Oliver. He stayed because he knew he’d have to take me back murdered and in bits hidden in baskets. There was no taking me from my Oliver and he well knew it, so he stayed to look after me and keep Lucy in one school. And he only did that for a short while before he became ill and decided he wouldn’t survive. He went back to Scotland to die and lived more than thirty years.”
Kitty laughs, “I believe that anyone wanting to take you from granddad would have had good reason to be afraid.”
“Yes, they would have,” I nod. “Your granddad and I made a lot of promises to each other and we never broke one. Not a one and never leaving each other was the big one. He couldn’t help but die, could he? Or he never would have left me. We’d still be two old farts running around Wales whacking each other with dirt and talking to the trees, wouldn’t we be?” I chuckle and look at my wedding ring, pausing for just a moment to reflect on that thought. “Now I only have one promise to keep and it’s to be done in that faerie circle, so says your great uncle Alex. So you see, even though I appreciate you putting up with me, I’ve got to go.”
“In the faerie circle, Gran? What is it? Maybe I can help?”
“Ah, I don’t even know for sure.” I sigh, “Alex says it’s important that I get there, that’s all I know. He says he can’t do it without me.”
“You four and your secrets!” She is referring to Oliver, Alexander, me and Lucy, “You know, my mum and her brothers and cousins, they don’t ask questions. They grew up in that wood, so they have an understanding that we grandchildren don’t. But we ask the lot of you anything and all we get for answers is a load of muttering. I’d love it if you’d tell me some of the secrets you keep about the wood.”
“The secrets of the wood?” I shake my head, still chuckling, “Now, those would make a long story and if I told you, you might not believe me.” I think about telling her everything for a moment, but say, “Any time we tried to tell anyone about what goes on in the wood, they walked away thinking we were mental. At first I even thought Oliver had cracked his pot, all his talk about elves and magic and missing socks. But he never doubted it, he just had faith that it was all real and we were all part of it.”
“What was real?”
I finger the locket around my neck. “Faith, love, magic, destiny…it’s a long story, all which happened in the wood. It’s our whole lives.”
“We have time,” She says softly, “And a stay over at Nigel’s for me to boot. Tell me, please. Tell me about your lives,” She looks at me and sees my hesitation. Her voice drops to a sincere tone just above a whisper, “Gran, I know he was your husband, but he was my grandfather, too. His life meant something to me as well. He told me things, but I was so little and I couldn’t understand half of what they were. I only knew they had to do with magic and honouring promises and why he wouldn’t leave the wood.”
“Did you ever ask him why he never left it?”
“I did, toward the end when he was so sick and it seemed it would make better sense for him to go somewhere where he could get more help.”
“And what did he tell you?”
“He said that there’s magic in the wood. Old magic. And that there are things that go on there that just don’t make any sense if you say them out loud. He said some things are real and true even if you can’t see them. I know he was talking about the faeries. I remember hearing their voices in the cabin. I remember dropping chocolates into the faerie circle and having my dollies reappear in the bathtub. I knew something incredible was going on, but I never understood just what it was.”
I look at my granddaughter and I see the hope in her eyes. It’s sincere. She honestly wants to know who we were and where we came from. I think of my father and how he refused to discuss our mother with Lucy and me. We were robbed of our mother twice, once when she died and once when he kept her memory from us. I don’t know why I never told Kitty the story of her grandfather and me. I suppose it just seemed so personal, but she’s older now and the truth is, it’s as much her story as it is mine and Oliver’s. If not for our story, she would have none of her own.
“It’s about more than the faeries, Kitty. It’s about so much more. It’s a long story, but I’ll tell it. Where to start is the question.”
“Start at the beginning.”
“Then at the beginning, while I’m still young enough to remember and stronger than my arthritis to think that far back,” I tell her with a quick smile, “Make sure we have plenty of tea, yeah? You’ll want it.”
CHAPTER TWO
I don’t honestly remember a day before I met Oliver Dickinson. I think my life must have started right then on my arrival to Bennington College, the boarding school my father decided to send me to that year. I had been boarding since I was seven and, to be honest, I quite preferred it to the summers I spent sitting around our cottage in Edinburgh having to be perfectly quiet while Dad was working. Boarding school was much more fun than home. I always had at least two friends every year to spend time with and no one bothered me for wandering off alone to study. I was most happy about being at Bennington, actually, because there were both boys and girls who attended. At fifteen years old, I was rather interested in boys after having gone to all girls’ school for the last eight years.
Anyroad, my first day I was sitting on a stone bench in the second quad reviewing my afternoon schedule. Schools are always the same. You can tell each and every clique from the next by the looks of them. I had always been quiet and spent much of my time observing those around me. At Bennington, the athletes were all clean cut, shirts tucked in, hair respectably short for the lads and pulled back in barrettes for the girls, who stood rather more boyishly than they should have in their skirts. The brainy kids were all in a huddle beside the statue of a woman walking with a book in her hand and were talking excitedly and waving their schedules at each other. The princesses all stood together in a tight circle and distinguished themselves from the rest by their sparkling barrettes, perfect make up, expensive bags, and manicured hands. The princes were the same, sans make up and sparkling barrettes. They all wore the same expression on their faces as if they smelled something horrible. The misfits, which were the crowd I always fell into, were spotted here and there, individuals who weren’t really interested in what was happening around them, but were more involved in taking in the warm rays of the sun. I was watching one of them…a girl, blonde, who was holding a bottle of water in one hand while trying to open her purse without spilling her drink inside. I was wondering why she didn’t just put down the bottle when… THUNK! Something that felt like a stone hit me on the back of my head.
“Oh! Ow!”
“Oh, great galloping grey goats!” A loud voice came from behind me as a figure rushed around to my front. I had my hands over the back of my head deciding if I were injured or just surprised when I realised a boy had put an arm around me in apology, “I am so sorry! I’ve hit you with the ball! I smacked it right at you, I did! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I looked up and I swear time stopped. It was not that he was the most traditionally handsome boy I had ever seen, although I can’t say he wasn’t attractive. He was simply out-and-out adorable, so bloody cute he immediately made my insides wiggle. He was one of the misfits, I surmised instantly, and a popular one at that. He had a long neck from which hung a loosened black tie and the top two buttons of his white uniform shirt were undone. His dark brown hair was an intentional mess, obviously kept just short enough to meet regulations at the school. I noticed straight away he had nice skin, a smooth, olive complexion, even though I there was a small nick on his chin from having shaved. He had a straight nose, high set cheekbones, and, I glanced at his hand where he was still holding my arm, long fingers and a very gentle touch. I peeked back up at him and he blinked as my eyes met his, looking at me as if he knew me from a time long ago and was shocked to see me again so soon. Neither of us knew what to say.
“No.” I answered suddenly, moving my hand from the back of my head. My mouth had gone dry, “No…I mean…no…I just…no, not at all…”
“Sorry?” He was amused, still keeping his eyes locked with mine, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. He stood straight and peered down at me with his head cocked as if he wasn't sure what to do. We were lost in an odd moment set apart from time and trying to find our way back to where we had started. “No what?”
“I mean…no. I’m not hurt. Not at all. I’m fine. I’m just…I’m…” He grinned at me crookedly and I felt my face flush as I returned the smile. “I’m just Silvia,” I said finally, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m just Silvia Cotton and I’m just fine, thank you.”
He took my hand in his and held it for a second without shaking it. He just sort of let the weight of it fall against his palm and kept looking at me with that sideways grin. He could have had the devil inside of him with all the mischief of that little smile, but it was too sweet to belong to anything more than an ornery angel. It was at the moment he spoke that I noticed that he had two dimples, one on the left cheek and one on the chin, and that his lashes were long and black. His eyes were the exact colour of baking chocolate melted in a silver bowl, but they sparkled in the sunlight, “I’m Just Oliver Dickinson,” He told me brightly, “It’s nice to meet you, Just Silvia Cotton. Sorry about that, you know. I hope I didn’t tick you off.”
“No,” I started giggling like a mental, like the girls you see in films making fools of themselves, but it seemed perfectly OK since he was still smiling. “I’m not ticked off.”
“Not hurt and not ticked off. Just Silvia. Just Silvia Cotton, eh?” He sat beside me on the bench. It was a few more seconds before he released my hand, “You’re new here. What year are you?”
“Fifth year.”
“Ah, me as well. We’re bound to have loads of courses together.” He glanced at my schedule, which was open on my lap. “Well, maybe not then. You must be clever.”
“I get good marks.”
“What’s that accent?”
“I’m from Scotland.”
“Lovely!” He said sincerely, “No other Scots here that I’m aware of, you’re the only one! Have you met many people at the school yet?”
“No, I haven’t had time. I wasn’t here last night. My father dropped me off this morning right after breakfast.” I couldn't believe I was actually sitting on a bench having a conversation with him. I was usually very shy, but there was something about him that set me completely at ease. Whether it was the kindness in his eyes or his disarming smile I am still not sure, but whatever it was, I felt like I'd known him for a long time and not at all as if we'd just met.
“Oh, well then let me help you meet some,” He turned and gave a friendly wave at someone who had just called out a hello to him, “I know everyone at this place for the most part. I’ve been coming here since I was eleven,” He turned back to me, “You’ll have to meet my brother, Alexander, first. He’s my twin, but don’t think we’re all that much alike. Only just exactly,” He jerked an arm at a group of teenagers across the quad as if to invite them over. I could pick Alexander out from a distance. They could have been the same person. Tall, long limbed and dark haired with a loose tie and his shirt undocked, he gave a short wave of acknowledgement and began to amble toward us. Oliver continued, “The lovely lady beside him is his current flavour of the week, but don’t tell her I called her that. She’s a nice girl, which is a switch for my brother, lemme tell you! Her name’s Sarah Farnsworth. She’s rich as the queen and has the brains of a rabbit,” The group began to approach, appearing to be a friendly bunch, “And that is Merlyn Pierce, the black kid with the hat on crooked. Nothing bad to say about him, he’s a right decent sort. He fancies being an opera singer, but he can’t sing. He goes off into the fields and belts out Puccini every so often and clears the sky of birds,” He paused to shake his head with a mock frown on his face, then turned his head back to me and grinned. Our eyes locked again for several seconds before he broke away, “The one with the scarf is Lance Crosby,” He continued, “He’s a fantastic bloke. Alex’s and my dorm mate. He actually knitted that scarf himself. Can you believe it? Happy colours, he says! He’s quite the quilter from what I gather, too,” Oliver looked at me and winked, “Just don’t ever mention it to Lance that he’s short. In fact, when you greet him, just say, ‘Hello! You’re looking quite tall today!’”
I found myself giggling again.
“Everyone,” Oliver stood and put his hand on my shoulder, “This is Just Silvia Cotton and she’s just fine!”
Those were my friends at Bennington, the five of them I met first on the quad. I quite liked Sarah Farnsworth, but it was not long before she moved away to Canada, leaving Alexander somewhat heartbroken. That is to say he was as heartbroken as he was capable of being at the time, which did not add up to devastation. He rebounded quickly and within a few weeks he had a new flavour du jour.
Merlyn Pierce was a lovely bloke, handsome in an offbeat way. When I think of how he looked the first thing that comes to mind is that he had smooth, velvety skin. I swear he never had a blemish on him. His colour was dark and really beautiful, like creamy chocolate mousse spread flawlessly over his bones. His nose may have been a bit bulbous, but he had beautiful brown eyes and was always friendly and forever quick with a joke. Although he couldn’t carry a note and was not as great a violinist as he dreamed of being, Merlyn’s love of music blurred the lines of obsession. He could tell you at any moment what was happening in the World Opera scene and what the latest jazz artists were up to, as well as what was topping the pop charts in the UK, Western Europe and the US. He had connections that got him tickets to just about any show in Cardiff or London, so none of us ever lacked something to do on the weekends when we could leave grounds.
“We’re going to a show this Saturday,” He told me casually on my third day. I had been officially inducted into their midst, “I can get another ticket if your parents would give you permission to go. The thing is we don’t know if you’d want to.”
“Well, who are you seeing?”
“Motorhead,” Alexander answered as he playfully, but quite firmly, slapped his brother across the face. They had begun rough housing the moment they entered the common room. Oliver slapped him back harder and they both turned to me.
