Next of Kin

Fintan, she almost said aloud, before realising her mistake.

Nine-o'clock, the radio was on. She hadn't been listening, not really, just watching the road through the curtains, hot cocoa congealing in the mug on the dining table. Young Jason was sleeping in Corbett's old bed, his sister in Linda's, both children happy to not be sharing a room, even if it was just for one night more.

If anyone had come in through the door, she would have noticed. But the only sound was the music on the radio, and then the dripping, the sound of water against a hard surface, loud and muffled at the same time, as if the noise was a trespasser, not meant to be heard.

She turned her head, and saw him.

Tall, glowing, like she remembered; hair wet from a swim, the colour of barley, dripping endlessly on to the linoleum. Fintan, she thought, feeling dazed, like she had just woken up. You haven't aged a day.

But his shoulders were broader, a little less elegant, his eyes a different shape, though any comparison would be unjust, and she quickly realised: not Fintan, no. Corbett. Her beautiful son never looked so serious, or stood so still. And the glow was not a glow at all, but the porch light, shining behind him, and through him.

Adele thought of the children, asleep upstairs, and found that her throat was completely dry. She could not speak.

*

A noise woke her. Rapping on the back door - sharp, insistent - making it rattle in its frame.

Adele lifted her head, back aching from having fallen asleep bent over the dining table. It was turning light outside, and when she looked out through her curtains, she could see the Deputy Sheriff's car sitting empty in the yard.

THE END

13 January 2010