It had been six or seven weeks since my wedding. If I was to say that life with Timmy as my husband was easy then... well, I would have been lying. Not long before our marriage, he left his position in the post office, and we struggled for a while before he was taken up again, this time as a fisherman. Timmy was very devoted to his new job as a fisherman, and for that I admired him, but it meant that it became the topic of a lot of our conversations, and it wasn't always the most scintillating topic to discuss. Emma and Mary called when they could, of course, but it was not often. That's why today I intended to enjoy myself. Birthdays did not happen more than once a year, and I was determined to have a good time.

The pub was bustling for a Saturday night in Braemore; there were at least seven people inside. Emma, Mary, her husband Angus and my sister Elise were all sitting down when I arrived, and the cheers and whoops that rained upon me as I ducked my head under a low wooden beam and came into their line of sight was almost deafening. Ninety per cent of it was Emma, the rest was attributed to Mary and Angus, "Happy birthday, Rita!" said Emma excitedly, shoving a pint in my direction, "Make it rain, bitch!" Emma began to throw pound coins at me, coins that were remarkably heavy and hurt quite a bit.

"What the fuck, stop!" I snorted, batting them away.

"Why on earth did you think that was a good idea?" scolded Elise.

"That's what they do in America!" Emma insisted.

"Yes, because they have one-dollar bills, dear. Put your arm down, you'll take someone's eye out!" drawled the blonde.

"Fine," huffed Emma. It was rather odd to me, how Elise called her that - 'Dear'. I had no idea how they had become so accustomed to each other between meeting at the wedding and now, and it surprised me that not only was Elise entirely tolerable of the brunette, a rare thing, but Emma also listened to Elise - and Emma didn't listen to anyone.

"So," Mary began, cutting off my train of thoughts as she leant in eagerly, "How was your first birthday as a married woman?"

"Same as it always was," I smirked, "But more sex,"

"Revolting," Elise rolled her eyes as Emma let out an enthusiastic whoop, taking a large gulp from her pint of beer.

"Seriously, how long had this child been drinking before I arrived?" I grinned.

"I've concluded Elizabeth is just permanently drunk," guffawed Angus. Elizabeth Brown - no matter how long she called herself that, would still be Emma Slater in my eyes. It was odd to me how long ago she had revealed her past to me. God, the things I would do to that woman that broke her heart if she was here with me now. I would kill her, I thought, I really would.

"I tried to stop her!" Elise hummed, rolling her eyes, "But she wouldn't let me,"

"Did not," Emma scrunched up her nose.

"Did too,"

"Did not,"

"Did too,"

"God, you guys are like an old married couple!" Mary insisted, laughing. Elise flinched.

"Or a pair of toddlers," I giggled, standing up, "I'm gonna get myself a drink, anyone want anything?"

"You finished that beer already!?" Emma exclaimed in awe.

"Just get another round," said Angus, "And get them to water down Elizabeth's beer, please!"

"Oi!"

"This one's on me!" Mary leant over and shoved a wad of notes in my hand and I was smiling happily as I walked away. The barman came to help me with his drinks, a young lad called Harry, and I noticed his eye straying to Emma multiple times as he set down the drinks.

"She's single, you know," I said to the boy with a wink.

"Who?" the Scottish boy responded with a cheeky grin, knowing full well what I was talking about as he strolled back to the bar.

"Someone's got an eye on you," I said happily, sitting down. It was about time Emma found someone that treated her like she deserved.

"What!?" Emma sputtered, her face bright red.

"The barman," I smirked, "He seems to have taken a fancy for my little English rose!"

"Don't be silly," Emma shook her head rapidly, "He's... young!"

"Far too young," Elise butted in, and I glared at my sister.

"Why are you getting involved?" I complained, to which the blonde just rolled her eyes in the way she always does and returned to her wine.

"He's a decent chap to be fair," Nodded Angus.

"Not too bad on the eyes, either," Mary grinned, Angus playfully swotting her on the arm. They were a very traditional couple, despite not being too old. Angus was the Gardener for the Castle, technically under Elise's employment but oddly neither of them saw it so. There was only one gardener there, for it was such a small house, but he often stopped by the Florists when I was working to say hello and buy some flowers. He didn't have quite enough money to support them both, so Mary worked with Emma at the local primary school, but she would cook him dinner every night and they attended church every Sunday and were thought very highly of in the village - even if they did hang out with me. I didn't quite uphold the same reputation as the couple, although it did improve dramatically when I finally married.

We continued to drink for a very long time - well into the evening. We ended up being the last people to leave the pub when it shut around eleven, but I didn't want the party to end, so we moved on to my house. Angus was the designated driver, having downed about thirty glasses of water in the pub to feel included, and he drove us back to mine. My husband was already one pint down himself, having been watching a pre-recorded game of football, and his breath smelt like beer as he swung the door open happily and engulfed me in a large hug. Perhaps he wasn't the most interesting, but he would always make me laugh, and he cared for me like no other man ever had, "Put me down! Put me down!" I squealed as he swung me about, his body lean and tanned and muscular from the long days he spent in the sun out at sea.

"Hello, Timmy!" Emma said excitedly, bounding into my living room. It was small and cosy, and I loved it very dearly. Mary hadn't even ditched her coat and she was already heading straight for my alcohol cabinet.

"I gots da whiskey!" Mary squealed happily, Emma's puppy-like behaviour rubbing off on her. Elise had taken a seat on an armchair, and my cat Felix had deigned to join her. My sister pretended to look miffed as he shed all over her, settling into a ball of fur on her lap, but I knew her well, and she seemed to be quite enjoying herself, something I wasn't entirely used to seeing. Emma poured her own glass of whiskey, but as she walked into the living room from the kitchen one look at a glaring Elise made her do a full one-eighty turn to get the woman a glass of wine. As Emma entered the kitchen, Mary exited it, plopping down on the sofa with a sigh.

"Come here, pet," said the woman, and I slid down beside her as she wrapped her arm around me and squeezed me tight, "Why so melancholy all of a sudden?"

"Just thinking," I sighed, biting my nails as I mumbled softly, "Elizabeth seems different. I don't know if it's good or bad, she seems happier but it's like she's hiding something from me,"

"Do you think she's... Y'know?"

"No, no, she hasn't met anyone, God no," I laughed, "She only ended things with Marcus a week or so ago,"

"You're right," Mary sighed, "I do worry about her. Maybe she's pregnant?"

"Pah!" I snorted, "Fat chance, I would know in an instant. Marlene -"

"Co-Op Marlene or Post Office Marlene?"

"Post Office Marlene, obviously,"

"Of course," Mary rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Post Office Marlene practically logs if Elizabeth loses an eyelash, she's so in love with bloody Marcus. If Emma gained weight that bimbo would have a field day, we would certainly know all about it!"

"Imagine being that obsessed with Marcus," Mary snorted drunkenly, "He has the personality of old milk!"

"Yeah, except old milk lasts longer," came Emma's playful voice. Mary and I collapsed into heaps of giggles as the woman smirked and strode over to my sister with a delivery of a very large glass of wine.

"There you go, your majesty," said Emma dramatically, bowing as she approached Elise. I winced, waiting for the harsh, biting comment I was sure my sister would retort with. But it never came. Elise simply rolled her eyes playfully - playfully, Elise was never playful, at least she hadn't been, not for a long time. Not since we were young, far younger than Emma. It was odd. It suited her. Very much so. Leaning against the door frame, I watched them with a tender look upon my face. It was an unusual friendship if you could even call it such. They acted like they had known each other for years, the way they settled into their own little bubble. Emma was laughing now, guffawing even as she tried to squeeze onto the armchair with an affronted Elise and rather disgruntled looking Felix. Emma was eventually batted away by both Elise and Felix, so slid down onto the floor with her back against the chair. Slowly, ever so slowly, Elise's arm drifted down so that it hung off of the armchair and onto Emma's shoulder, where Emma reached up and held it gently, Elise's arm draped across her chest. They both looked content. Perhaps even happy.

--

Silence had fallen like the switching off of a light, abrupt and dark. The faces around us were solemn and serious, depressed and dire and gloomy, "For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God... We, therefore, commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes... Dust to dust... Insure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life..." October, I had decided long ago, was the month of Sylvia Plath. There was something about it, something about this time that seemed to embody her. The year has just passed the tipping point in its slide towards midwinter darkness; the days were deceptively bright and the nights eerie. The rapid changes in temperature felt alternately exhilarating and overwhelming. There was palpable magic in the air, but not the joyful magic of high summer—this was a wild, more ambiguous magic. Something untamable. Almost threatening. 

Quite a few people around me were sobbing, as I supposed was traditional for a funeral, but I found myself past that point. Instead, I just held onto the tight feeling in my chest. Summing up an entire existence in five minutes whilst standing next to a dead person in a box was not poetic like some make out to seem. It was terrifying, soul-sucking and utterly demoralising. For Marguerite Warrington, or as we knew her, just Mary, to be taken in such a violent and abrupt way, a car crash on a quiet country lane, was almost too much to bear for most. Her widow Angus hadn't spoken in two weeks and the anger that lay beneath the surface of the rugged individualist that wanted nothing more than to start a family with his beloved wife was clear to see as we watched her coffin be lowered slowly into the ground. My Air Force dress blues had become my funeral garbs, for it was all I wore them for, and now I could not wear them without a feeling of intense pain rippling over me, a feeling so oddly familiar. Rita stood beside me, dressed all in black. It looked as if a light had been snuffed out inside of her. Deathly pale skin stretched over sallow, hollow skin. She had not eaten in weeks. None of us had.

The wake was held immediately after the funeral. It was almost like Angus wanted the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible. I was stood in the living room quietly eating a slice of cheese when Elise appeared beside me. I remembered when she had first seen me at the funeral procession. It was the first time Elise had seen me in my dress blues or any form of military uniform. She told me later it had never seemed real to her that I had experienced the horrors of being in the military, and it was only then that it set in for her. Her eyes were shadowed and downcast as she looked away from me sadly like if she lingered too long I would disappear.

"Why are you eating cheese, Emma?"

I blinked, "Er... Why not?"

"You took it out of the sandwich to eat it. Do you not think that's a little odd?" joked Elise. She appeared to be trying very hard to make me laugh, which in itself was strange because Elise rarely made any effort with anyone.

"Everything about this is odd, Elise."

"Yes," sighed the woman, glancing around the room. It felt much smaller now, crowded with men and women dressed in black chatting as they devoured small, rather tasty triangular sandwiches, "Yes, you're right. This is ghastly, isn't it?"

"Well, it is a funeral, I don't know what you were expecting,"

"I'm talking about Mary, you imbecile, not the food,"

"Easy mistake to make," I shrug, "Isn't it funny that -"

"Funny?" Elise interrupted, raising an eyebrow as I garnered a few disapproving stares at my distasteful choice of words.

"Well, not funny, you know what I mean, it's just crazy that you and I, y'know, we can still joke around, even in a time like this, ya feel?"

"You're an odd woman, Slater,"

"Don't ignore what I said," I frowned, poking the woman aggressively on her shoulder.

"Did you just poke me?" asked Elise, looking rather affronted down at her cashmere cardigan. I had indeed just poked her and I wasn't entirely sure why.

"Sorry. Don't know what came over me," I snorted.

"And in regards to what you just said, I believe it appears that your unfortunate coping mechanism of using humour to cover your pain is imprinting on me. I need to stop spending so much time with you,"

"You wish," I grinned, "Psychoanalyse me all you want but I'm not the one who's obsessed with me. I'm not the one that's obsessed. With me. Does that make sense? I'm not the one -"

"Yes, it makes sense," Elise interrupted me dryly, "In its own, twisted, Emma Slater way,"

"Hmph," I shrugged, "Have you tried the cheese? It's really great!"

"Emma, your friend is dead," Elise suddenly hissed, "Why are you focusing on the stupid cheese!?"

"Oh," I whispered sadly. Of course I knew that, but it was nice to forget; to be in my own bubble sometimes.

"Wait, no -" Elise grabbed my arm but as I pulled away, she let go, afraid to cause a scene. 

She always let go, didn't she? It was something I had noticed. I left the room abruptly and silently.

A/N 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter - feel free to leave a comment if you did; what do you think of everything that's happened so far, and what do you think is yet to come?