The boy is there when I hang the laundry, leaning against the garden fence with his arms crossed.
“You were right,” he says. “It’s a ghost town.”
“There is no town. Not anymore. You didn’t believe me?”
He shakes his head slowly. A piece of dark hair falls into darker eyes. “It seemed… impossible. It’s crazy. What happened?”
I wipe the dust from my hands, though I’ll never be clean. “Everybody left?”
“Yeah, but why?”
“The land died. Everything’s gone. This is a poor place.” My voice fades away. “Nothing like London.” I blink. “No one comes here. Not ever. Why would you go to the saddest place on earth?”
“And they say the countryside is so rich in resources,” Gowan says. There’s a smile in his voice. “I can help with the garden. I’m good with earth.”
“Threat of war makes everything die.” I don’t mention the ashes in the garden.
“There’s no war. Not even out there, yet. Just a bunch of people scared and ignorant.” I feel as though he is lying to me. “Why don’t you come and see me. I have apples and pears and radishes. Come and see.”
He offers me his hand, which is so clean it hurts, but the woods loom behind him, and I feel like he’s laughing at me.
“I can’t,” I say, and turn back to my digging.
“Please.”
“Why?”
“Because this place looks fed up.” His eyes scatter over La Baume behind me like marbles. “It’s not how I remember it.”
I stop again, and throw down my tiny spade. “Who are you?”
He grins, and then settles next to me, heedless of the gray that filters into his trousers, his fingers, his skin. I almost want to pull his hand out of the soil, but I stop myself.
It’s infecting you.
“Gowan,” he says unhelpfully. Then he gestures to the manor. “Are you here alone?” In this light, the blood-paint looks like a fresh scab.
Maybe he’s a robber or a rapist. “My aunt is here. She”—is crazy—“takes care of us.”
“And school?”
I shrug. “Done with all of that, I guess. Like everyone is. We have a gun, you know. So you better not try anything,” I add.
He laughs at me. It’s like a jingle from a TV commercial.
“What?”
He shrugs, but the gesture is awkward on him and I know he is copying me. “There’s a library in there. In the manor. I remember it. You can keep teaching yourself. Don’t need school for that.”
I’m surprised that he knows about the library, but then I remember he used to live here. I guess he was telling the truth.
“You were one of Cath’s orphans.” I state it. It’s the truth.
He nods, but makes no further comment. My gaze slides away.
“You’re preoccupied,” he says.
“You don’t know me well enough to think that.”
“Sure I do. You’re distracted. Your eyes keep jumping from the ground to the trees, to the sky… and you’ve been digging a hole in the same spot since before I sat down.”
I can’t stop the slow smile. I feel it cracking my granite. He is the first person I’ve had a normal conversation with in three years, two months, and sixteen days.
“So? What is it?”
“I just wish I had news. From my family in London. From my old friends. I’m beginning to feel completely cut off from everything and everyone I used to know. I keep waiting, even though it’s been months since anyone wrote to us. And the postman used to come at least once a week, but he came less and less until one day he just stopped. They closed the post office, I guess. He left, with everyone else. It’s weird not having him come by every few days. It’s weird not having the corner shop in the village open every night, all night, or having the sounds of people at all hours like back in London.” I look at Gowan. “First-world problems,” I add casually.
“Those are pretty big problems,” Gowan says. “Are you lonely?”
“A TV would be nice.”
“No TV?”
I shrug. “Cath isn’t big on technology. No TV, no phone, no computer. The radio barely works and is this giant piece of furniture all on its own.”
He smiles fondly, gaze turning inward. “I remember.”
I sigh and rub at my arms. “Is there even a world out there anymore? Have we blown ourselves to bits yet?”
“There’s a world. Just beyond the trees. Not half a day’s walk. And it’s beautiful, full of beautiful things, even if they’re scary.”
Bullshit. I don’t say it. I wish I hadn’t said anything.
Instead, I say, “I don’t remember there being so many trees when we first came here. Nori was only four. They’re assholes.”
“They’re just trees.”
I look up, not at him, but beyond him, at the trees. I know they’re watching us, laughing at my distress.
I clench my jaw. “There are so many… they go on forever.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not!” I retort. “But there’s so much work to be done. I have to look after”—Cath—“Nori.”