**The Day of Forgiveness**
Zoey returned to the village from the city on the last bus. She’d spent the whole day dashing about—first to the hospital to collect paperwork, then to the funeral home, then back to the hospital to drop off a bundle of clothes. Mum had prepared them herself in advance. Zoey even managed to swing by her own place to change into a black jumper.
She slumped onto the chair by the table, stretching her aching legs, too exhausted to undress. The house had gone cold—she ought to stoke the fireplace. She’d left early that morning, and now it was already evening. Her gaze wandered to the muddy footprints on the floor—left by the paramedics, the men who’d carried Mum out, the neighbours. It took her a moment to realise the front door had been wide open all this time, and it was October. She didn’t know if she was allowed to mop the floor. Just to be safe, she left everything as it was.
Footsteps sounded outside. Zoey jumped up, thinking it might be Ruby at last, but it was only Auntie Nina, Mum’s old friend, stepping inside.
“Saw you’d got back. Need any help?”
“No,” Zoey murmured, sinking back onto the chair.
“Blimey, it’s freezing in here. Let’s get the fire going.” Auntie Nina disappeared and returned with an armful of firewood, bustling about the kitchen to light the stove.
For a fleeting moment, Zoey imagined it was Mum. That the whole awful day had just been a bad dream.
“There we go, it’ll warm up soon.” But it wasn’t Mum who walked back in—just Auntie Nina. “Don’t you fret about the wake. Funeral’s tomorrow, right? You head back to the city in the morning—Annie and I will sort everything here. Ruby knows, doesn’t she? She coming?”
“Her phone’s off. I texted. Don’t know. Thanks, though,” Zoey managed, barely moving her lips.
“Well, we’re not strangers, are we? Me and your mum were thicker than thieves.” There was a hint of reproach in her tone, and Zoey caught it, lifting her eyes. “Right, I’ll be off,” Auntie Nina said, flustered, heading for the door. She hesitated, hand on the latch. “Leave the door unlocked tomorrow, all right?”
Zoey nodded, biting her lip. The fire crackled, the flames humming in the chimney, breathing life back into the house. That heavy, suffocating loneliness lurking in the corners since Mum’s death didn’t feel quite so oppressive anymore. They say the departed linger close in those first days. Zoey glanced around—but she felt nothing, saw nothing.
Mum had been ill for ages. After Dad’s death, she’d lost the will to carry on, fading fast. Sometimes Zoey thought she’d been eager to join him—turning sullen, silent. After school, Zoey had left for the city, studied accounting at college.
She’d visited every weekend—luckily, the village wasn’t far. Brought groceries, helped around the house. Last year, Mum had shrunk alarmingly, frail as a twig. Zoey took her to the hospital and got the grim diagnosis. Mum hadn’t batted an eyelid—if anything, she’d seemed relieved.
When Mum could barely get out of bed, Zoey took leave and moved in. Warned her boss she might need unpaid time off. A month later, Mum was gone. Those last two days, she hadn’t eaten, hadn’t spoken, drifting in and out.
Zoey had talked to her constantly, whether she heard or not. Just hearing her own voice kept the dread at bay. On the last day, she’d begged Mum’s forgiveness for everything, pleaded not to be left alone, stroking her thin, lifeless hand.
She’d said Ruby would be there soon. At the sound of her sister’s name, Mum’s eyelids had flickered—but she hadn’t opened them. Maybe she was already gone, with Dad, where she’d always longed to be.
Dad had been a hard worker, never touched much drink—rare for the village. Plenty of women, single or stuck with drunk husbands, had tried their luck, luring him under pretence of needing help. But he’d loved Mum, never strayed. In a village, secrets don’t stay secrets.
Payday always meant a bag of sweets for her and Ruby. They’d been over the moon at those little treats.
He’d died young—or rather, been taken. Mum never got over it. Zoey had been just seven, Ruby already finishing Year 11. She’d left for college—or more accurately, fled after the tragedy—and never come back.
Not long before the end, when Mum could still speak, she’d begged Zoey to call Ruby, make her visit. Zoey had called, texted—no answer, or the phone was off. The last message, after Mum died, went unanswered too. Zoey lied, told Mum Ruby’s daughter was poorly—she’d be there soon. Whether Mum believed her, Zoey didn’t know.
She remembered calling Ruby a year ago, after the doctors dropped the bomb, begging her to come. Ruby had been ice.
“She kicked me out, remember? I’m not going,” she’d snapped.
“You’re as bad as each other. She might die—come, talk, forgive—” Zoey had pleaded.
“I didn’t kill Dad. I was a kid. Did she care how much it’d wreck me, throwing me out?” Ruby’s voice had risen.
“She didn’t throw you out, she just lashed out. She was devastated—please—” Zoey had been near tears.
“I’m not coming.” Click.
So she won’t come, Zoey thought, standing up.
She shrugged off her coat. The house was warmer now, would soon be toasty. But she was shivering. “Am I getting ill? Brilliant timing.” She flicked on the electric hob, put the kettle on.
No appetite, but tea would warm her up. She sat in the kitchen, waiting for the boil. Mum had always kept the place spotless. Now the floor was smudged, crumbs everywhere. Who cared about cleanliness now? Zoey stood, wiped the table—as if Mum might scold her for the mess.
She’d have to decide what to do with the house. But not without Ruby. In the city, you could buy anything year-round—no need to trek out here. Doubt Ruby wanted it either. “Will she even come to the funeral?”
Then—the front door slammed.
Zoey froze. No footsteps. Dark outside, and she’d left it unlocked after Auntie Nina. Maybe she’d forgotten something?
Fear slithered under her skin. She leapt up, ready to bolt—where to? Out the window? Someone stepped into the room. Her heart hammered so loud she could hear it. She peeked around the stove—and there was Ruby.
“Thank God you came!” Zoey cried, rushing over, hugging her, pressing her hot cheek to Ruby’s cold one.
Ruby didn’t move. Didn’t hug back.
“Didn’t expect me?” Her voice was dry as autumn leaves.
“I did, I really did. Get comfy, I’ve got tea. Just sugar and digestives, though. Wait—there’s jam. Hungry? I’ll do potatoes quick—” Zoey let go, darting to the kitchen, bending to lift the cellar hatch—
“Don’t.” Ruby’s voice was flat. “Tea’s fine.”
Zoey straightened, slowly walking back.
“She died here?” Ruby glanced at the bed.
“Yeah. I was with her. She waited for you.” The joy had drained from Zoey’s voice.
Ruby tossed her coat on the bed, went to their parents’ photo on the wall. Zoey hung the coat up, joined her.
“Funeral’s tomorrow?” Ruby asked, eyes fixed on the picture.
“Yeah, all set. Morning at the morgue, priest’ll do the service. I booked a car from the funeral home, we’ll bring her here, to the cemetery. Auntie Nina’s sorting the wake—” Zoey rattled it off like a school recital. Tears streamed down, soaking into her black jumper. “Thanks for coming. I’ve been… alone.”
“You mentioned tea,” Ruby reminded her.
“Right, let’s go.” Zoey wiped her face, headed to the kitchen.
She set out cups, poured the brew, reached for the kettle—but Ruby picked up her old forget-me-not mug.
“Blimey, this thing’s still alive,” Ruby smirked.
“Want jam? Your favourite—strawberry. Last year’s, though,” Zoey said, kettle still in hand.
“Just digestives.” Ruby set her cup down.
They drank in silence. The house was warm now, smelled of the herbs Mum used to dry by the stove. Zoey’s eyes welled again.
“You’ve grown. Look like her.” Ruby avoided saying “Mum.”**”And as the bus rolled away from the village, the sisters clung to each other—not just for warmth, but for the promise of mending what years of silence had broken.”**
