Page 39 of These Tears

‘Ah, yes—delighted,’ he mutters unconvincingly.

‘Don’t go anywhere when you’re done. I have materials I want to give you.’

My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I realise I’m still wearing my Converse, and I turn back towards the hall to kick them off.

‘I haven’t agreed—’ he starts, but Anna waves at him subtly as she drags him back into the shitshow of her failed marriage.

Strutting back to the shoe rack, I pluck out the restless device and glare at the foreign number before I answer.

‘Good afternoon, this is Aila from the Sámediggi.’ Her accent is unfamiliar, her English careful. ‘I hope I’m not calling at a bad time?’

Sáme…what?

‘No—uh—not at all. Good afternoon. Sorry… you’re calling from where?’

A soft chuckle bubbles up on the other end of the line as I head upstairs.

‘The Sámi Parliament of Norway. I’m calling on behalf of the Sámi Cultural Centre in regard to the cultural photography initiative you applied for a few months back. We’ve sent you an official response and accompanying documents, but we’ve yet to receive your signed letter of acceptance. They’re due next month. Have you received the papers?’

I freeze as I reach my bedroom and glance at the blue folder still on my desk.

Within three heavy steps, I approach and flip it open.

Elias’ sad eyes stare back at me.

‘Yes. Right… I did receive it. I apologise, I’ve just been… swamped. With work. And other things. I’ve been meaning to send the documents.’

‘That’s quite alright. We just wanted to confirm if you’ve received the papers and that you’re still interested, since we haven’t heard back from you. The schedule will be finalised come September and we need to secure the participants by then.’

I nod to myself, chewing my lip as my eyes trace the contours of Elias’ beard.

‘I apologise for the delay – truly. I’ll get my response and the documents to you before September.’

The call ends on a warm, slightly meandering goodbye, and I’m left staring at the portrait of my… friend as though he might step out of the frame if I looked hard enough and make the world stop turning for a breath.

Across the desk, the large envelope at the top of the pile catches my eye, sitting quietly and patiently – though, clearly, not for long.

For a moment, I pull on my proverbial big-girl trousers and face the choices I’ve been avoiding: the cold lights of the north or the fluorescent glare of Stonebrook; my life moving forwards or my life circling a man in chains, bound up in complications that may never untangle.

A familiar sludge of guilt trickles down my neck – leaving now would make me exactly what his file says everyone else has been to him: another person who didn’t stay. But beneath it, something smaller and harder knocks at my breastbone, wanting out.

I can’t keep putting myself in storage. Not for one prisoner with sad eyes, a temper and a ruined past. I can’t keep waiting in visiting rooms and tugging at court updates like that’s all I am now.

I can’t be living like a ghost the way I have all this time.

Dragging my thumb over the Cupid’s bow of Elias’ upper lip, I let out a heavy sigh.

Then I push the flap of the folder a little too quickly, and it closes with a dull kind of finality. The envelope with the Norwegian address scribbled in the corner glares accusingly at me from upside-down.

‘I still have time,’ I murmur to myself.

Byrne is downstairs. An opportunity that just might get Elias back into the land of the living and fix the injustice that he’d been wallowing in.

I’m not a lawyer. Hell, I’m not even a good researcher – I hated it in uni.

Lifting my gaze, I find my face in the mirror.

The woman from the other end looks back expectantly. As I tighten my ponytail, I decide right then and there: once I’m certain Conall Byrne can give Crane’s case an independent pair of eyes, and actually fight it, I’ll move on with my own life.