The footsteps stopped again further along the landing, outside another bedroom door, ajar this time, and Ashleigh Rose poked his head through it. The room was still dark, the early morning sun not yet bright enough to fully pierce the curtains, but he could just about see the vague form of his youngest son, wrapped up safe and sound under the covers on his side, facing the wall. A ghost of a smile crossed Ashleigh’s face, before he turned, and started descending the stairs to the ground floor of the house.
He stepped into the dining room, feet tapping against the polished wooden floor, glancing across at Pepper and Casey sleeping on their dog bed together. Casey cocked her ear up and opened one eye to look at him, and he gave her that same ghost of a smile. She laid her head back down to rest on her paws, and he pushed the door to the kitchen open just the right amount that it didn’t stick against the floor and make a horrible scraping noise.
The same routine, every single morning, like his body was on rails.
There was a plastic bag filled with empty glass bottles hanging on the back of the door, a smaller bag filled with corks next to it. Ashleigh reached into both bags, taking one of each and setting them both down on the counter next to the fridge. Stuck to the fridge itself was a sheaf of paper and a small ballpoint pen. He ripped the first piece of paper off, unclipped the pen, and took them across to the counter, starting to write the moment he put them down.
He’d known what he was going to write since yesterday, ever since the news had drifted in from Tennessee, news echoed from three years ago.
He rolled the paper up, grabbing a spare elastic band from the little bowl next to the salt and pepper and tying it tightly around his message, before slotting it into the bottle, sealing it with the cork. Holding it firmly in his hand, he walked over to the door leading into the conservatory. The door juddered and creaked as he opened it. No matter how many times he oiled it, it still did the same thing. Just one of those things. If anybody noticed, they didn’t act on it. If anyone noticed his routine at all, they didn’t say anything about it. They all dealt in their own ways, ways that he felt sure would have to be renewed far too soon.
Ashleigh walked through into the garden, the morning chill cutting into him through his pyjamas and the sandals he’d slipped on. Dew brushed against his toes. A couple of birds sang. There was the faint noise of car horns and engines off in the distance. Everything was still, except not quite. Peaceful, but not really.
There was a stream at the bottom of the Roses garden. Mia had used to play in it, when she was much, much younger. Sunny halcyon days. There’d been a while where Ashleigh had cried every single time he’d made this walk. Now it was just him and his message in a bottle, numb to the cold and everything that came with it.
He knelt down by the riverbank, placing the bottle onto the water, feeling the current brush through his fingers. He didn’t know where these bottles would end up. Drifting in the middle of the ocean, if he had to be honest with himself. He still felt as though Mia could read the messages. He had to.
He let the bottle go, then stepped back, staring up into the sky, as his little glass message sailed away.
Hi Mia. It’s Dad.
It happened again.
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
I don’t know what I can do. I don’t know what anyone can do. I just hope that they can find peace. I hope that wherever they end up, they’re not in pain anymore.
I love you, Mia. Wherever you may be.