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By the time Nico reached the gate his hands were trembling from the cold. The air was still and thick and quiet, the grey clouds pressing in above him, almost like a physical weight on his shoulders. He tucked the bouquet of flowers under his left arm and opened the gate.
The delicate iron felt like ice on his fingers. After the gate swung closed behind him, the boy blew on his hand to warm it. He swallowed thickly and began walking down the path. People had been here earlier today, lots of them judging by the footsteps. Probably a family visiting a newly deceased.
The snow was grey and trampled, and the path was visible in some places, as if the uneven red brickwork had hidden itself and was waiting for someone to trip. Nico breathed out heavily, letting the air billow around his face. He remembered when he and his sister had pretended they were dragons breathing fire on these cold winter days.
He stumbled, the toe of his shoe caught on a brick that had been hidden under the snow. Managing to keep his balance, Nico squared his shoulders and kept walking. Finally, he stopped and knelt down beside one small, smooth stone.
“Hi Bianca.” He smiled, his pale lips slightly upturned, a near-blue colour because of the cold. “Mind if I take a seat?”
There was no reply. Nico didn’t mind. He was used to it. He dusted the snow of the top of the gravestone and perched on the top, laying the flowers carefully across his lap. Yesterday’s bouquet was grey and dead from the sudden snow that had fallen overnight. Nico could see a few dead stems poking through the snow.
“I missed you, Bia.” Nico stated. “Everyone at school is a jerk. Clarisse beat me up behind the library again.”
Nico winced at the memory, then his shoulders slumped. “But other than that, everything’s been fine. Father and Stephanie had another ‘little talk’ about me. I could hear them from my room. They’re still worried. Father wants me to go back to therapy. I just wish he could see it won’t work. What do you think?”
There was still no answer.
Nico made a face. "As long as Stephanie doesn't make me help her with her garden again. I don't care what she says, it isn't a wholesome bonding activity, and I've told her too many times, it makes my allergies play up."
Nico hopped off the gravestone, shrugging off his backpack and leaning it against the stone. He propped the flowers against it more carefully. Then he knelt and pushed the snow of his sister’s gravestone.
It did nothing to help the bitter cold in his hands, but he didn’t stop until the snow had been cleared. Then he lay the bouquet on his sister’s grave. It was the same as always. White lilies, white, pink and red carnations and white gladioli. Then he opened the front pocket of his backpack. Inside was a book with a sky-blue cover.
He hopped back on the gravestone. “Chapter thirteen. The next morning, our last few day in Amsterdam . . .”
As he kept reading, his mind wondered. He remembered the first time he remembered his sister reading out loud to him, and the book it had been. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. He remembered being captured by the world of magic and wizards. He remembered how they had been too poor to buy a new copy of the Chamber of Secrets, so they had purchased a second-hand copy. He remembered when they played the first movie at the end of the school year when there was no point in working in class anymore, and seeing the magic come to life in front of his eyes.
Bianca had read the next four books to him, all second-hand copies. She had done impressions of all the characters, perfectly mimicking Dumbledore’s creaky voice and Hermione’s know-it-all tone. They had finished the Half-Blood Prince only a month from Bianca’s birthday.
Nico had been saving his pocket money for a gift, and finally settled on the perfect one. A brand new copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. He had separated from her and his friends as they walked home, on an afternoon only a few days before her thirteenth birthday, promising her he’d be fine, he could walk home on his own, she wanted her present to be a surprise, right?
But when he got home he realised everything had gone wrong.
If only he’d been with her. If only the car had seen her. If only she wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And that was how the tradition had started. Her birthday had been the day that her grave had been made, four years ago. From that day on, he had read to her, mimicking the voices that she had done so perfectly, visiting her every day after school with flowers and a book.
As if that would make up for what he had done. For how he had let her go. But he tried.
“. . . ‘There is no try’ I said. ‘There is only do.’ And that was chapter thirteen.” Nico sighed as he closed the book. “Did you like it? What do you think will happen next?”
There was no answer. Nico had gotten used to there not being one.
“I guess we’ll have to find out tomorrow.” Nico stood up again, tucking the book back in his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Bye, Bianca. Sleep well while I’m gone.”