"Five hundred hits in three days?" Marcy lets out a low whistle and hands Ridley back her phone. "Well, you can't expect anything less from the greatest authoress of our generation." She bows down grandly, causing Ridley to fall into a fit of giggles. "I'm serious!" Marcy says, getting right back up and finishing with the bacon that is sizzling in the frying pan. Ridley shakes her head at her.

"Oh, stop it you!" Ridley giggles again but yes, it does feel rather good – too good. Is this a dream? This has to be a dream. Five hundred hits on her story in such a short space of time! Well, the impossible has happened. She still cannot believe it. It was a surprise enough that she'd received any comments or followers for the story at all. Still, Ridley likes to think maybe she kind of deserves it. After all, this is what she's been wanting for so many years, right? Some recognition? Still, she can already feel the pressure building up on her. People actually want to read more of what she writes, therefore the stuff she puts out there just can't be any old rubbish anymore. It has to...has to actually have substance, especially because Gilbert Blythe is involved.

Marcy sets down a plate of her delicious bacon with beans and egg and Ridley tucks in readily. She's going to miss Marcy's cooking. She's going to miss their cute new flat; still relatively small, but clean and modern, and in a safe neighbourhood. And she'll miss Marcy and her rigid rules about cleanliness and her warm hugs and the sarcasm that rears its dreaded head every now and again. Ridley will miss Ben too, of course, but it's not like she saw much of him this summer anyway. There's no point anymore. No point at all.

Tomorrow's the day Ridley will be leaving to go back to Oxford and she's already dreading it. Yes, it'll be nice to see Dee and Christopher after so long but...but there's something so comforting about home and going back will be like it's her first year at University all over again. Ridley is a nervous wreck because she knows her friends will be expecting her to give them good news, something along the lines of 'Ben and I are now in a relationship!' or, as Christopher would've preferred, 'We totally did IT!' Instead, they'll be hearing sighs and seeing shrugs and maybe a few tears every now and then. Ridley hasn't mentioned Ben to them in any of their e-mails so far and she knows they're dying for details.

However, Dee has her own piece of exciting news that she has yet to give details about. Ridley frowns as she munches on the bacon. Dee has recently sent her an e-mail about the Cambridge boy that she was meeting a few weeks ago, and she says he's 'nice'. It's a very vague term to use when describing someone – to people who don't know Dee well, it could've easily been passed off as nothing more than small talk. Ridley, however, has other ideas of what 'nice' could mean. In Dee terms, it could either mean 'I utterly loathe the guy' or 'I think I'm falling in love.'

Dee isn't the type to easily hate people, so Ridley is guessing she's probably seeing the guy right now. It's probably not serious either, knowing how strongly Dee feels about Christopher. And does he know about the 'nice' Cambridge guy? How must he feel about it?

She jumps out of her thoughts when quite suddenly, she feels her phone vibration go off. Curious, she takes her phone out of her jeans pocket and clicks on the little notification that has popped up. Ben has sent you a message. Ridley's heart nearly jumps out of her chest. She clumsily clicks on the message and it reads:

"What's wrong?" Marcy asks, noticing Ridley's expression.

"Ben!" Ridley gasps.

"What?"

"He—He texted me!"

"Ah, the wonders of technology," Marcy comments sardonically. "Well, what does he say, you silly goose?"

"He—He wants to meet up." Ridley looks up at Marcy. "In half an hour."

Marcy smiles and nods in approval. "That's great, Rids!" She chuckles. "I knew that boy would come to his senses, although you're both a bit short on time. Still, better late than never."

"Ughhhh!" Ridley groans. "No, Marce, you don't understand. It's like ever since our feelings got involved, we've done nothing but fight! And it ends so...so disastrously. Who's to say this 'talk' won't be the same? I don't want to return to Oxford all mopey and sad."

Marcy rolls her eyes at Ridley. "And there you are again, thinking about the consequences before thinking about the problem at hand!" She throws her hands up in the air as though she can't quite believe it. "Alright, so you've had fights. But you always end up alright again, don't you? The boy hasn't contacted you in weeks now. Take whatever chance he has given you and bloody talk to him!"

"Alright, alright!" Ridley mutters in defeat. She sends him a reply:

Just as she hits 'send', the doorbell rings and both she and Marcy jump, startled. They look at each other and think the same thing: Is that Ben?

Marcy rushes to the front door and Ridley stands up and begins to smooth out the creases in her sweatpants. Ugh! Why is it that she looks so bloody disgusting every time Ben shows up—

"Ridley!" Marcy calls and her voice sounds weak, strained. Ridley's heart stops for a second. Wait, what's going on?

"Mhm?"

"Come over here, please. To the door."

Ridley, legs feeling like jelly, walks towards the door, her heart pounding. She stops short and frowns. It's not Ben who's at the door. It's a short, chubby blonde woman with a large brown envelope in her hand.

"What – who –"

"Hi," the woman says, looking at Ridley with a sad smile on her face. "I'm Jean Elizabeth. You don't know me Ridley, but I'm sure Marcy is quite familiar with me." She nods at Marcy and Marcy nods back stiffly, curtly.

"Why are you here?" she interrogates in a very un-Marcy-like, cold manner. Ridley is confused. What's going on?

Jean Elizabeth hands the envelope to Marcy and clasps her hands together; a pained expression flashes across her face and suddenly Ridley has a hunch as to why she is here and a cold, dreadful feeling spreads across her entire body.

"I'm your father's sister." She gulps. "I've come here to tell you girls that he...he passed away just last night."

→ → → → → →

Ridley and Marcella Denvers stand in front of the small house that they had run away from all those years ago. It's still the same, that little house; derelict and scruffy and so very lonely-looking. It hasn't changed a bit. Ridley hasn't been to this neighbourhood in years and years. She glances at Marcy. The way Marcy's lip trembles, the way she grips Ridley's hand so tightly, so desperately, tells Ridley that neither has she.

They'd both expected it to look different now. There is a strange sense of nostalgia that comes with this house. Ridley isn't sure whether it's supposed to be good or bad. Perhaps it's supposed to be bad and a little part of it is, because she is sure that she can still hear the distant echoes of the screaming, and the crying and the rumbling of empty little stomachs. But perhaps it's supposed to be good too, because Ridley can still see all the hand-prints she'd made on the front door with paint when she was three years old, and she can still see the rusted little tricycle strewn on the front lawn – the one that Marcy had stolen from a charity shop because Ridley had so badly wanted one because everyone else at school did, but she'd discovered she was no good at cycling and had left the tricycle there and never picked it up again.

"I hate this place," Marcy mutters with tears streaking her distraught face. "But I love it too, Rids. God, what's wrong with me?"

Ridley understands exactly what Marcy means by this. Marcy is the one, however, who has had more connection, more roots firmly planted into this house than Ridley ever has. Marcy grew up here and before mum died giving birth to Ridley, she'd had a normal childhood. She'd actually lived at a time when dad wasn't the way he was and when mum had been breathing and alive.

"Do you...Do you want to—"

"Yes."

They both tentatively walk towards the front door. And at this moment, both sisters are transformed into the young, vulnerable, sad little girls that they once were and it becomes worse when they open the door with a key that Jean Elizabeth has provided them with, and step inside. It's the same. Same. Same. Same. The little living room, in the corner, smells the same familiar smell of old furniture and dad's old cologne that Marcy had accidentally spilled all over the living room carpet when she was very young and the cologne's scent had never quite gone away after that. The kitchen, towards the front, is still as small and poky and bare as ever and as Ridley and Marcy walk up the old stairs that lead up to their bedrooms, it creaks and Ridley has to grip the wooden banisters hard to prevent herself from crying out loud.

They split up to go their respective bedrooms. This is when things become intimate, far too personal for two people, even sisters, to share. When Ridley steps into her bedroom she is unsurprised to see that nothing has changed here either. The wallpaper is still as old as ever. The bed is unmade. She frowns. Just as the way she left it. Ridley gasps when she notices that picture of her mother pinned up on the wall and she rushes to see it. She can't handle it anymore. Seeing that small, plain little picture of her mother makes her burst into tears and the emotions come flooding out of her too quickly for her to be able to control them.

"Oh mum." Her voice is so small and childish. Ridley's legs buckle and she sinks to the floor, shoulders trembling, feeling so, so alone.

Why is she so sad, anyhow? She hasn't seen that man for years and years. She hasn't talked to him or formed any sort of deep bond with him to be sad. She shouldn't be sad. She should be indifferent because he is someone she cut ties with for a reason.

It's so strange now to think of her father as finally dead. As a very young girl Ridley recalls having wished for his death – a wish that did not have any malicious intent behind it, of course, because she was just a very angry, unloved child at the time—but it is a wish she has made, nevertheless and god, she regrets it so much. All these years Ridley had always considered herself an orphan – what's the use of calling yourself anything else when both your parents are no longer in your life? But there was always that very tiny feeling inside of her – a very comforting sort of feeling—that told her she wasn't fully an orphan just yet. But it's never going to be there anymore because they're both gone now. Forever.

She steals a glance at her small bed, still unmade, still as messy as she remembers having left it and it occurs to her that her father probably never bothered to come inside here after they left. Ridley isn't sure what to think, what to feel, and the shock of it all – having an aunt she never knew of, her father's cancer, his eventual death—it seems too unreal, like an abrupt ending to a movie that wasn't really supposed to have a sad finale.

Ridley also begins to wonder what it must've been like to be William Denvers; a widow, an alcoholic, a nicotine addict continuing to live in this shabby old house for the next nine to ten years, all by himself. All alone.

She can imagine him sitting on his dusty old armchair, gazing out of the small windows of their living room with the same lifeless stare she remembers him having whenever it was a special day; like mum's birthday, or their anniversary, or the day she died. A vision of her father appears before her eyes and Ridley can imagine cigarette smoke billowing out of his lips; up, up into the air before vanishing completely—perhaps he thought of the people in his life like cigarette smoke too? They would distance themselves from him – they would go farther and farther from his reach until one day: poof. Gone. He would never see it coming.

It must've been so lonely for him. Jean Elizabeth told them that he had been getting along fairly well, however. William had had a steady job, just about enough money to keep the house, and he was even seeing someone – though, of course, it had been nothing serious. She was quick to add that when she saw the look of outrage on Marcy's face. Ridley doesn't really mind that her dad was seeing someone. It doesn't even matter if she minds or not because they're supposed to not care about what the other gets up to. They cut ties with him for a reason.

Besides, did Marcy really expect him to stay alone forever? His wife has been dead for more than ten years now and his own daughters left him – although Ridley has little to no love left for the man, she sympathises with him, somewhat. Despite his flaws, his inability to pull himself together for the sake of his children, the man deserved a little bit of happiness.

It brings Ridley a sense of peace knowing her father had had a happy few years, at the very least. He was happy and not feeling alone. She knows it's too late to have regrets now. What's been done is done. While the past will still be there, looming at the back of her head and rearing its ugly head every now and again, it doesn't matter quite as much as it used to anymore. The hurt, the resentment for her father has now been replaced with forgiveness. She feels better now. It's over. He got to move on with his life, and so did they. Maybe it was just better this way.

It's over.

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11:30 AM

Hey I'm here at Aroma now. You?

Ben

11:47 AM

Why aren't you picking up? Is everything OK?

Ben

11:59 AM

You could've just said no at the start.

12:15 PM

I'm giving you five more minutes. Five only.

12:20 PM

Goodbye.

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