The urn Keir’s ashes were in was, black white
grey swirled vase with silver detail that Braeden and Sienna had picked out
together. They kept the urn of ashes on Keir’s bedroom windowsill. Keir’s
bedroom was the place Sienna or Braeden went when they needed to feel as if he
was there. Sometimes, if Sienna put his music on out loud she could pretend he
was still up there, listening to the music that had once annoyed Sienna so
much. She carried his I-pod in her handbag, as on long journeys she could
suddenly feel as if he was sitting there beside her.
Little things like the scents of Blue Silk Cut
cigarette’s smoke and leather always triggered a reverie of reminiscent
fantasies of Keir.
His name was immortalised on her left wrist. It
had been painful but worth it, like her burning cross tattoo.