Read The Life and Afterlife of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 1) for Free Online

before experienced.  I could see through Lucy's hard exterior. This behaviour was a facade, a way to keep people at a distance.  She preferred to give the impression that she didn't need comfort and support while inside she was vulnerable, broken, her fragmented soul silently crying out for someone to put her back together again. In the past that person would have been me.
    "You need to take time to grieve, Lucy, this is still so soon.  At least wait until after the funeral," Russ was saying.
    "I can't be reminded of him everywhere I go, Russ. Charlie’s not here...he's not with me...and I'm angry with him for that."
    Russ looked at her with tears shining in his own eyes. "Are you angry with me?"
    "Yes," she admitted, sounding ashamed.  She stared at her engagement ring, clearly trying to keep her emotions in check.
    Russ looked down at the plush carpet, the muscles in his jaw visibly clenched.  "I should have followed him, walked him home and made sure he was safe.” My friend’s voice was laden with regret. “I made a mistake and now my best friend is gone.” He looked at her with pleading eyes. “I feel dreadful, Luce, and seeing you like this makes it harder to take."
    One tear finally escaped and rolled down Russ's cheek.  His eyes closed and more tears started to fall, silently.  I watched Lucy as she looked up and saw the anguish on his face; her eyes grew soft as they focused on his.  She rushed to his side and held him tightly, stroking his hair.
    I watched my childhood friends holding each other tightly as they sobbed, trying to keep themselves from falling apart. I wanted to be with them, to hold on to them just as tightly as they were holding on to each other.  I wanted to take away their pain, to make them laugh instead of cry.  I wanted to dry the tears that flowed because of me.
    I couldn't take any more of this; I turned away from the image of my oldest friends, guilty tears stinging my eyes.  I blamed myself for the pain they were experiencing, I had thrown life away so foolishly.  Now I was paying the ultimate price, the torture of being apart from the people I loved and adored, people who made me feel whole.  My thoughts turned to my loving grandparents and I decided I needed to feel the unconditional love of close family.
    I realised I had no idea where my grandparents lived and assumed they had a house on the long street I had walked down previously.  I retraced my steps with a view to asking one of the many strangers there if they knew where my dear grandparents lived.  The sun had begun its descent and early shadows could be seen on the distant landscape.
    I passed many strangers, all wearing genuine smiles and kindly expressions, and I wondered as I observed them whether my own wide-eyed expression gave away how out of place I felt in this world.
    As I walked along the wide street, one of the houses stood out. It was an old converted barn made of beautiful weathered stone.  It had small windows with traditional wooden shutters attached and a huge entrance that was framed by a decorative stone arch.  The doors of the entrance were glass, which I knew were included to let in the daylight.  On the other side of the glass doors I could see a magnificent wooden staircase winding its way up to the second floor.  As I approached the house I saw that the garden was well tended and full of different varieties of peonies; on the driveway stood a silver Mini Mayfair.  The house belonged to my grandparents.  I knew this because I used to visit this exact house in the summer holidays, and the Mini parked on the drive was the replica of the first car I ever drove.
    Gran saw me approaching and met me on the path.
    "The house looks great, it's exactly the same as your old one," I told her.
    "Yes, we tried to think of other designs but in the end we realised that the only house that would feel like home to us was this one."
    "I'm glad you kept it the same. I've missed this house and I've