And so it comes to pass that the whale and I are the last two souls on this good Earth. She looks at me with that eye of hers, round and blue and human. I don’t know what kind of whale she is, and neither does she. Whales don’t speak in species, orders, and classes, she says. I remember the word Minke from some time past; perhaps I saw it in a science book as a girl. So I call her Minke, and she calls me Woman.  

I am grateful for her company. The way she shows me the world, through her eye. The Earth is only ocean to her mind, and when I describe a skyscraper she thinks of the tallest mountain she has seen on the seabed. A volcanic plume where the oldest creatures once lived.

I smile and say, “yes, but these buildings touch the very sky.”

She pushes her slick snout from the water and says, “but so do we, no?”

For, to her, a single thin lip is all that parts sea from sky. The meniscus on the top of her world.

I have learned to clamber onto her back. She allows this. She misses the feel of another body against her. Even a single barnacle would be welcome, so she tolerates my arthritic awkwardness; my land legs.

She never takes me deep, never to the mountains of the bed. She knows the depths hurt my ears and that my lungs are only tiny airbags. 

So we roll through the shallows, languid and old as time. We speak of the things we know. She tells me she thought she saw a shoal of jellies once, ghosting the deep. Closer, they were only plastic bags. But they gave her comfort anyway, and she stayed with them for seven days. 

That was before she saw me on the shore. I had out the sharp rock I keep in my pocket, and I was driving it into a can of tuna which had washed on shore. 

My mouth ran with brine that day as she surfaced, breaching the waves with loud spray. I fell back onto the beach of ring pulls and shells and cut my hand.

But I never feared her. As soon as I met her eye, I knew we were the same old woman, roaming the world. 

We searched for others, for a while, but we didn’t put in much effort.

“What would I do if I found a man?” I laughed. Minke made her deep-bellied rumble in response, for she had also passed her time. There would never be a calf or child again in the world.

Thus we find joy in just us two. I have learned to love her night song as I sleep on the shore. Her lone voice swells the ocean, a lament for all that has passed.

In the morning, I eat kelp and join her voice with my own reedy song. A choir of two greeting the Sun. For at least She has not yet abandoned us to the colds of space. If there were a third amongst us, it would be She, who mothered all the souls here, before they left.

The ocean is so unpregnant now, like Minke’s vast empty belly, and my swollen, old midsection. But it brings a kind of peace. 

“Was not emptiness the first state of things?” Minke asks.

And I nod. Before there was something, I suppose. We are just returning to the before times, the empty uterus of the unborn universe.

And then the day comes, after a night of soundless sleep. 

I stretch out my hands and feet, pushing them into the meal of broken fishbones and plastic beads. I wonder at the eerie quiet and blink against the sunrise.

There is a long flank resting like an upturned boat on the shore. It makes no sense to me, this unmoving mound lapped by foam.

I push myself up to stand, walk cautiously, then break into a stiff run, a sob raw in my throat.

“Minke! No, no.”

I heave at her side, attempting to roll her, but my hands slide off her wet rubber skin.

I walk round to her eye, and it stares up, blue and round as an unseeing marble. Some part of me breaks as a wave.

I push my fingers into the fleshy armpit beneath her fin to feel for a beat. I wait, knowing her heart pauses more than pulses. But nothing comes.

My true friend, my dearest one. 

I cup the lapping tide and wash her skin of sand and silt. I take two fingers and close her eye. The lid feels like the wet foot of a mollusc, and it seems intimate to touch it.

Then I turn and push my face down into the water and heave tears, tasting my own sorrow and the ocean in brackish gulps.

I have to go away for a time. Her body is impossible to move, and it begins to stink on the beach. Occasionally I return to view her from a distance, as the blubber slowly falls off and strange white tissue and gristle is revealed.

Eventually, she is a cathedral of bones. I climb inside her ribcage and I sing my thin song. The lone voice of the world rocking amongst the ruins of a friend.

I know her passing is insignificant to this good earth. The unmoving stars above are unmoved. Not because they are cold or callous; they simply do not even perceive one such as Minke. We are as a palmful of dust. A palmful of plastic beads.

I turn my face to the Sun, my last companion, who warms me but does not know me, and I wait for my time. 

The time when all the world will quiet, and the Earth will turn with its own silent music, with no one to hear it, and no one to know the goodness of this place.

The river had always been his favorite place to paint. It was peaceful. Quiet. The ash  trees filtered the light that reached him in a way that felt heavenly. 

His mother hated the spot, she claimed it had no real purpose. Roman knew better  than to bring up the small collection of postcard-sized paintings from a lifetime ago. Still,  he had saved the pictures from the trash and stashed them under his bed. He had  eventually brought them down to the river and hid them in a hollow trunk with the rest of  his father’s belongings. The silver pocket was the exception. It never left his side. He spent  many nights with it clutched in his fist, imagining it was his father’s hand. The paints, the  brushes, the paintings, he kept them all by the river. To Roman, his father still lived by the  river’s edge. To his mother, the ghost of his father lived in Roman’s room.  

At home he searched for anything he could tie to his father. He dug through  discarded boxes in the attic, old letters crumpled in the back of desk drawers. He hardly  noticed when the silence began to fill the house. Roman wasn’t even sure he could tell you when his mother decided her armchair was the only place she ever needed to be. He was nothing more than a shadow searching for the body it had always followed. Until he met Capri.

He had been painting in his usual spot. He had needed to go somewhere to escape his mother’s burning eyes. The picture itself was terrible. The shades of the sunset were all  wrong and the reeds looked like snakes. Just as he’d been about to scrap the piece altogether, a wave of water assaulted both him and the page. Roman was embarrassed by  the noise he let out. When he looked up a girl around his age, no older than nine, was  climbing out of the water a little way down the bank. It looked like she’d tied a rope to a tree branch and was using it to launch herself. Her skin was red from where she had hit the  water, her hair an unruly mess around her face. She glanced at him over her shoulder and  winked before grabbing her rope and swinging again.  

When she resurfaced, he was still watching her. She had approached him and offered a deal. A friendship in exchange for him taking a turn. He had asked for her name, but she declined until her demand was met. After a brief stare down, she settled for him trying to climb the rope instead. He never did work out how she realized he wouldn’t be  able to handle the water. He couldn’t pull himself up very high, but once he was off the  ground she pushed him like it was a swing anyway. They had laughed and shrieked and  taken turns. It was the most human he had felt since the funeral.  

As the months turned into years, he tried to figure out why she had been there that  day. Every time he tried to broach the subject, she would give him a dazzling smile and  claim it was fate. Until one winter morning, as they sat bundled up clutching thermoses of hot chocolate for warmth, Capri rested her head on Roman’s shoulder and offered him a  fragment of her armor. It had been her brother who taught her how to tie a rope secure enough to swing on. It was him who had shown her how to swing from it into the river. According to her, Logan had always been in love with being alive. That was why she couldn’t understand his decision to enlist. She had argued, saying there were more ways to see the world than through the scope of a gun. He had promised her it would only be a  year. Capri had written a list of all the places they would explore together when he  returned. A year had become two. Then three. On Logan’s rare trips home, he was  different. Cold. Dismissive.  

“I’ll finish that list with or without him.” 

“I’m sure he’ll come around again.” 

“I don’t care if he does. I’ll go by myself. Just you wait, I’m gonna show him.” Roman chuckled.  

“Of course you are.” He was rewarded with a bright smile. 

“Damn right.” He laughed again and rested his head on top of hers before asking  “Do you think he’ll ever come home for good?” 

He felt her shake her head. 

“No. He’s too busy playing hero to strangers to remember me.” 

He was saved from having to reply when she leapt to her feet and pointed at the  river. The water had been a murky green for as long as he could remember. He was  convinced that nothing could survive it, but that day Capri swore that she had seen a school of minnows in its depths. She had challenged him to prove her wrong. Roman had  pretended not to hear her and pulled out the painting he was working on. She decided to  take on the challenge anyway. 

He hadn’t realized he was supposed to worry at first. Capri had just found a point she wanted to prove, and she’d be back once she was satisfied. It wasn’t until she reappeared with no fish and a gash on the side of her head that he realized there was more to it. She had been casual about it as Roman frantically checked her for other injuries. She’d told him it was no big deal. She laughed him off and called him a drama queen when  he told her she could be concussed, that she could have died. Only when he had begged her to promise that she would be more careful did a crack appear in her mask. 

That had only been a couple of months ago. Now, a teenaged Roman readied himself to leave. He grabbed his satchel from the back of his desk chair and slung it over his shoulder. He had assumed his mother would be in her normal seat, the worn armchair in the corner of the living room. The front door opened into the room, so it was impossible  to leave through it without walking past her and her empty eyes. It briefly occurred to him  that she was more statue than person these days.  

Roman usually left through the back door in the kitchen and took himself out of the  side gate instead of going anywhere near her. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would be  anywhere else. For some reason that day was different. She was just stood in the kitchen.  Staring out of the window, her back to him. The counter beside her was littered with sugar and spilled tea leaves. He froze in the doorway with wide eyes. She had moved. By herself.  He didn’t know when she had last done that. 

‘Mum?’ 

He held his breath. She didn’t move. She didn’t react. Roman stood perfectly still, as if any movement would scare her away. He heard the clock beside him ticking away the seconds. After a few minutes he crept forwards. Slowly, as though he were scared he might  spook her. Even when he reached her side, she remained motionless with the exception of  shaking hands. They cradled a mug with no steam coming from it. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments before moving to clean the mess and heading to the back door. 

He heard a clink as his hand touched the doorknob. Against his better instincts,  hope flared in his chest. He turned towards the noise and saw the mug had been lowered onto the counter. One hand still clutched it, but now she faced him. The stare was almost  blank, but something haunted flickered behind her expression. It took a moment longer for  her to focus on his face, to notice the hand he had extended to her. Gently, he led her back  to the living room. Guided her to sit. Roman didn’t know how to make her better, so he  returned to the kitchen to brew the tea properly and place it by her side.  

She stared at him, and he stared back. Two strangers who had lived under the same  roof for years. Who had no idea how to comfort each other, how to lessen the pain. He didn’t know what to say, and whatever small attempt he wanted to make felt trapped in his throat. All he could do was turn his back on her and walk away. As he turned on his heel, he  was confronted with a portrait of his mother and father hanging opposite the chair. Roman had spent so long avoiding this room that the portrait had ceased to exist in his memory. The longer he looked, the more his chest ached. It felt like he was looking at himself a only  a couple years down the line. Still so full of potential. The vice on his heart tightened at the  painted smile on his mother’s face. So full of life. When his feet carried him out the door he realized his hands had begun to shake.  

He trudged towards the river on the outskirts of town, the afternoon sun warming  his face. He was late. He couldn’t get her face out of his head. The pain she had been drowning in while he ran around with stupid paintbrushes and pocket watches. It only took  a half hour to reach the clearing where they spent most of their afternoons. Sure enough,  Capri was already there. She had somehow managed to wrangle the ball of frizz she called  hair into a long, single plait. The blue jumper she sported complimented her olive eyes  perfectly and her neon yellow socks were already tucked neatly into a destroyed pair of trainers. She was lying on a tartan picnic blanket staring at the leaves of the trees above. As  he got closer, he could hear her humming softly to herself. 

Lost in his own thoughts, he stepped on a twig. He watched her roll onto her side as  she heard it, but she did nothing but look at him. As he drew nearer, she sat up. Roman lowered himself onto the blanket next to her and buried his head in his hands. Still, she said nothing. Roman reached into his pocket for his father’s watch. He stared at it for a  moment before raising his arm and throwing it into the river with all the strength he could  muster.

He felt Capri’s eyes study his face for what must have been only a minute longer,  but it felt like hours. Then she rose to her feet, and whatever she had read there seemed to  guide her towards the river’s edge. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.  

She stopped and turned to face him with that familiar glint in her eye.  

“If you’re really set on getting rid of it, I’ll take it. You’ll never have to see it again. But  it’ll be safe.” 

“I don’t want it safe. I want it gone.” 

“I’m sure you do.” 

Roman tilted his head to the sky in order to escape her steadfast gaze.  “I’m not going to change my mind,” he said. 

“That’s fine.”  

“There’s no way you’d be able to get it back.” 

She waited until he looked at her before she flashed him a mischievous smile. “I’ll find it. I like trinkets, and that watch is wasted on the river.” 

With that she turned on her heels and continued on her way. Once she reached the edge of the water, Capri shed her jumper. Her loose white top and jeans quickly joined it on  the bank. Satisfied with her impromptu bikini, she sent Roman a wink over her shoulder  and jumped.

Roman studied the sky for a few moments after the splash, willing his eyes to stop  stinging. He could hear nothing except the rush of the river and the beating of his own  heart. When he forced his eyes back to the water, a couple of minutes had already passed  since she had slipped below the surface. Worry began to settle into his bones. The current  would be stronger than normal after the storm. She was a strong swimmer, but she wasn’t invincible. He had to help. He had to follow her. He just had to hope the river didn’t claim  him too. 

His legs trembled beneath him as he approached the river’s edge. He wished his  father had gotten the chance to give him more swimming lessons. Roman’s mind raced as  his eyes searched desperately for something to protect him from the current. Where the bank gave way to the water, exposed tree roots extending under the surface. They looked  just thick enough to anchor him to the shore. He was almost glad Capri wasn’t able to see his mess of a descent. The cold of the rapids bit through his clothes and he could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment.  

The water was swirling around his waist. He held tight to the tethering root while his other arm swept uselessly across the water. It was by no means an elegant affair. He hadn’t thought to take his clothes off and now they tried to pull him to the riverbed. Roman struggled against it as he called her name, but the sound of rushing water drowned his words.  

The blanket she had spread so carefully beneath the ash tree had long been abandoned. He was so sure she was just holding her breath to scare him a little. She was just trying to prove a point. She wouldn’t miss a sunset by the river. She wouldn’t be that stupid. But still, the river ran its course. He didn’t care about the watch. He was sure of it. His father was already gone and holding onto him did nothing but hurt. She had been a fool  to go chasing it. He had been a fool to let her. Why wasn’t she coming back up? 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

A scream escaped his mouth as he twisted his head. Capri was staring at him from  the bank, her body trembling in the breeze. Her plait clung to her shoulder while she used a hand to swipe at the water dripping from her face. Her legs were covered in scratches and her feet were coated with leaves. When he caught her eye, she plastered on a small smirk. 

“You can’t have missed me that much.” 

Roman shook his head and hoped his face didn’t betray just how glad he really was to see her. He struggled back to the edge of the bank and tried to pull himself up. After a couple of tries Capri grabbed his arm to help heave him up and he chose to ignore her choked laugh. Once he had his feet back on solid ground, he shook himself off like a dog before following her back to the blanket. 

As she pulled her jumper over her head, a glint of silver flashed from her hand. It  was gone as quickly as it appeared. He found himself scanning her, longing for another glimpse. She sat on the blanket and pulled her knees to her chest. He knew he should say something to her, tell her to get dressed properly so she could warm up. Instead, he stood  beside her, clothes dripping onto the blanket. He focused on the river to fight the urge to  ask a question he would regret. He wasn’t sure exactly how long they spent that way until he gave in, only that both their shivering had subsided, and the stars had begun to peak  through the clouds. He never could beat her stubbornness. The moment he sat beside her,  Capri placed the pocket watch in the space between them.  

He didn’t reach for it immediately. He could feel her stare on the side of his face. He couldn’t bring himself to meet it. 

“It’s just a watch.” 

She offered him a sad smile. “No, it’s not.” 

“I could have lived without it.” 

“But you would have regretted it.” 

He didn’t want to confess that she was right. Instead, he said “The water’s rough today.” 

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Yes, you did.” 

Now Roman did look at her. She held his stare for less than a second before her  eyes dropped to the blanket.  

“I didn’t think you’d follow me. That was dumb.” 

“You shouldn’t have gone in the first place.” 

“I was always going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that!” 

He watched as she twisted her fingers together and turned away. When she refused  to turn back towards him, Roman turned his attention to the watch. His hands shook as he  cradled it to his chest and closed his eyes. Only a couple seconds had passed before a gentle hand was stroking his hair. He allowed himself to be pulled against her chest and  focused on the way her body trembled. In that moment, he made a silent vow to follow  Capri wherever she chose to go. To the end of her list and whatever waited beyond it.

When I stopped emailing, I thought to myself, now it’s really the end of the known world. Now I really won’t sleep. Winter rolled, a slow wagon, upon which I was not having a good time. I walked down, down, down to Tesco Express, and up, up, up, home. I thought about that red kite on the hillside, which I could barely make out, but was sure I had watched, swooping, landing on a slope round the back of the house. These are the sorts of sentences I was saying to S and S would tell me, of all people, her secrets. Usually, all these parts are tucked away in the night, so nobody sees or notices. The red kite flew inside my window, which I had not yet opened to breathe in the fragrances of grey Caerphilly. It lay crumpled on our doorstep, with the cigarette butts my mother steps over every day for her walks, listening to podcasts about birdsong. Look at this red kite, crumpled like a tissue on our doorstep. You’ll have to step over it. Oh God, what am I so deep in now? It’s clear that I saw something truly wild out of the corner of my eye one time, or maybe all the beauty in the world in a single moment – earthquakes, forest fires, torrential rain. Something truly wild on a PowerPoint slide. I mean, fine, if I can see it and know it’s out there, running, the wild world, as if still unbroken. A red kite, running and swooping.

When Mama left, Papa said she returned home to the ocean. She had smelled like salt and seaweed, her skin cool to the touch, even on the hottest summer days. Why would she leave me? I wanted to ask but never did, too afraid of the answer. Instead, I waded in the shallows and searched for her among the cresting waves.

He liked to tell me how she had heard him singing one day as he stood on the beach, pulling in his nets. She took one look at his strong arms, his green eyes, and instantly fell in love. He said she gave him her sealskin willingly, unlike others whose skins were stolen, who had no choice but to stay. He always gave her a choice, he said. He never could explain why she would choose to break our hearts that way. 

The women in town clicked their tongues and shook their heads whenever we walked by. He should tell her the truth they said just loud enough for us to hear. My cheeks burned, but I stayed silent, afraid that I would break his heart if I confronted him. They said she had walked into the water with stones in her skirt pockets, that she carried a darkness that became too heavy to bear. 

I watched him from the dunes when he fished along the shore. I saw how he hunched his shoulders as he wiped his eyes and cheeks, the way he left her favorite purple wildflowers on top of the shiny black stones, the way he stood there watching the waves until the greedy tide claimed them for itself.

When Papa died, I found the key to a locked chest he kept under his bed. Inside I discovered the strangest thing: a ring made of seal whiskers wrapped in one of Mama’s time-yellowed handkerchiefs and a note that simply said, “You have my heart, but I must go. Forgive me.” 

I wear her ring now on a chain around my neck. Sometimes I wade into the ocean, lick the salt from my lips. I stand firm against the tide, my skirts wrapping around my legs like creatures from the deep threatening to take me with them.