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Close is nothing. It's worse than nothing. Francis and Edward, through to the end.
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He is, Francis thinks, a man with a tremendous capacity for waiting. Perhaps indeed he will be the last of them, out there on the ice.
Francis and Edward, and the burdens of command. God, what hauntingly beautiful parallelism.
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call an ambulance I'm having Edward Little feelings...
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“Close,” Edward breathes, like it’s the last word there is.
Yes, Francis wants to say. Yes, you’re close. But the words don’t come. Worse than nothing, he hears himself say, to Thomas, to poor Thomas lying facedown on the stones, unburied, unmourned, unheld. His heart which he had thought had no pain left aches again.
He puts his arm around Edward, gentle as he can. Tries to think of anything: a prayer, a lullaby. Cannot.
Instead presses a kiss to his temple, as for a child put to bed.