As he speaks, something a lot like pride fills my chest. He’s doing what I couldn’t, when I couldn’t sing for Dan—and he’s doing it so well.
With an almost smile, he tells the life story Jolie wanted told and he annotates it with his own memories. Or corrections, where he thinks she took too much licence.
His mouth kicks up at the corner as he finishes reading Jolie’s description of how she always annoyed him, insisting on following her big brother everywhere he went. ‘Despite what she might think, I was always glad to have her walking home from school with me. There’s this yappy little dog with attitude, and surprisingly big teeth, on one corner, and it tried to bite me whenever she wasn’t there.’ His voice cracks. ‘I’d better go a different way home now I guess.’
He shares how happy she was to make the road trip she’d dreamed of, and how she never gave up hope of getting there.
After his speech Luc returns to his seat. The rest of the service is a blur of songs and prayers, and then it’s over, and the family are escorted out by the minister. I linger for a moment, thinking about Jolie and hoping it was the farewell she would have wanted.
I’m not the only one who stays.
Light through a high stained-glass window catches my eye and because of it I see him. Standing on a balcony, mostly hidden from view, is a person with his head in his hands.
And then I realise, under the bad wig, the person is Gray. Gray, who I’ve heard through Cass and Finn spent hours at Jolie’s bedside in her last weeks, getting to know her, building the friendship I glimpsed that first night. I ache afresh to see him so sad.
There’s been nothing about them in the media. Nothing about that night after the concert, or where Gray has been since. The stadium show was the last date of his tour and as far as the world is concerned, he’s disappeared. He’s only visible for a second, then he steps back out of sight.
Outside, the sun shines bright overhead, an echo of a summer just gone. Leaves flushed with autumn colour swirl around our feet.
A line of mourners snakes from the steps of the chapel, all waiting to pass on their condolences. Something in the way that Jolie’s family stand makes it obvious that someone is missing from the group. It’s like a photo where someone has been cut out.
Cass and I approach and I cross my fingers that Luc won’t be mad that I’m here. I’ve tried to tell myself his anger the other day was part of what he’s going through, but I can’t help the tightness in my belly as we approach. I’m here to remember Jolie and pay my respects, not to make this any harder for Luc.
Memories of standing in Luc’s place months ago wash over me and I fight back tears. I can feel my brother’s presence, helping me keep it together.
The blonde woman I saw earlier stands a little way apart from Luc and his dad. Their mother. I have to bite my lip to stop myself shouting at her but the words echo in my brain anyway.
How could you?
How could anyone leave their family when they needed them most? Leaving Luc to cook and be responsible and sacrifice everything. Leaving Luc’s dad to somehow parent alone. Leaving Jolie.
But I see the pain bowing her fair head and slumping her thin shoulders. She missed the last few years of her daughter’s life. That will follow her forever.
On the other side of Luc’s dad stands a larger woman. Her bright red curls are adorned in a green and gold scarf, her curves wrapped in a purple dress. This is the aunt Jolie told me about that day at the Twelve Apostles, I’m sure of it. She has an arm around Jolie’s dad, supporting him, and every few minutes she speaks softly to Luc, taking some of the strain from his features.
I try not to listen in but the rise and fall of his voice as he speaks to the older couple before us is impossible to ignore. It’s mechanical, and I know he’s going through the motions. I want to promise him he’ll be okay, one day, but I can’t. Mostly because I know better than anyone that it might not be true.
Then it’s our turn and Cass is speaking to Jolie’s mum and they’re saying all the stupid nothing things no-one will ever remember. I mumble something too, then I take another step and I’m standing in front of Luc.
He stares through me at first and I don’t know if I can talk. This is worse than I thought. But then he blinks, and the hard lines of his face soften. ‘You’re here.’
‘Of course.’
He hesitates. ‘About the other day—’
‘It’s okay. I caught you at a bad time.’
He takes my hand in both of his. ‘Thank you for coming. Really.’
‘I am so very sorry for your loss.’
I’m about to move on when he leans forward and brushes his lips across my cheek, sending a little shiver over my skin.
‘Thank you,’ he murmurs again. He looks like maybe he wants to talk, but there’s a line of people after me and he has things he needs to do.
‘Anytime.’
And then I’m stepping past him and he’s releasing my hand. His dad mentions the road trip and how happy it made Jolie. I share the story of the lookout at the Twelve Apostles with him and Jolie’s aunt. They smile to hear it in that way that breaks my heart a little. A moment later and Cass and I are through the line.
The chapel is on a busy road. I gaze at the traffic as we walk over to where Cass parked. Car after car passes without the drivers glancing this way. The world goes on as though nothing has happened. As though there isn’t a family left shattered and broken by loss.
Cass’s hand on my arm draws my attention. ‘Want to stop somewhere on the way home?’
‘Please,’ I reply.
I’m not ready to return to the ordinary world, and the homework that’s waiting. I text Mum while Cass drives and she sends a reply immediately. I’m glad we’re back in a place where if I don’t let her know I’ll be late, she’ll be worried.
Cass drives towards the beach and a dessert place we used to go to after school all the time. We were such regulars they started making our waffles before we even ordered. We’d dump our bags and talk about everything important. School, boys, make-up, music. All the big issues.
Then Dan died and one blustery grey day we scattered his ashes off the jetty at the end of this very road. After that, it seemed insane to indulge in waffles. Or the small talk that had once been all that mattered.
Today we walk through the doors and the waitress looks up and points us towards a table by the window. ‘Have a look at the menu, and place your order at the counter.’
I nod, instead of telling her I know, because I’m not a regular anymore.
I stare at the plastic menu but the words blur. I can almost feel my brother, so close, left at one of the beaches he adored. The place he proposed to Shivani after they walked all night on the sand.
‘Waffles to share?’ asks Cass, interrupting the weight of memories threatening to start my tears.
I lift my head and there’s uncertainty in her face. After the day we’ve had and given where we’re sitting, I know her question is about so much more than waffles. It’s about us and where we’re at and what’s going to happen tomorrow and the next day and the next.
‘Waffles would be great,’ I say, despite the churning in my belly.
We take turns eating from the mountain of sweet delight. The crunch of the waffles and smooth chill of the ice-cream smothered in chocolate and maple syrup is punctuated by shared memories of the brief time we knew Jolie.
Cass’s eyes meet mine as she plays with her teaspoon. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.
‘For?’
The light catches the edge of the spoon as it twists in her hands. ‘For everything. Your brother. Finn.’
‘How did you two . . .’ My voice trails off. ‘I don’t want kissing details or anything, but you had to know it would hurt me.’
‘After you did what you did, he came to me. I guess because he thought I knew you best.’
‘I didn’t even know me.’
She nods. ‘At first when we were spending time t
ogether, it was about helping you. Coming up with ways we could stop that destructive thing you had going on. We were worried.’
‘So you thought dating would help?’ I manage to keep bitterness from my tone, but her head drops.
‘It wasn’t something I decided. I can’t speak for Finn, but I felt bad. The more time I spent with him, the worse I felt. But I liked him too. A lot. We were rehearsing late one night, weeks after you broke up, and well . . .’
I pretend to block my ears. ‘I saw enough on the trip,’ I say, but I smile. Seeing her actual remorse helps. And so does the way I feel about Luc.
‘Anyway, it’s over now,’ she says.
‘So you guys can’t work it out?’
There’s no joy in me when she shakes her head. I’d figured as much, but when I’d asked a few days ago, she still hadn’t been sure.
‘And the online guy?’
‘I came clean about Finn, and told him that I want to take some time alone before rushing into anything.’
‘Good idea.’
‘I really feel bad, Zoey.’
The spoon rotates over and over as she sighs. ‘It’s not only the stuff with Finn. It’s everything. I think maybe I’ve always been jealous, and that came out as judging you rather than caring for you. I wasn’t there for you when Dan died. I didn’t know how to be.’
Now I know how hard it is to be there for someone, and how easy it is to let them push you away. If the situation was reversed, I don’t think I’d have done much better. My hand on hers stills the spoon.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. And unlike the million other times I’ve said those words since Dan died, this time I mean it. ‘I didn’t know how to let anyone in. I was broken.’
I always will be, I think, but I don’t say it. But when she leans across the small table to hug me close, blinking back tears, I think maybe I don’t have to. Not this time.
CHAPTER
20
I’m coming home. I’m coming home. Don’t cry now, I’m coming home.
‘Home’—GRAY
It’s a Tuesday, and summer is long gone for autumn. I’m sitting at my desk, staring at my English essay, blinking as the words blur. I drain the last of my Diet Coke and sit up straighter. I have band rehearsal later, and my deal with Mum is that if I want to go to practice, homework needs to be done first.
And I want to go to practice.
I haven’t decided whether I’ll do musical theatre camp next summer—it would be fun to hang out with Cass, but the band is my priority now. At Mum’s cautious suggestion, I stopped by the office of the school counsellor a few days after Jolie’s funeral. To my surprise, Karen didn’t think I needed to spend hours talking about my feelings.
Instead, she introduced me to Jett, a guy in my year who I’ve never actually seen at school, who needed a lead singer for his band. I don’t know what brought Jett to Karen’s attention, besides truancy, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is writing songs. We’re preparing for our first real gig this weekend. And Jett’s long dark hair and tattoos don’t interest me in the slightest. I’m waiting for my own bad boy to remember he’s still alive.
As usual I get distracted thinking of Luc. That selfie I took with him at Gray’s concert is the only photo I have of us. For a while I had it as the wallpaper on my phone, but it hurt too much to see it all the time.
I can wait for as long as he needs, but I’m not going to mess with my own head any more than I have to. Although that willpower doesn’t extend to the shell he gave me. The pale pink shell has pride of place on my shelf, cracked but staying together despite the million times I’ve held it.
My thumb flies over the screen as I send him a text, reminding him of my upcoming gig. I tell him how I thought of him when I was driving home the other night and an old Gray song came on the radio. It made me think of the concert.
I try to ignore the pang I feel at the sight of the four texts above it, and the dozens more I can’t see on the screen.
All unanswered.
Texts about the nightmares I still sometimes have about Dan. Texts about my first band practice and how I vomited afterwards with the release of nerves, because it wasn’t as terrifying as I’d thought. Texts about a building I saw that I thought might interest him. Texts about the night I tried to recreate his pasta sauce for Mum, Dad and Shivani, and how we had to get pizza because I messed it up so terribly.
The messages are like tiny threads between us. I’m doing my best to maintain the connection we made. I won’t give up on Luc. I can’t. It’s thanks to him, in part, that I didn’t give up on myself.
‘Zoey.’ Mum calls my name from downstairs.
I wince. I think I promised something about hanging out the washing. Or maybe folding it.
‘Coming,’ I call. But I go back to my writing. I’ll just finish this paragraph first.
‘Zo-ey.’ Now she’s doing the singsong voice she used when I was little.
Back then, she and Dan would make up all kinds of rhymes with Zoey in silly songs. It never failed to make me giggle—until I became a teenager and it became excruciatingly embarrassing. Now it sounds a lot like love.
Shaking my head at my own sentimentality, knowing Dan would tease me mercilessly if he knew, I take the stairs to the rhythm of the house track that’s playing in my room. I’m humming along too, while inventing a better excuse than ‘I forgot’ about the washing.
Right up until I turn the corner into the hallway, at which point all my washing excuses vanish.
Luc is here. Standing on the doorstep. Luc. I stop. Do a double take. He’s bigger and smaller than I remembered, all at once.
‘Not the washing,’ I mumble.
‘No.’ Mum’s smile is annoyingly smug as she walks past, squeezing my shoulder before leaving us in privacy.
I stand there, stunned, alone with Luc in the very place my whole world shattered all those months ago. There’s the faint click of Mum’s footsteps getting further away and a breeze coming in through the front door. I should say something, invite him in, move.
All I can do is stare.
He’s beautiful, despite clearly not having shaved since I last saw him. The dark beard on his jaw makes him look older, or maybe that’s the shadows in his sad eyes. But he’s so good to look at that it’s like the sight of him reaches into my lungs and snatches my breath.
I have to say something. ‘You’re wearing a jacket.’
The corner of his mouth kicks up in an echo of his gorgeous smile. My heart cramps at the effort it so clearly takes him. I know that feeling. Where smiling is hard and wrong. I didn’t want to smile for so long. My hands tighten with the urge to reach for him, but I don’t.
Because it’s not my place. Not yet. I told him I’d be here when he was ready. Now it’s up to him. But it’s so hard. I squeeze my eyes closed against the tears that threaten to spill over.
Then he’s standing in front of me.
I know this without opening my eyes. I know it with the movement of air and the hint of the beach that I draw in on a shaky breath. I know it with my racing heart and the giddiness of hope mixed with fear.
The twist of my belly into a tight knot accompanies the million questions in my mind. Like, what if I open my eyes and he’s not looking at me in the way that I hope?
I’m so much better now. But he’s here, and I want this so deeply I’m not sure I can take him pushing me away again.
‘Zoey,’ he says.
I open my eyes and look right into his. I think it’s love I see shining in his eyes. But I can’t be sure. ‘Why are you here?’
His eyes close for a second.
He remembers. It’s the same question he asked me. I hope he realises I’m not trying to throw it back in his face, or play games. I just need to know.
When they open again, his gaze is steady. ‘I’m here because even when I didn’t want anyone, I wanted you. Wait,’ he adds, before I can even think of saying anything. ‘Despite what I said that day
when you came to my door, I believe maybe you can understand. So, you know, I’m not here because I’m fixed or healed or—’ His face scrunches. ‘Over anything.’
‘I know.’
‘I don’t think this is something I can get over. She was . . .’ His voice cracks and he wipes an angry hand across his eyes. ‘Sorry, I didn’t want to be like this. I wanted to come to you for us.’
‘You need a friend?’ I have to ask the question. I’ll be his friend if that’s what he needs. I can see how much coming here has cost him.
‘I would like to be with you. Your friend. Your boyfriend. Late-night basketball. Any way that you’ll let me spend time with you. If you can forgive the terrible things I said.’
I almost miss the forgiveness part, I’m so caught up on the boyfriend thing. I can’t help smiling, but first I need to clear the air. ‘You were in the worst of places. I get it. And all those things you suggested—the friend, the boyfriend . . . they sound pretty good to me.’
We’ve been standing so close, but at my words he moves even closer. One hand cups my cheek and he kisses me. The lightest of touches. My heart zings, and as he pulls away his mouth curves into a smile.
‘Zoey, you are the most incredible person. You drew me from the start, but part of the reason I liked being with you so much is that for a change I wasn’t that guy whose sister is dying. You didn’t give me sympathy or look at me like I could end up a burden when the worst happened.’
I’m blushing at the compliment. ‘Instead, I was the burden.’
‘You weren’t. I admired your strength so much. You’d been through this terrible thing and made it out the other side. I love all of you, Zoey.’
He loves me.
My heart slams into my ribs and I have to resist asking if he’s got the right person. Instead, I finally say the words I’ve been too scared to type in the dozens of texts I’ve sent him. ‘I love you, Luc.’
His lips find mine but then he breaks contact, looking past me over my shoulder. ‘I didn’t even introduce myself to your mum. I was that nervous.’
The Last Days of Us Page 20
