by Amanda Dick
Looking over the photographs as he had several times in the past couple of weeks, he had never felt more alone.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he practically ran to the door, hoping it was Ally. Instead, Maggie stood on the doorstep.
“Hi.”
He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. “Hey.”
“I need a favour. Your Dad has a key to Ally’s place. Can I have it please?”
She had a frown line between her eyes, just above her nose. That couldn’t be good.
“What’s going on?”
“I just need it.”
Okay. Not budging.
Maggie followed him down the hall to the kitchen, to the keys that hung on a series of hooks next to the doorway.
“So, are you gonna tell me what the deal is here, or am I expected to guess?” he asked, over his shoulder.
No answer.
He sorted through the key rings until he found one with Ally’s name on it. He had no intention of releasing it to her just yet, though.
She reached out to take it from him.
“Not until you enlighten me.”
“I don’t have time for this,” she snapped.
“Then I suggest you start talking.”
The tension mounted as she appeared to think it over. “She’s having a meltdown.”
He frowned, shaking his head.
“A bad day, or whatever. Y’know, not answering her phone, or the door. I’ve just come from her place, she’s got music blaring so loud I’m surprised the neighbours haven’t complained.”
Ally’s penchant for drowning out the world with loud music when she was upset came flooding back. The wound inside began to fester, breaking open. Was this because of what happened between them last night? He slid the key into the pocket of his jeans.
“We had a fight last night.”
“I know, Callum told me.”
“So maybe she just needs some time out?”
“What the hell would you know? Give me the key,” she snapped, holding out her hand.
“What’s the big deal, what am I missing?”
“Y’know what? Keep the key. We don’t need it.”
She turned on her heel and marched back down the hall.
“Hey!” He jogged after her, grabbing her by the arm. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but I’m coming with you.”
She glared at him. “If you –“
He felt as if his lungs were sitting in his throat. “If I what?”
She shook him off and they eyeballed each other for a moment, before Maggie turned her back on him, making for the front door. “Just stay the hell out of it. We’ll sort it out. You’ve done enough.”
He stared after her, fear rapidly obliterating the confusion from moments ago. What the hell was going on? What had her so frightened?
“I’m coming whether you like it or not,” he said, with more courage than he felt.
Three Years Earlier
Callum paced Ally’s kitchen, wrestling with his instincts. It had been two weeks since the overdose. The only way he could get any sleep at night was to move in with her, to keep an eye on her. She hadn’t even argued about it. In fact, she hadn’t said much at all. She had withdrawn into herself, blocking everyone out, including him. Every attempt they had made to reach her, to get her to open up, had so far been met with silent resistance or total apathy.
He and Tom had met with Ally’s new therapist last week, shortly after her discharge from hospital. Doctor Saunders was in her early forties, a brunette with a kind smile and a quiet way about her that they hoped Ally would respond to.
But he was getting impatient. Tom reminded him that this wasn’t going to be a quick fix – it had taken her twelve months to reach this low, she wasn’t going to just bounce back within a few weeks.
Callum glanced at his watch irritably. Oversleeping was one of the danger signs they had been warned to look out for. She usually got up around six, six-thirty. It was now after eight. He picked up the cup of coffee he had prepared for her and walked along the hall to her bedroom.
“Hey, you awake?” he called through the closed door, straining to hear sounds of movement from within.
He opened the door and peered around the corner. Like the image of Jack bending over her still form on that chilly evening a year earlier, he didn’t think he would ever forget finding Ally lying unconscious in her bed in the dark two weeks ago. A chill crawled up his spine as he tried to banish the memory.
She lay on her side, facing away from him. He pulled the curtains back and mid-morning sunshine flooded the room.
“Pills,” she croaked, voice laced with pain.
His heart leapt into his throat and he covered the distance between the window and her bed in seconds, almost dropping the coffee cup on the bedside table. She stared up at him, sweat beading her brow.
“Shit! Why didn’t you call me? Just… hang in there, I’ll be right back!”
He ran out of the bedroom and across the hall to the living room, reaching up onto the top shelf of the bookcase on his tiptoes and grabbing the bottle of painkillers. Sprinting back to her room, he skidded to a halt next to her bed. He fell to his knees, fumbling over the lid of the bottle as he elbowed her wheelchair aside.
“One or two?”
“Two.”
He tipped two pills out into his palm and grabbed the small bottle of water on the bedside table next to her, opening it and discarding the lid. She groaned quietly, her face twisting into a grimace as she reached with trembling fingers to take the pills from him, slipping them on her tongue slowly and taking a sip of water, spilling some on the pillow.
She closed her eyes and he sank back on his heels, anxious for the pain medication to take effect. He smoothed her hair away from her clammy forehead.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I thought you’d just overslept.” He took her hand and she breathed out carefully. “Can I do anything? Do you need anything else?”
She opened her eyes and he could see the pain embedded within them. “Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He squirmed into a more comfortable position on the floor beside her bed. “Just hang in there. The meds will kick in soon.”
The minutes ticked by slowly. She lay perfectly still in the quiet room, eyes closed. The grandfather clock chimed in the hall.
Finally, the pain eased enough to allow her to sit up, and he helped her, carefully lifting her legs over the side of the bed.
“Sorry,” he winced as she took a sharp intake of breath. “Maybe you should just give it a few more minutes?”
“It’s better when I’m up,” she mumbled.
He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed beside her as she held onto the mattress, breathing out through her teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We’re gonna have to rig up some kind of system so this doesn’t happen again.”
“Give me back my meds and it won’t.”
“I can’t do that, not yet.”
Her fingers dug into the mattress. “I’m not a child. I don’t need babysitting.”
Callum fought the nerves that seemed to cloak him, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “I know, and I’m sorry if it feels shitty right now, but it’s for the best. We’re just worried, that’s all.”
They sat beside each other in silence for several long moments. His heart boomed in his ears.
“I’m gonna take a shower. The warm water helps.”
He pulled her wheelchair closer to the bed. “Do you want me to help you transfer?”
“No, I can do it.”
She took hold of the chair and repositioned it, applying the brake. Slowly, she transferred her pain-wracked body into it and made her way to the bathroom.
Sighing, Callum ran a hand down his face. When were things going to get better? Just when she was starting to get things under control, this happens.
Where the hell is Jack? He should be here!
>
He gritted his teeth and stood up, heading for the kitchen to put a fresh pot of coffee on while Ally was in the shower.
When she appeared in the kitchen some time later, he had prepared a light brunch for both of them. He got the feeling that if he didn’t insist she eat, she wouldn’t bother.
“How do you feel now? Did the shower help?”
“Yeah, a bit.”
As she reached for the coffee, he noticed she still moved gingerly. She sipped her coffee in silence but didn’t touch the food.
“You should eat something to line your stomach,” he cautioned, his tone aiming for ‘concerned friend’ but overshooting the mark and landing smack in the middle of ‘overbearing parent’ instead.
She put her coffee cup down on the table in front of her and grasped it with both hands.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “About what happened that day.”
His heart stopped as her words sank in. After spending the past two weeks wishing she would open up to him, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it now. He felt like he was walking a tightrope.
“Does this have anything to do with the appointment with Pavlovic?”
Ally nodded, the façade starting to crack.
“What happened?”
She looked over at him through tear-filled eyes.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. Just tell me.”
The heartbreak written all over her face sent him into a blind panic.
“It’s not okay.”
He struggled to concentrate on what she was saying rather than the look of pure desolation in her eyes.
“He said that this was it,” she murmured. “It’s been a year, and whatever recovery I’m going to have, I’ve had it. In his words, it’s highly unlikely there will be any further nerve regeneration now. My window’s closed. This is it for me.”
He imagined he saw the last ray of hope die in her eyes, sinking without a trace. If he thought she looked hollow before, he had no comparison for how she looked now. He stood up and walked around the table, kneeling down beside her to gently pull her into his arms. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that they could trade places. If he could have taken some of the heartache away to deal with on her behalf, he would have, without question.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
Two words, woefully inadequate.
She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer, shuddering sobs wracking her body with such intensity that he winced. He searched for something to say that would ease the pain, yet at the same time knowing it was a fruitless exercise. There was nothing he could say that would ease this. He felt just as helpless as he had barely an hour ago, watching and waiting for the pain medication to take effect. Only there was no medication to take away this pain. It had seared her soul, where he couldn’t reach.
“You’re stronger than you think,” he whispered into her hair. “I promise you that.”
She shook her head, buried in his shoulder. The sobbing continued, but silently now. It was as if the pain inside was so great, it had sucked up every last breath she had. Finally, she spoke, sounding so young and devoid of hope, it squeezed his chest tight as he fought to keep it together.
“I thought if I got better, if I… then he’d come back.”
His heart shuddered to a stop and all he could do was pull her closer.
“If he left because of me, if I scared him, then maybe I could show him that it wasn’t… that I wasn’t… ”
Oh my God. This was what was going on inside her head all this time?
“Listen to me, it doesn’t matter if Jack’s here or not, you’re not alone, do you hear me?”
He smoothed her hair down, feeling completely helpless. Too late, he realised that his wish to take some of her pain away had been granted, and he felt the weight of her sorrow bearing down on him now, crushing him.
Carefully extricating himself from her, he ducked through to the living room, roughly wiping away the tears from his cheeks. Pulling out the box he had replaced in the bookcase prior to her return from the hospital, he took it back into the kitchen. He knelt down beside her as she wiped her eyes, making a valiant effort to hold back the tears.
When she recognised the box in his hand, she groaned. “I don’t want to see that.”
He ignored her, opening the box and pulling out a journal. “Remember this? I want you to look at it – all of it.” He put the journal on the table and pulled out a wad of photographs. “Do you see these? Do you remember when they were taken?”
She stared at the memory box in his hands. The journal, the photographs – all mementos of her journey to hell and back. The hospital, rehab and plenty of victories since, all wrapped up in one small box, heavy with triumph and courage. She had insisted on recording everything. For Jack, she had said, to show him how far she had come. Callum had a different take on it though. It wasn’t for Jack, it was for her. To remind her of what she was capable of, of the strength she had buried deep inside her, of the fact she could draw on it when she needed it.
“You’re capable of so much more than you think you are, you always have been.”
“It doesn’t matter now – none of it does,” she sniffed.
“Come on, you – “
“Don’t you get it?” she demanded, her voice bordering on hysterical suddenly. “It doesn’t matter anymore!”
“Of course it matters!”
“He’s not coming back!” she yelled, “And even if he did, look at me!”
She knocked the photos out of his hand and grabbed the journal off the table, hurling it across the room.
“I am looking at you!” he roared, desperate to reach her. “I just wish you could see what I see, maybe then you wouldn’t want to throw it all away so damn easily! I know what you’ve been through Ally. Who the hell do you think took all these photos? Who cares if he comes back or not? The point is you’re here and you need to understand that he is not part of the equation anymore! Fight for yourself, not for him! And if you can’t do that, fight for me – for Tom, for Maggie, for Jane, for all of us! You owe us that!”
The anger disappeared and she folded in on herself. She sobbed as though her heart was being torn out of her. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He pulled her close again, holding her tight as she gave in to the heartache, the grief and the anger. He felt it seeping out of her, her strength waning.
“We need you here, with us,” he said simply.
CHAPTER 16
“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”
- Confucius
When Jack pulled up outside Ally’s house, Maggie was already heading up the front path. Callum’s car was parked in her driveway and, as he walked up towards the house, he saw the two of them, deep in conversation on her porch. They fell silent as he got closer, and by then, he could hear the music blaring from within.
“You don’t need to be here,” Callum said, holding out his hand. “It’s just the key we need.”
“It’s a package deal,” Jack frowned. “Besides, last night, you told me to fight and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Maggie glanced nervously from Callum to Jack.
“Not here, not now,” Callum said. “You need to trust me on this. Go home.”
“Sorry,” Jack shook his head. “Can’t do it. If I’m in, I’m in – I’m not doing this half-assed.”
The muscles in Callum’s jaw twitched but he kept his mouth shut, turning his back on him and thumping on the door. “Ally! Open up or we’re coming in!”
Jack shifted his weight from one foot to another as they waited for a response.
“Have you got the key?” Callum demanded, turning back to him.
Jack dug it out of his pocket and handed it over without a word, watching as Callum unlocked the front door, his heart racing.
“Ally!” Callum called, heading left into the
bedroom as Maggie went right, into the living room.
Jack stood in the hallway for a moment, then followed the music down to the studio at the back of the house. He pushed open the door and the music instantly got louder. The room looked like a tornado had been through it. Paint, canvases and supplies littered the floor. He scanned the room, taking only a moment to spot Ally behind the door. She sat with her back to the wall, legs splayed out in front of her. Her eyes were closed and her wheelchair some distance away. She looked paler than usual, and tired. His heart sank.
Shit.
Callum pushed past him, sinking to his knees beside her and giving her a solid shake. Her eyes flew open and he shouted something at her that was lost beneath the music. Ally looked up as Maggie swooped past him, but her gaze locked onto Jack, seeing him for the first time. She didn’t have time to react before Maggie enveloped her in a brief but frantic embrace. Callum yelled at her again, the exact nature of the conversation lost in the din. Ally looked just as confused as he was.
He scanned the room again, locating the source of the music and picking his way carefully over the debris-littered floor to turn it off. The air buzzed around them in the sudden silence.
“– the hell are you playing at?” Callum demanded.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to wriggle feebly out of his grasp. “How’d you get in?”
“Are you okay?” Maggie’s tone was gentler than Callum’s.
Before she could answer, Callum grabbed her hands and forced her fingers apart, searching for something but finding nothing. Ally’s expression morphed from confusion to embarrassment to fury. She snatched her hands back, shoving him backwards in the same movement. “Get the hell off me!”
Maggie reached for her, but she pushed her hand away.
“Just calm down,” Maggie soothed, the hurt in her voice obvious. “What are you doing in here? And what’s with the mega-decibels? Don’t you answer your phone anymore?”
