by Amanda Dick
“Hey.”
She looked up, and there was a vulnerability in her expression that he had not seen for a very long time. The façade that she usually wore – the bravado, the confidence – had been stripped away. He was partly responsible for that and the realisation sat like a heavy weight on his heart.
“We need to talk,” he said gently.
Reluctantly, she nodded. He made his way over to the armchair opposite her, perching on its edge. She seemed smaller somehow, and so much older than her years. A stranger would have taken one look at her and identified that she was hurting, and he was hardly a stranger.
“I’m not sure where to start,” he said, clasping his hands tightly together and squeezing.
“What happened that night? All of it this time. I want to know everything.”
Memories overwhelmed him, crawling over him and pulling him under again. He could almost feel the chill in the air as it was on that night, bringing with it the sense of panic and fear.
“After the car ended up against the tree, Jack and I climbed out,” he began uncertainly. “You were still unconscious and hanging in your seat and we thought you’d be safer there for the moment. I went to try and find the car that hit us, thinking that maybe they could give us a hand. Jack stayed with you. When I got back, he was sitting on the grass and you were lying on top of him,” he said quietly, a shudder of recognition running through him. “There was a really strong smell of gas in the air and he said he thought the car was gonna go up with you inside it, so he had to get you out of there. That’s it.”
It felt weird, talking about her like this. It was as if she were two different people. One Ally was hanging unconscious in the car, the other one was sitting right in front of him, staring at him with hollow eyes and zero recognition.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of that before?”
“Because I thought you had enough to deal with. It didn’t make sense to lay any of this on you then.”
“You could’ve told me later – you should’ve told me later.”
“It didn’t feel like it was the right thing to do then. I was wrong, and I know that now. I’m sorry.”
Devastation shone out of her.
“What would you have done, if I’d told you this back then?” he tried, throwing a safety rope, trying to ease himself back to her, to close this yawning chasm of distrust that had opened up between them.
Instead, she threw the rope back at him, shrugging half-heartedly. “I don’t know, but at least I would have known the truth.”
She was right. His high-handed attitude of ‘it’s not my place to tell her’ now seemed self-serving at best.
“He thinks it was his fault,” she said flatly. “That’s why he left.”
He nodded, feeling sick to his stomach.
“And you knew this.”
Reason flew out the window. He wished he could have known then the pain he would cause her now, by not telling her. He would have sucked it up and told her the truth then, and maybe she would be stronger for it.
“By the time I realised he wasn’t coming back, it was too late – too much time had passed. I thought that telling you then would just make things worse.”
She hung her head and he was grateful for the reprieve, as cowardly as he knew that was.
“You should be talking to Jack about this, not me. He was there with you the whole time.”
She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to say to him.”
“He was in an impossible situation. He had a split second to make a decision and he made the best one he could. I would’ve done exactly the same thing, and so would you have, if the situation had been reversed.”
His words hung in the air between them and he waited anxiously, his hand flexing nervously around his closed fist.
“I don’t blame him,” she murmured finally, looking up. “But it doesn’t seem to matter either way because he blames himself – he said so that day at the hospital.”
“It’s tearing him apart.”
“I know, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”
Her gaze settled somewhere between the two of them, seeing things he couldn’t.
“You could talk to him, tell him that?”
“What if it doesn’t make any difference? What if he can’t let it go?” She fixed him with a heartbreaking stare. “I can’t lose him again, but if he can’t let it go, I can’t be around him. I don’t want to be like some kind of trigger for this stuff he carries around inside of him.”
Callum stood up and walked over to sit beside her on the couch. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “You need to talk to him.”
Jack stood on the lawn in the rain, staring at his Dad’s house. His hair stuck to his head and his clothes were soon soaked through, but still he couldn’t bring himself to go inside. Callum had told him that the place needed some tidying up after Jimmy had trashed it and he couldn’t face that, not yet. Just another reminder of how he had failed him.
Instead, he got in his car and drove over to Ally’s. He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but he had to see her. Even if she yelled and screamed at him, it was better than this silence.
But when he pulled up outside her house, her driveway was empty. It felt as if his lungs were collapsing. The message she was sending was pretty damn clear. He had pushed her too far. There were no more second chances. He’d had his one shot to get this right, and he blew it.
With no idea what to do or where to go or how to fix anything, he headed for the one place he hoped he could find some peace.
He pulled up outside the cemetery gates and cut the engine. In the sudden silence, the rain drummed a steady beat against the roof of the car. He looked around him. On a day as wet and grey as this one, he hadn’t expected there to be anyone else here but him. But misery loves company, and there were three other cars parked outside the gate. Looking closer, he saw that one of them was Ally’s.
What was she doing here? Was she looking for the same thing he was?
He got out of the car and started up the central walkway, trudging through the steady stream of water running down the concrete path. The weather suited his mood, easing the near-constant ache in his head from the concussion, although the ache in his heart seemed to grow. With each step, new anxieties and self-doubts flooded through him. He had no idea if Ally was visiting his father’s graveside, but it seemed like a good bet. What reception would he get if she was? He almost turned back to the car and waited for her there, but something spurred him on.
When he finally saw her, he stopped. She was standing in front of his father’s grave, head bowed low, soaked to the skin. An involuntary shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the weather. He stood there, glued to the path, watching her from a distance. Water dripped from his eyelashes and he blinked, running a quick hand over his eyes to clear them. She didn’t move for the longest time. He felt like he was imposing. Maybe she wanted to be alone?
A million thoughts rattled through him. Most of them didn’t even have words attached to them, just fleeting emotions, racing through his subconscious, leaving emptiness in their wake.
Grief. Love. Guilt. Shame. An all-encompassing desire to turn back the clock.
He didn’t even realise he had started walking again until she looked up and their eyes met. The rain made it impossible to tell for sure, but he thought she was crying. She slipped an arm out of one of her crutches and smoothed her wet hair back from her face.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, willing his voice not to break. “Just in case you think I’m following you or something.”
She slid her arm back into her crutch and shrugged helplessly. “I just wanted to… I don’t know. I think I just really needed to talk to him.”
Her eyes were red-rimmed and dark. He tore his gaze away from her to stare at his father’s grave. It was still covered in flowers, some of them now dying, some obviously fresh and new. He still had tr
ouble relating this mound of earth to his father. He half expected him to come up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Callum told me what happened, the night of the accident. That’s why you left, isn’t it?”
It hurt to hear her say it, much more than he thought it would. She knew. He should feel relieved, some sense of having done the thing he set out to do should have flooded through him. Instead, he felt as if he stood on the edge of a very high cliff, waiting for her to push him over. In answer to her question, all he could do was nod.
“He said the car was leaking gas.”
He nodded again, his head pounding. She moved so she was facing him, and there was no escape from her penetrating gaze. She stood up straighter, tilting her chin in defiance. Where she found the strength to do that, he didn’t know. It was all he could do to remain upright when his entire body wanted to curl into a ball, his back to the world. Rain trickled down her face, softening her expression, but her eyes shone out at him like beacons in the dark.
“I know I’ve said this before, but I want you to really hear me this time. It wasn’t your fault. There’s no blame here, Jack. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She was willing him to believe, he could feel it. He desperately wanted to, but letting go of the guilt was like closing his eyes and jumping into the abyss.
“I can’t fix this for you, just like you can’t fix what happened to me. You don’t need me to forgive you, you need to forgive yourself,” she said, her eyes now an intense blue, piercing his soul. “When you came back, you told me you’d do anything to make it up to me, remember? You promised me you’d do whatever it takes. Well, this is what it takes – this is what I need from you. I need you to let go of everything that happened that night. I need you to stay, but not with that hanging over us.”
The pain was excruciating. He felt as if he were being pulled in two different directions, physically split down the middle. Guilt over what he did that night was such a big part of who he thought he was – without it he was lost. Taking the guilt out of the equation, what was left?
“Please,” Ally begged, her chin quivering. The strength he had seen in her just moments before seemed to melt away. “I need you.”
And then it was blindingly clear. He was here to make a difference. He came back because he needed to clear his conscience, make up for what he had done. He had promised her he would, he had promised his father he would. It was time to let go of the words and let his actions speak for themselves.
“I’ll do anything for you,” he whispered.
And he meant it.
CHAPTER 25
“No man is an island.”
- John Donne
Jack unlocked the side door to his father’s garage and reached around the corner for the light switch. As bright, white light bathed the interior, he breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike the house, the garage was untouched. Flashes of that night rushed in on him.
Jimmy throwing him across the room. A boot in the ribs. Smashing glass. Splintering wood.
If he was going to repair what was broken, he needed tools and cleaning equipment, which was why he was out here. Looking around now, it felt like an oasis – calm, quiet, tidy.
He ran his hand over his father’s car, the paint job smooth and cool beneath his fingers. Tools were neatly lined up and hanging from the pegboard behind the workbench. Labeled cardboard boxes stood stacked up against the far wall.
A shape, covered in a pale sheet, at the far end of the garage caught his eye. His heart stopped.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
Even though his mind told him it was impossible, he found himself gravitating towards it just to be sure. He reached out and pulled the sheet away, doubling it back over itself to reveal the gleaming black body of his Ducati motorcycle. He backed away from it slowly, as if it were some kind of hologram that might disappear if he blinked.
“Jack?”
Callum’s voice in the doorway startled him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bike.
“I… I don’t understand,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“What?”
“Did you know about this?”
“Know about what?”
He dragged himself away from the bike and turned to Callum. Where to begin?
He cleared his throat. “I needed money, a couple of years back, and I asked him to sell it for me – he said he did. He sold it, sent me the money.”
Callum’s gaze flew from Jack to the bike and back again. “Then what the hell is it still doing here?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” Jack ran a hand through his hair, frowning at the bike. “I don’t understand, why did he say he sold it if he didn’t?”
Callum left the doorway and leant against the car, folding his arms. “Maybe he wanted you to have the bike and the money?”
That sounded like his father, alright. He leant back against the car beside Callum, deflated.
“You two spent a lot of time on that bike. Maybe he just wanted to make sure it would be waiting for you when you came home?”
The hollow ache in Jack’s chest intensified.
“He never gave up on you.”
Jack stared at the bike, sleek black body gleaming under the bright white light. The plan had been for him and Ally to take a cross-country trip, opening their eyes to the world outside of this town. The irony of it.
Be careful what you wish for.
“I’ll sell it.”
“Like hell!”
“I’ll sell it and pay you back for the loan.”
“Think again, dude,” Callum grunted. “Tom obviously wanted you to have it. He knew you loved it, that’s why he kept it. You can’t just get rid of it, that’s like insulting his memory.”
Jack’s heart seized, and he shook his head. “The trip across country – that was our dream, mine and hers.”
“So find another dream.”
He made a good point. Standing up straight, he walked over to the bike and pulled the sheet the rest of the way off, dropping it onto the garage floor. He ran his hand over the glossy paint.
It was like a beacon – a message from beyond the grave. His father hadn’t given up on him. Somehow he knew that one day, he would do the right thing.
Barney’s was busy. All the pool tables were taken and music blared out of the jukebox, even though it was barely five o’clock. Jack watched absentmindedly as Harry took order after order, the bar humming with the promise of the night ahead.
By contrast, their corner table was sombre, removed from the surrounding melee. A black cloud hung over them, heavy with grief. The lack of animated conversation and hijinks set them apart from the other tables.
There was a bottle of whisky in the centre of the table, a full glass beside it.
“For Tom,” Callum had said solemnly, setting the bottle down next to it.
Maggie had arranged for the beautiful wreath that they had lain on his father’s grave barely an hour earlier. They had all insisted that he have the honour of placing it himself, and it had taken all he had in him to do so. It felt final, like he had closed a chapter in his life. The disconcerting part was that he didn’t feel ready to say goodbye just yet. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.
Before long, one by one, they began to make their way home. Maggie left first, her eyes still red-rimmed as she hugged them all goodbye. Jane followed not long after. Jack squirmed in his chair, his ribs still tender as he tried to get comfortable. He glanced over at Ally. She gave him a half-hearted smile that he saw right through.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said over the music, indicating the door.
She nodded, reaching for her crutches as he stood up. He stretched, easing his cramped body, then put his hand on Callum’s shoulder, leaning down again. “You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”
Callum shook his head. “Think I’m gonna stay a while.”
Jack could barely hear him over the music, but his
expression was clear enough. Callum pushed his chair back and stood up to gather Ally into a warm embrace. As he turned, Jack offered his hand and, after a moment, Callum took it.
“Thank you,” Jack mouthed, not bothering to shout this time.
Callum pulled him into a brief hug, which both surprised and overwhelmed him. As they drew apart, Callum grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close again. “Love her right this time,” he said, just loud enough for Jack to hear.
Surprised, Jack could only nod. The words played on his mind as he took Ally home.
Jack had been quiet ever since they left Barney’s. Ally could relate – she was exhausted too, both mentally and physically. Her shoulders ached after the lengthy walk up to Tom’s grave from the cemetery gate, but the ache in her heart was worse. She could only imagine how he was feeling.
She had not been looking forward to today. With everything that had been going on since Tom’s death, there had been little time to grieve for him. Now, she felt that need welling up inside of her, demanding to be set free.
She tried to concentrate on the coffee she was supposed to be making, but the kitchen counter blurred in front of her.
“Hey,” Jack said gently, walking over to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s okay.”
She sniffed back more tears, nodding, although not brave enough to try and speak. He seemed to understand, and she wasn’t surprised when he rested his chin on the top of her head, pulling her closer. She should be comforting him, not the other way around, yet she had the feeling he was seeking comfort as much as he was giving it. She closed her eyes and leaned back into his chest as the tears slipped down her cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into her ear.
She had no idea how long they stood there like that. After a while, she realised she wasn’t the only one crying. Jack’s chest heaved behind her as the sorrow seeped out of him, finally allowed release. She felt herself giving in to it, too, feeling safer somehow, with Jack behind her.
