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‘Gavin.’
I take my phone down from my ear and stare at the screen, wondering if the line has gone dead. But the light is on and the call is still active. I hold my phone back. I can hear heavy breathing.
‘Gavin are you there?’ I ask again.
‘She’s gone, Charlie.’
‘What?’
‘Kayla’s gone.’
FIFTY-FIVE
HEATHER
Three days later
I stand in front of the antique, free-standing mirror in the guest bedroom in Gavin’s house. A reflection I barely recognise stares back at me. I see a thin woman, with big black circles under her red puffy eyes. This woman needs to dye her roots and maybe wear some make-up. And she needs to change out of the pyjamas she’s been wearing for three days straight. This woman doesn’t belong in this room. She’s not even sure she belongs in this world anymore.
I hate this woman. I turn away so I can’t see her. I never really took the time to stop and look around the room that I’ve been sleeping in before now. Previously it was just somewhere to lay my head when I was too exhausted to go on. I’d fall into the bed late at night, sometimes without even bothering to turn on the light, or undress. And I would get up again the next morning and leave the room within a moment of waking in my rush to get to the hospital. But there is no more rushing. Time is standing still now.
The bedroom is decorated to be calm and soothing. There are cream walls, cream carpet, cream curtains with a spiral pattern in duck-eggblue. There’s a duck-egg-coloured satin throw on the end of the bed, too. It’s all very elegant and charming – very Charlotte.
There’s a gentle knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ I find myself saying. Even though what I really want to say is,Go away. Please, please go away.
The door creaks open and Gavin’s head appears followed reluctantly by the rest of him. He’s tall and handsome in his dark suit but his eyes are red and puffy like mine.
‘They’re asking if we have a photo we’d like to use in the church,’ Gavin says.
‘They’re asking?’ I echo. I know he means the funeral directors but he can’t bring himself to say it.
‘Aiden has some really lovely ones on his phone. All very recent. Maybe we could use one of those,’ Gavin suggests.
‘Yeah. Okay. Whatever,’ I say.
‘People are starting to arrive,’ Gavin says. ‘Some of your neighbours from Cork are here. They’re asking for directions to the church.’
‘Have they never heard of Google Maps,’ I snap. ‘Sorry. Sorry. I don’t mean that. People are good to come. I’ll be down soon.’
‘Do you need any help?’ Gavin looks at my favourite black pencil dress hanging on the wardrobe door. ‘I can ask Charlotte to come in.’
The knot of Gavin’s tie is slightly different to usual. Chunkier, less symmetrical. I can only imagine Charlotte had to tie it for him. If his hands are shaking even a fraction as badly as mine there’s no way he’d have managed alone.
Gavin takes a deep breath. ‘I can still feel her,’ he says, ‘around me, you know. It’s as if she’s at home in Cork with you and I’ll see her at the weekend. And then suddenly reality hits me. And…’
I don’t have words. I wonder if I should hug Gavin, but my feet seem cemented to the spot and even if I tried to walk over to him, I don’t think I could.
‘Aiden’s here too. With his parents. They arrived a few minutes ago,’ Gavin says, pulling himself together again, as if changing the subject somehow helps him.
‘Okay,’ I say, glancing at my dress hanging on the wardrobe door. I know that I have to put it on and face today but I desperately want to stay in my pyjamas and never face the world again. ‘Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’
Gavin nods and slowly closes the door and I fall to the floor, my heart in a million tiny pieces.
FIFTY-SIX
HEATHER
