THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(21)

My heart fell, lodging on top of my shiny black leather loafers.

I wanted to do it, for Bridget, but there was no way. I could barely think straight when I was around Maia. She’d pick up on it, and I’d feel like an idiot.

“I completely understand if it’s an imposition,” Maia said quickly. “I mean, I’m a total beginner, and you’ve obviously been doing it a while – I get it, really I do, and it’s perfectly okay.”

Another difference between her and Em. Em had been a great surfer.

“It’s not an imposition at all, is it Heath?” Bridget insisted.

God almighty. I hated to disappoint her. I owed her. She was a good person, who wanted to help someone. I should want to help. I was a good person too, wasn’t I?

I took a quick sip of beer as I tried to gather my thoughts, but when I looked up, it was directly into Maia’s eyes.

They were so like Emily’s, and right now, they were full of hope.

I had the fleeting thought that maybe that’s what was making this such an impossible situation for me. Hope was something I had found was in short supply these days. It was intoxicating, seeing it up close like that. It made me want to say yes, if only to keep it close, but still I couldn’t quite manage it.

“Heath?” Bridget prodded gently, squeezing my arm.

The walls were closing in on me.

“I think I need some air,” I mumbled, forcing a smile. “I’ll be back in a minute. Sorry.”

I turned my back on them and made my way through the kitchen until I was pushing open the back door. The warm air tumbled over me and I sucked in a deep breath. For the first time that night, I gave some serious thought to ditching my promise to Vinnie and Jas, and just getting the hell out of there.





I SANK INTO ONE of the chairs set up beside a table in the delivery lane that ran along the back of the café. Bridget used this as a break table, somewhere to take five from the chaos when she could. Right now, it was just the sanctuary I needed.


The wall behind me had been painted with a colourful mural years ago, but now it was covered in graffiti. The lane was tar-sealed but full of pot-holes and loose gravel, and the fence opposite guarded the back section of the shop next door. Weeds poked up between the fence posts, the only greenery out here. It was dusty and close, and the breeze was warm, not cool.

I felt like I’d been transposed onto this landscape, into this scene. Layered over the top of the grime and the dust, completely out of place in my pristine black suit, white shirt and shiny, black, life-sucking shoes. I didn’t belong here. I was a loner once again, standing out in a sea of t-shirts, shorts, superhero masks and ballet costumes.

I felt like Spiderman in a room full of Batmen.

I needed to get rid of these damn shoes. I couldn’t breathe with them on. I toed them off, ripping my black socks off and shoving them inside. My jacket quickly followed, and I threw it over the back of the chair. I undid the top button of my shirt and loosened my black tie. Finally able to wiggle my toes, I tried to relax.

I was blowing this all out of proportion. She was just a girl. A girl who happened to bear a striking physical resemblance to Em. That explained the so-called ‘connection’ I felt to her. It was purely physical, that was all. Unnerving, yes. But understandable, given the circumstances.

I felt like a lawyer, giving an opening argument to a jury of my peers. Who exactly did I think was going to judge me?

I was twenty-eight, for God’s sake – hardly over the hill. Yet if I carried on like this, I’d be alone for the rest of my days. I’d be lying if I said that spending the next fifty or sixty years or more by myself wasn’t depressing the hell out of me. Yet ‘moving on’ had a hollow ring to it, too. Wasn’t moving on synonymous with giving up? To use one of Vinnie’s favourite expressions, I was all over the place like a madwoman shitting.

Suddenly aware that I was no longer alone, I glanced up to find Maia standing in the doorway.

For a moment – a nano-second, really – I felt that same gravitational pull I’d felt when I’d first met her. It put me on the back foot, just like it did yesterday, and I’m sure it was written all over my face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing away. “I didn’t mean to… I’ll leave you to it.”

But for reasons unknown, and despite everything I thought I wanted, I found myself unwilling to let her go.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly, loosening my tie further, my heart pounding. “I just needed some fresh air – this suit is baking me alive. Bloody costume party. He’s thirty, not thirteen.”