THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(7)

Yes, I knew.

“She seems trustworthy,” she said. “She’s not sure how long she’ll be here, but she’s willing to stick around as long as I need her, until I can find someone permanent, anyway. She’s working her way around the country, having a bit of an adventure before she heads off overseas.”

Jealousy reared up and stabbed me in the gut. Em and I had planned something very similar, but after she disappeared, the wanderlust had shrivelled up. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to be here, just in case. I could never leave, not now. My heart was here, my life. I didn’t think there would be anything I would ever see out there in the world that I could care that much about. The only thing I really wanted to see was Emily, safe and well and home again.

“She told me she wouldn’t mind learning to surf.”

I knew what she was suggesting, even before she said it. No way in hell. I wasn’t doing that – not with her. I couldn’t. The similarities were too much, my brain couldn’t handle it. It’d be like some kind of slow torture.

“Maybe you could teach her? It must be lonely for her, not knowing anyone here. You guys are about the same age.” She paused, raising an eyebrow at me. “Don’t give me that look, love.”

“What look?” I sputtered.

“She’s a nice girl, and she doesn’t know anyone here. I’m sure she could use a friend – that’s all I meant, honestly.”

That big heart of hers had gotten me into trouble before, but this was beyond compare. Didn’t she realise what she was asking me to do? I was going to be lucky to even string two words together in front of this girl.

“Just think about it, okay?”

That was generous, making me think I had a choice. At least my manhood was intact. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Listen, about tomorrow. With the party tomorrow night, we’re all going to be busy. I was thinking we could go out to Whale Bay at sunrise instead of sunset, for Em’s birthday memorial. Is that okay with you?”

I nodded blankly. Em’s birthday memorial. She should be here. If she was, we wouldn’t need a memorial. We’d be having a party instead. Maybe even a joint party with Vinnie, like we used to.

“I just think it’d be better that way,” she shrugged, smiling half-heartedly. “It’s a special birthday for him, even more-so than usual. By the time his next birthday comes around, he’ll be a father.”

Yes, he would – an official one this time. No more of this surrogate shit. I could see him with a baby so clearly, I had to remind myself that Jas hadn’t yet given birth.

Bridget was right, as usual. He deserved a birthday party that was devoid of any of the usual drama, my own included.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“Thanks, love. And I’ve asked Maia if she can give us a hand setting things up tomorrow night, too. Jasmine’s taking on far too much at this stage of her pregnancy. All she needs to do is point at what she wants us to do, and we’ll do it. She needs to put her feet up before the party. All this standing around isn’t good for her.”

I could imagine what Jas would say about that. A chorus of ‘I’m not ill, I’m just pregnant’ and ‘I’m fine, don’t worry!.’ But I’d let the two of them duke that one out, I was staying well clear.

Just then, Maia walked out of the kitchen, eyes on the clipboard in her hand.

“Over here, love,” Bridget called out.

She looked up and our eyes locked. I swear I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My first instinct was to bolt, but my feet were glued to the floor. That face, those eyes, that familiar buzzing through my veins. She wasn’t Emily, but she reminded me so much of her, I had trouble remembering my own name, much less hers.

The seconds seemed to drag. I didn’t know if it was my imagination or not, but she seemed to have a similar reaction. She just stood there, clipboard in hand, staring at me. It was unnerving. I felt like the room was tilting, like everything was spinning out of control. Again.

She recovered faster than I did. She smiled, thinly, but it was more of an effort than I was capable of making at that exact moment.

“Sorry to interrupt, I thought you said the café was closed,” she said.

Her voice had a familiar edge to it, yet at the same time, it was vaguely distant. As if heard through a tin can, at the other end of a piece of string.