THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(77)

I nodded, blinking back more tears. Bridget. Yes, Bridget needed me. I needed to get over there. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there, but she needed me.

Maia handed me my clothes again and I took them this time.

We drove over to Henry’s in Alex’s car, which was a Godsend. I didn’t think I was capable of driving. I was barely capable of breathing. I spent the whole time holding Maia’s hand in the back seat, while Alex kept checking us out in the mirror. The silence in the car was thick and heavy. I felt like I was getting dumped by wave after wave, barely able to take a breath in between times.

When we got to Henry’s, Bridget’s car was parked outside. I didn’t want to go in there. I tried to think of a logical excuse as to why I couldn’t, but nothing would come. The truth of it was, I just didn’t want to see Henry like that, and I didn’t know if I could stand to see Bridget in pain again.

None of this was fair. We’d just been here a handful of hours ago and he seemed fine. How the hell could any of this be happening?

Maia draped her arm around my waist and practically led me up the driveway. We lingered behind Alex, like some sort of advance funeral procession. When Alex opened the front door, I expected to hear sobbing, or wailing – something. But there was nothing. It was eerie.

I followed Alex up the hallway and into the living room. That’s when my legs forgot what to do. I sagged against the doorframe, Maia’s arm still around my waist. The room was still shrouded in darkness, the curtains still drawn. It took my eyes a few seconds to focus.

I tried not to see him, but I couldn’t help it. He was sitting in his armchair, like he was taking a nap. He had his old brown chequered woollen rug over his legs, his brown leather slippers peeking out from beneath it. His mouth hung open, as if he was in mid-snore. At first glance, he actually looked peaceful.

Bridget was sitting on the floor next to him, holding his hand. I don’t think she saw us. She had her back to us, and I wondered if she’d even heard us come in.

“Mum,” Alex said gently, putting his hand on her shoulder and sitting down beside her on the floor. “Heath’s here.”

My heart was pounding. The room felt empty. Henry was gone and Bridget was a shell. I felt the weight of responsibility bearing down on me, as I’d never felt it before. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help.

I forced myself to cross the room, and I knelt down in front of Henry’s chair. I made myself look up at him, although I didn’t want to. I didn’t want this to be the last memory I had of him. He deserved more than that. I wanted to scrub the picture out of my mind, but even at that moment, I knew it would be a long time before I’d be able to do that.

Up close like this, he looked old. Unlike in life, he looked his age. He was so still. The only time I’d known him to be this still was when he was giving me a piece of his mind. Then he would be very still, his blue eyes piercing mine. But his eyes were closed now, and he wasn’t talking. He wasn’t breathing.

I missed him already.

“He’s cold,” Bridget murmured, staring at his hand in hers. “I put a blanket on him, to try and keep him warm, but I don’t think it’s helping.”

My throat closed up so I could barely breathe. I nodded, quickly swiping away tears. I needed to stay strong for her.

I glanced over at Alex. He looked completely lost. Gone was the cocky demeanour and the general sulkiness. He looked miserable, but it was a different kind of misery. He looked back at me hopefully, like he expected me to say something that would fix this. If only I could.

I reached over to place my hand on top of Bridget’s. I could feel her trembling. She stopped stroking Henry’s hand and looked at me, but I wished she hadn’t.

Her expression was hollow, as if she was just an empty vessel. The light in her eyes was gone. She looked just like she had after Em disappeared, and the comparison made my insides shrivel up. Her eyes were dry, as if shedding tears was a pointless exercise. As if the grief was a part of her now, and she didn’t want to let go of it. That scared me. Like me, Bridget was the logical one of the family, the one endowed with the sensible gene. She was also the old soul who had it all figured out, the one who could find comfort where there was none.

But not now, not today. Today, she was broken. Today, she was suffering. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Memories came flooding back to me, lodging themselves in my heart like tiny splinters.

I missed my Dad every day, even now, all these years later. I was just a kid when he died, I didn’t even know him, not properly, not like a grown man came to know and appreciate the person inhabiting his father’s body.