Absolution (18 page)

She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Going to bed had seemed a fruitless exercise, so she hadn’t, choosing to paint instead. She had stopped answering the phone. All that mattered was getting this out of her head and onto canvas before it drove her mad.

Staring at the canvas now, she realised she had nothing left. She wasn’t angry anymore, she wasn’t even depressed – she was just hollow. For the first time since the accident, there was nothing. Nothing to fight for, nothing to aim for, nothing to cling to. Just a big, black hole of nothing that was consuming her, piece by piece.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there. She glanced up towards the window and saw the soft light of a new day filtering into the room.

Another sunrise.

She felt similar to the way she had when she woke up in the hospital, after the accident – detached, not fully aware, reality constantly slipping through her fingers.

The past twelve months seemed to have passed in a blur, yet the rest of her life stretched out in front of her, a yawning chasm of uncertainty. She glanced down at her legs, crossed at the ankles and pulled in close on the floor in front of her. She hardly recognised them anymore. The muscles had atrophied, just like she had been warned they would, despite the regular range-of-motion exercises Callum put her body through and the massage and stretches she performed on a daily basis.

Her conscience pricked slightly at the thought of Callum. The one thing she knew with absolute certainty was that she could never have gotten to this point without him. But it wasn’t enough.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

On the brink of exhaustion, her mind wandered. She thought about Jack. She didn’t talk about him anymore because it just seemed to upset everyone, but she hadn’t been able to banish him from her mind. He remained there, perched on the edge of her consciousness, messing with her peace of mind. The unanswered questions taunted her as much as the random pain in her back and the frequent nightmares.

A phone rang somewhere inside the house. She didn’t even flinch when she heard it this time. It had rung several times yesterday – or was it this morning? She heard her own voice on the answer-phone message, followed by Tom’s. She picked up on the worry in his voice, even if she couldn’t quite make out the words. She didn’t let the guilt seep any further than skin deep, however. She couldn’t afford to.

She looked around for the wheelchair she had abandoned at some stage during the night. In a desperate frenzy, driven to the point of madness as she had tried to exorcise the demons in her head, she had climbed down onto the floor, dragging the canvas with her so she could access it more easily.

That was the thing about her wheelchair: it got in the way. It was as if no one saw her anymore. It didn’t matter what clothes she wore, what she did with her hair, whether or not she wore make-up – they didn’t see any of that. She had ceased to exist. Sometime over the past year, her old self had quietly slipped away, leaving behind a shell, and an incomplete one at that.

She had fallen through the stages of grief the same way you fell in a dream. Slowly, desperately clawing at your surroundings as you tried to stop the descent. First came the denial, then the anger, the bargaining and the depression. When everything else had gone – when the acceptance should have come, but didn’t – the hope was all that remained. And now that had gone, too.

Overwhelmed by a sense of finality that numbed her emotions, she balanced with one palm flat against the floor, reaching over for her chair with the other. Dragging it closer to her, the wheels squeaked gently against the floorboards. She transferred up into the chair and sat there, watching her bare feet resting on the floor.

She thought about what she was about to do. Her stomach contracted, as if her body was trying to protect itself somehow, one last-ditch attempt to change her mind. Sweeping the guilt aside, she lifted her legs up and nestled her feet into the footrest.

Screw everyone else – this was her wish. It was her life, after all. She was tired of putting on a brave face, tired of being conscious of everyone else’s feelings – tired of putting them before her own. She had been selfless for long enough. Now it was her turn.

She released the brake, glancing down at the canvas. She stared at it, the hollow black eyes staring back at her. For the first time, she saw it for what it was.

A reflection of her soul.

As they reminisced, Jack felt as if she had reopened the book of his life and only good memories came pouring out, washing away the pain, if only temporarily. He felt whole again.

These past few years, because everything seemed to hurt so much, he had shut out memories like these, only allowing himself to wallow occasionally, the pain of what he had lost too great. Now, buffeted by Ally’s smiling face across the table from him, he felt as if a little piece of him had been regained. A sense of fullness and warmth enveloped him as he pushed all the negative, self-loathing thoughts aside and concentrated on living in the moment.

He excused himself to get another round and she handed her empty bottle to him, their fingertips touching. Goosebumps crawled up his arm and he smiled down at her. She smiled back shyly and he almost floated to the bar.

Leaning against it, he pushed the empties across and waited his turn. This time, he didn’t really care that at least half a dozen pairs of eyes were trained on him. Dave was nowhere to be seen. Curious stares didn’t even register. He glanced over towards Ally, but her attention was focused on something across the room. His inner smile faded when he realised she was watching the dance-floor. Several couples and a few large groups were dancing, along with one guy who looked like he had already had more than his fair share tonight.

“Same again?” Harry asked.

Jack nodded and turned back to the bar. He watched Harry dispose of the empty bottles and grab another two beers. Money changed hands.

“Thanks,” Jack said, taking the bottles as Harry moved further down the bar to serve other patrons.

Ally was still enthralled by the dance-floor. He stood at the bar, watching her. What must it be like for her, knowing she couldn’t get up there with them? He remembered a time when she used to kick her shoes off and climb up on the table with Maggie and Jane, the three of them shaking their booties till someone dragged them down again. He remembered being that someone on more than one occasion, throwing her over his shoulder amid much laughter. The sadness, the intense longing he saw even from this distance, shredded his insides. Slowly, he made his way back to her through the crowd.

She glanced up as he put the bottles down on the table between them and slid into the booth.

“You looked miles away, just then,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Did I?”

She smiled, but he could tell she wasn’t really there. He felt as if he had interrupted something. He turned his attention back to the dance-floor, mostly to give her some time to compose herself. The drunken guy he had spotted earlier threw himself into a group of revelers before being promptly shoved aside. He lost his balance and careened into a table, sending the occupants scattering.

He smiled in spite of himself and turned back to Ally. “I think someone’s night is about to come to an abrupt end.”

She nodded, the tight smile still in place.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, fully aware of the tightrope he was walking.

She didn’t answer immediately, taking a slow sip from the bottle in front of her. “Yeah, I’m fine. There are just times when I… ”

She glanced towards the dance-floor, frowning as if she was making a decision that might change the course of history. He waited patiently, but it became clear she wasn’t going to continue.

“Do you miss it?”

Idiot!

Why couldn’t he manage the simple task of keeping his foot out of his mouth?

“I miss a lot of things.”

The answer may have been casual, but the look in her eyes was the complete opposite. He kicked himself mentally again. He didn’t know if she meant for him to see that pain, but he had. Now he felt like an intruder, a voyeur. Worse still, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen it. 

“No one’s ever come straight out and asked me that before.”

“Probably because it’s a stupid question. I’m sorry, I didn’t – “

“Don’t ruin the moment by apologising,” she said, and he had to lean closer to hear her over the music. “It’s kind of refreshing, to be honest. No dancing around the subject – excuse the pun. But we don’t have to do this now, I’m pretty sure it’d spoil the mood. Let’s just talk about something else, okay?”

He sat back in the booth and nodded, curious but not willing to push it. If she wasn’t ready to discuss it yet, he could wait. He racked his brains for another topic instead. Something safer, this time.

“Okay. Well, why don’t you tell me about this exhibition of yours?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Dad’s got a couple of newspaper articles on his fridge.”

“That’s right, I’d forgotten about that. He was so great about it, really supportive.”

“It sounds like it’s kind of a big deal, according to the newspaper anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

He watched her carefully from across the table, the chasm between them feeling smaller the more they talked. The music still made conversation challenging and the bar was still crowded, yet it seemed like they were the only two people in the room. She picked up her beer and drank slowly, avoiding eye contact. 

“I’m happy for you. You deserve this,” he said.

“You think so?”

“Don’t you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel like a fraud. I keep thinking I’m going to get found out.”

“What do you mean?” 

She wouldn’t answer him – or couldn’t. She picked at the label on the bottle instead, before taking another long drink.

“Do you ever feel like you’re stuck in someone else’s life?” she asked finally, setting the bottle down again and looking over at him. “Like this isn’t where you’re meant to be, or who you’re meant to be… or whatever? Like you got lost somehow and you just ended up here and it doesn’t matter how hard you try to be somewhere else – to be someone else – you can’t seem to escape?”

Her eyes pierced his soul, intent on uncovering his deepest, darkest secrets. He found himself unable to look away.

She shook her head then, smiling thinly. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Just ignore me.”

He debated whether or not to answer her or let it lie. He decided on the former. “No, I get it. I feel that way too sometimes.”

“You do? What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d be able to enlighten me.”

She smiled. “You’re asking me for insight?”

“You’re the artist – I thought it might be a question of perspective or something.”

“Sounds like a cop-out to me,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Anyway, something tells me I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.”

“Speaking of which,” he indicated her bottle. “Drink up. You’re lagging.” 

“You trying to get me drunk?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“Maybe,” she grinned. “But the joke’s gonna be on you when you have to carry me out of here.”

He winked. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

Her grin widened as she shook her head, scanning the room. “I’d forgotten how busy it gets in here on Fridays.”

“I was meaning to ask you about that. No more Friday night debriefs?”

“We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Really?”

The Friday night debrief was a long-standing ritual. They would all meet here after work on Friday and generally stayed until closing. It was a gateway into the weekend – say goodbye to the pain of the working week and usher in the weekend with a lot of laughs and a few beers.

“I think that was my fault,” Ally said, the smile gone now. “I told them they could come without me, I didn’t need to be there, and I didn’t mind. But they wouldn’t.”

“Because of how busy it is here?” he asked, reading between the lines.

She shrugged, as if it was a foregone conclusion.