Ben answers the phone as if he’s expecting a call from me. ‘Hey, Nick. How’s it all going?’
The words don’t come. Why won’t they come? I pinch the bridge of my nose, a stinging sensation building up.
‘Nick? Hello? Can you hear me? Are you there?’ There’s a pause. And then, ‘Is everything all right, mate?’
In one swift motion, I hurl my phone across the room, where it hits the glass door of a cabinet, shattering the glass like a thousand stars falling from the sky.
I drop my head into my hands and sit there, elbows on the desk, trying to fight the urge to cry. I’m struggling to hold back all these feelings – emotions – that are inside me. I don’t know where they come from.
When I look up, Paige is standing there with Mum’s arm around her shoulder, one hand cupped over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks, holding onto a small bottle of bubbles in the other.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – I just… I don’t know what came over me.’ I stand up and run a hand through my hair. The last thing I want is for Paige or Mum to see me upset. I need to be strong for them – especially for Paige.
Mum moves quickly across the room towards me. ‘You know, you two should come down for a break when you’re ready. Can you take some time off, Nick?’
‘Thanks, Bette,’ says Paige. ‘I think that would be a good idea. Maybe once the weather improves,’ she says, her eyes focused on me.
Mum tries to hug me. I raise a hand to stop her and soften my voice. ‘I’m fine, Mum, thanks,’ I say, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
Paige is still standing there, something I have never seen before shadowing her face, dimming the brightness in her usually bright green eyes. Sunlight is streaming through the window and the glass shards shimmer in the light. ‘Dad said they’re waiting downstairs for us. Are you ready to…? I mean, do you still want to…?’
‘Why don’t I duck out and get a dustpan and brush,’ Mum says, taking the opportunity to exit the room.
I reach for Paige’s hand. ‘We don’t have to say goodbye today… or like this… if we don’t want to.’
We both came up with the idea to have a bubble-blowing ceremony in the back garden in Max’s memory after the service. We thought that spending time with family afterwards would be a good idea, and together we’d be able to let go. But now, I get the sense we’re both regretting those decisions. The truth is, we have no idea how to navigate this road we don’t want to be on at all.
‘What do you want to do?’ she asks earnestly.
‘It’s up to you.’
‘No,’ she says, moving towards the broken glass. She bends down and picks up a photo frame that has fallen to the ground. It’s a photo of the two of us on a holiday in New York. We are standing under a tree in Central Park, clutching paper cups of coffee, watching the snow fall. Paige is holding her free hand out, trying to catch a snowflake. It is a photo of a girl filled with wonder and innocence. ‘I think this is one of those magical moments we won’t ever forget,’ Paige had said, smiling up at me, her teeth chattering. I’d proposed then and there, knee in the snow, with the ring I’d held onto for eight months prior to our trip.
She runs a finger over the cracked glass. ‘It’s up to us.’
I hold my palm out for her to hand me the frame. ‘Maybe if they want to, they can do the bubbles thing and we…’
‘Could just be together?’ she says, leaning into my embrace.
Half an hour later, the people we love the most – our parents, Caitlin and Mark, Hope and Paul – gather in a circle on the lawn in our back garden beside the freshly planted lemon tree. Paige and I stand together in Max’s nursery, watching our hopes and dreams and expectations float away; a stream of bubbles against a periwinkle sky that disappear moments after they appear.
Three days after the funeral, I drop Mum off at the airport and come home to Paige opening and closing cupboard doors in the kitchen. A saucepan clangs to the floor. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’
‘I can’t find the measuring cup. I think Mum put it away somewhere.’
‘You’re planning on cooking – baking – at seven thirty in the morning?’
She sticks her arm into the back crevice of the pantry and fumbles around. ‘Got it.’ She holds up the plastic measuring jug, takes it over to the tap and fills it up, noting down the volume in a notebook before pouring it into a glass.
Paige has been given strict instructions to follow a low-sodium diet while continuing to take the diuretics. It means she needs to limit her fluid intake to one and a half litres per day to ensure minimal strain on her heart. Once she finishes the diuretics, she’ll be able to up it to two litres. It’s hard to believe that not so long ago she was healthy and fit, and now she’s following instructions that are handed out to sick people. Paige shouldn’t be one of them.
She drains her meagre glass of water before lining up her pill bottles in a row. She pops the lid off a container and starts counting them out like little beads, ready to divide into a day-of-the-week pillbox.
‘I can do it for you,’ I offer.
‘Nope, no need, I’m perfectly capable of doing it.’ She continues sorting the pills.
Everyone keeps telling me I need to be there for Paige, but no matter how I try to be there for her, it doesn’t seem to be working. I make a mental note not to offer to sort out the meds again. Or the washing. I can also make myself scarce of an evening as apparently Paige doesn’t need me to babysit her on the sofa while she’s watching Netflix either.
‘What’s this?’ I muse, picking up a gift box.
She shrugs. ‘Not sure. Hope brought it round yesterday.’
‘You’re not going to open it?’
‘It can wait,’ she murmurs, not taking her eyes off the task at hand. ‘You can open it if you want.’
I tear open the package and hold it up to show her. She barely registers the 5,000-piece puzzle of a spring butterfly garden. I think it’s a great idea on Hope’s part. But I can just imagine what Paige is thinking: A puzzle is a thoughtful gift but it’s hardly going to make this better, Nick.
‘You should probably open the card yourself.’
She doesn’t respond so I change tack. We both look like hell and could benefit from a shot of caffeine. I inch towards the coffee machine. ‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Not hungry.’
‘You need to eat though.’
‘Not hungry,’ she repeats, and I know this isn’t going to end well. Paige isn’t in the mood for talking and it’s clear she doesn’t want me around.
I put my mug away, closing the cupboard door a little more forcefully than usual. I don’t mean to do this but she flicks her eyes up momentarily, her expression indifferent.
‘You know what? I’m going to go for a run.’ I hesitate for a beat because I don’t know how she’ll take what I’m about to say. ‘Drop past the hospital after that.’
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ she says. This time she doesn’t look at me. ‘Sorry, I’m counting.’