Ally stared at her vacantly, then her gaze fell to the box, as if she had forgotten it was even there. She reached in and pulled out a photograph, staring at it for a moment before handing it over.
Maggie took it from her, recognising it immediately. It was a photograph of them – Ally, Jack, Callum and herself – taken at a party a couple of years before the accident. They had their arms around each other, grinning at the camera. They looked so innocent – so much younger, blind to what the universe had in store for them in just a few short years. It was like staring into the faces of strangers.
With a quiet determination, Maggie reached over to put the photograph back in the box on Ally’s lap, closing the lid and lifting it gently from her.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered.
The anxious expression on Ally’s face told her that she didn’t believe it either.
Jack sat outside Ally’s house, trying to muster up the courage to get out of the car. He had to do this today, before he lost his nerve. Life was too short – his father’s death had brutally illustrated that fact. He could get hit by a bus tomorrow and she would never know how sorry he was. Steeling himself, he closed his eyes for a moment and focused on her face.
She was laughing, those beguiling blue-green eyes twinkling, her long dark hair falling over her shoulder as she tossed her head back.
She was standing in front of a partially painted canvas, deep in concentration, humming to herself while she worked.
She was clinging to him on the back of his motorcycle, giggling as the wind whipped her hair around her face.
She was lying on the side of the road in the dark as the paramedics worked on her, pale and broken, deathly still.
His eyes shot open. Even with all their history – all the years they spent together, calculating out to literally thousands of happy moments – whenever he thought of her, that was the image that always came to mind eventually. He gritted his teeth. It was guilt that repeatedly brought him back to that wet roadside. Guilt and shame.
He got out of the car and started walking up the familiar path to her front door. He climbed the steps slowly, distracted by the new addition off to one side. A wooden ramp led from the path to the porch, dog-legged in the middle, and he stood rooted to the spot, staring at it. He had expected this, so why did it come as such a shock to see it? The answer came back immediately; because it was real. It was tangible, solid – not a fantasy, not in his head, but reality.
He drew himself up to his full height – six feet and one inch of pure fear and remorse. His heart began to beat so fast he felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his ribcage, one hammer blow at a time. He hesitated for a moment before finally pressing the doorbell, wincing as the sound reverberated through the house.
What am I doing here? What if I make it worse?
His father’s voice echoed in his head, as clear as if he were standing right next to him.
“It wasn’t your fault, son. You need to come home. Just talk to her – explain. It’s going to be alright.”
He was under no illusions. Coming back here wasn’t enough. He had thought about her every day, and about what he had done, about how he could fix it, make it up to her – to all of them. But he always came up empty. There was no fixing this, not all of it at least.
Yet he was here now, standing at her door, petrified, but ready to ask for forgiveness. He had come this far – a lot further than he ever dreamed he could. He tried to breathe normally, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop them from shaking.
It took every ounce of strength he had inside of him to stand there, on her doorstep, and wait. It seemed to take an eternity before the door finally opened and when it did, the suddenness of it rendered him speechless.
Maggie stared back at him. “You’re here.”
Her hair was longer and blonder, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Still speechless, he nodded.
“I’m sorry, about your Dad.”
All he could do was nod again.
“I can’t believe you actually came.”
“I had to.”
His mouth was dry, although his hands felt clammy. He clenched them into fists inside the pockets of his jeans.
“Took you four years, but you got here eventually.”
Jack winced, willing himself to remember why he was there. His entire body was tense, as if barricading itself against a physical onslaught.
“Is she here?” he glanced past her, down the empty hallway.
“Yes. But she doesn’t want to see you.”
His heart sank.
“I can understand that.” He took a ragged breath and tried again. “Look, I’m not an idiot – I know… I mean, I was just hoping that maybe she might talk to me? Just for a few minutes.”
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Maggie repeated evenly.
He was being stonewalled and he knew it. He couldn’t blame her.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
His mouth and throat were barren and aching from the effort of trying to keep a lid on his emotions.
“I’m sorry.”