She choked down the disappointment and fear. “I was dreading today. I was dreading the funeral, seeing Jack – all of it. But it was Tom’s funeral. That’s why I asked you to promise not to do this – not because he didn’t deserve it, but because it was Tom’s funeral and we were there to say goodbye. And we never even got to do that.”
“I’m sorry about that, I really am. But did you expect me to just let Jack do whatever the hell he wanted today? Even though I could see what it was doing to you?”
“Don’t make this about me!” she cried. “You were thinking about yourself! I know you’re pissed at him, but taking out your frustrations on him at his father’s funeral was just wrong!”
Callum rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingertips as if trying to massage the problem away. She knew she had hit home and she was glad he’d got the message, but it didn’t take any of the fire out of her temper.
“Look, I –“
“I don’t want to do this now. I’m tired and I just need some time to myself.”
“Come on, can we just –“
“Just move, please.”
“Ally –“
“Move!” she glared up at him, until he finally stepped aside.
“I’ll come by later,” he said as she climbed the final two steps in silence. “Maybe we can talk properly then.”
“Don’t bother. I’m tired, I’m gonna take a nap. I just want to forget this day ever happened.”
“What if he turns up here again?”
She stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath, fighting the anger that rose up inside her. She turned to face him again. “Then I’ll deal with it. I suggest you do the same.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you need to get a handle on this. Don’t let it consume you. You need to let it go.”
“Right,” he nodded. “Let it go. You mean like you have?”
She glared at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wincing at the movement.
“You look like shit,” she mumbled, her brief glance indicating his battered face and disheveled clothing.
“I’m fine. It was worth it.”
She shook her head and turned her back on him. “See you tomorrow.”
She heard him talking to Jane and Maggie as she unlocked her front door, but by the time she got inside and closed the door after her, the car had pulled out of her driveway. She sighed with relief, taking a few moments to get herself together. Callum’s words still stung.
She thought she had let it go.
Jack didn’t remember driving back to his father’s house. He seemed to snap out of the haze as he stumbled through the front door, collapsing against it as it closed behind him. Callum’s words echoed in his ears, each word beating against the inside of his skull like a hammer blow. Running a hand over his face, he winced as his fingers brushed over the cut Callum’s fist had opened up in his cheek. Calling on all his remaining strength, he forced himself to stand up and make his way into the bathroom.
He grabbed a towel and held it under cold water, dabbing cautiously at the cuts and bruises on his face. He stared at his reflection, holding the wet towel against his cheek. It was as if a stranger stared back at him.
Callum was right, about everything. He didn’t deserve to be at the funeral, his apology was outrageously inadequate, and he had no idea what Ally had been through.
Her face haunted him. He saw her standing in front of him again – no wheelchair, heartache etched into her face. He still couldn’t believe his father hadn’t told him, despite their pact. How long had she been walking? How did it happen? What changed?
He rinsed out the bloody towel under more water, pressing it back on his cheek in a futile effort to reduce the swelling.
Once again, he saw the pure hatred in Callum’s face, the sense of betrayal and anger tumbling out of him.
What the hell did you expect?
Ally sat at her kitchen table, watching through the window as the breeze lifted the leaves on the trees in her backyard. She tried to ignore the hollow, empty feeling in her chest but it refused to go away.
She couldn’t get Jack out of her head – the look of hope and relief written all over his face when he saw her standing; the sorrow as he apologised; the reluctant acceptance as Callum had landed that first punch. But what hurt most of all was the raw pain and guilt as he had walked away, bleeding.
What if Callum was right? What if he thought that, after today, there wasn’t any point in staying? What if he had gone back to Tom’s house, packed his bags and taken off again, for good this time? She may never get the chance to talk to him. After all this time, all these years of wondering, he was back, only to disappear again just as quickly?