“Callum?”
“Tom! In here!” he shouted, his voice breaking as he fought the rising panic. “Call 911!”
He pulled Ally into his arms, rocking backwards and forwards.
“What the hell?”
Still cradling Ally, he looked up to see Tom in the doorway. “Help me!”
The look of horror on Tom’s face as he spied the empty bottle of pills on the bed mirrored his own.
“Oh my God.”
Jack woke up slowly, stretching. He squinted, hauling himself upright as he tried to get his bearings. Apparently he had slept on Ally’s couch.
A crash rang out in the silence.
Ally.
Jumping up from the couch, he ran across the hall and burst through her bedroom door. She was sitting sprawled on the floor by her bed, wearing the same black top from last night. She had removed her jeans however, and was wearing only her underwear. She stared up at him in shock but she wasn’t the only one startled.
From the waist up, she looked more or less the same. From the waist down however, it was a very different story. Her legs were pale and thin, the lack of muscle tone made more pronounced by prominent knees.
“Get out!” she cried, eyes wild as she leaned forward, effectively bending herself in half to preserve her modesty. “Get out of here!”
Startled and speechless, Jack could only oblige, backing towards the door.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled nervously, pulling the door closed behind him.
Standing in the hall, unsure of what he should do next, he heard her utter a string of curses. Tentatively, he turned back to the door.
“Ally?”
“What the hell are you still doing here?” she demanded.
“I uh, I fell asleep on your couch last night,” he grimaced. “I heard a crash, or something. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!”
He leant his shoulder against the door. “I’m sorry. I thought you were in trouble – I thought you needed help.”
“I don’t need your help!”
He winced at her tone. “Okay, I’m sorry – my mistake.”
“What happened last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, where the hell are my crutches and why is my chair on the other side of the room!”
Jack gave himself a mental kick. “Shit – I’m sorry, that was my fault. I moved your chair out of the way when I carried you to bed last night. And your crutches are still in the living room. It didn’t even cross my mind to bring them through.”
He braced himself for the tirade he was sure would come.
“You carried me to bed?”
She really didn’t remember?
“Well, yeah,” he stared at the ceiling. “You fell asleep while I was making coffee – I couldn’t just leave you on the couch.”
“I fell asleep?” she mumbled, so quietly he could barely hear her. “God, I must’ve been drunk.”
He heard movement from within and he waited anxiously. After a few minutes, the door opened. She sat in her chair with what looked like a robe strewn on her lap, covering her legs. She didn’t look at him, moving past him up the hallway without a word and disappearing into the bathroom.
He breathed out heavily and ran his hand through his hair. He felt more washed-out than hung-over.
The sight of her bare legs had rattled him, there was no denying it. Even though her gait was awkward and exaggerated, she looked more or less solid and stable when she was walking. But seeing beneath the jeans and braces - glimpsing behind the curtain – the truth was something very different. Worse still, he hadn’t been able to hide his reaction from her. What he wouldn’t give to be able to replay the moment without having his thoughts written all over his face. No wonder she had withdrawn from him.
He retreated into the living room, his stomach churning. Coffee would be good right about now. He wandered through into the kitchen as the bathroom door opened and a few moments later, Ally’s bedroom door closed. He wondered if he should just leave, but that felt wrong – it felt like running away again and he had promised himself he was done with that. So he set about making coffee in her kitchen for the second time in as many days.
Three Years Earlier
Callum and Tom sat in stony-faced silence in the hospital waiting room. Callum stood up and started pacing the length of the room, stretching his arms above his head. The familiarity of the past hour or so was grinding down his last nerve.
“Sit down, son.”
Callum frowned at Tom, shaking his head. Sitting down was worse than pacing. At least when he was pacing, he felt like he was doing something, even if it was nothing helpful. Although nothing he did seemed to have been helpful lately.
He stopped at the end of the room and leant on the windowsill, staring down at the parking lot. He was thankful Maggie and Jane were getting coffee. He didn’t think he could keep up the pretense of being in control for much longer.