“Are we going to the beach?” she asked, as I closed the door. “It’s a beautiful day for it. I was at Whale Bay yesterday morning, just watching, trying to pick up some pointers.”
I’d almost forgotten about that. Already, I could feel the fantasy beginning to circle the drain.
“Were you there early? I thought I saw you,” I said, hoping she would say I was wrong, that I’d imagined it.
She nodded, looking uncomfortable suddenly, although she did her best to hide it. She probably saw everything. I didn’t know how to explain it to her without having to go into the whole sordid mess. Maybe I couldn’t reinvent myself after all.
“Yeah, that was me,” she said carefully. “I went out to watch the sunrise. It was really pretty.”
I waited for her to ask about what else she might’ve seen, but she didn’t.
“Best place to watch it from,” I said.
“I can see why.”
That was it. No awkward questions. No probing. No interest at all, really. She just looked embarrassed. Not what I expected, at all. Apparently, we were just going to leave it there. She was there, she saw – possibly – what happened, but it was none of her business. Or she didn’t care enough to ask. Either way, I felt like I’d been let off the hook. Maybe I could keep the awkward truth at bay for a little while longer after all.
“Anyway, no. Not going out to Whale just yet,” I said, buoyed by the thought. “You really have to know what you’re doing to surf there. Those rocks’ll chew you up and spit you out, even on the calmer days.”
She screwed up her face, wincing. “Ouch.”
“So, today we’re staying right here, in my backyard. And once you’ve got the hang of popping up, we’ll go to Manu. It’s safer there, better for grommets.”
“Grommets?”
“Beginner surfers, like you.”
“I’m a grommet? Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Not magical enough for you?” I teased. “You’ll get used to it. Do you want something to drink before we start? Coffee, tea, water?”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.”
“How do you have it?”
“Lots of milk, two sugars,” she said, glancing around the living room.
Jesus, she even took her coffee like Em. I brushed it off. Lots of people had plenty of milk and two sugars in their coffee. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of mugs and flipped on the kettle.
“I like your place,” she called from the living room.
“Thanks.”
Em was responsible for the interior look. I’d let her do whatever she wanted, concentrating on the outside. Maintaining the gardens, the lawns, the shrubbery. That was my forte, not the cushions or the wall colour or the furniture. My only stipulation was that we had to have a comfy couch, and we did. Five years later, everything was almost exactly the same as it was when she disappeared. Changing the décor meant facing things I wasn’t ready to face just yet, so I told myself it was easier to just leave everything as it was.
I concentrated on making coffee, catching Maia’s reflection in the kitchen window. She was staring at the photos on the wall. The ones of Em and I. The ones I couldn’t bear to take down. Shit. This could get awkward. So much for reinventing myself. My whole life was up on that wall, staring her in the face. Staring me in the face.
I stepped out of the kitchen and stood there, leaning back on the counter, watching her. I wasn’t sure what to say. She had to have noticed the similarity between her and Em by now. Even though I could only see her face from the side, I knew she had. She stood there, transfixed, then backed up slowly and sank down into the couch behind her.
“Who is she?” she asked quietly, turning to me. “The girl in the photos?”
The girl in the photos.
My heart wanted to argue that she wasn’t just the girl in the photos, but my head realised very quickly that that’s exactly what she was. She was past tense, not present.
“Emily,” I said, just as quietly. “Her name was Emily. She was Bridget’s daughter.”
“Was?”
Was, as if she were no longer here, not as if she were dead. This was where it got tricky. “She disappeared, five years ago. We don’t know what happened to her.”
She looked as if she was going to cry and I hoped like hell she wasn’t. I was only just managing to hold it together myself, but seeing her cry would tip me over the edge, I could feel it. The unresolved guilt, followed by a barrel full of grief, was burning a trail up from my gut, making its presence felt. I swallowed it down. Not here, not now.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
The kettle switched itself off, and I just nodded in reply, turning my back on her and grateful for something to do. I took my time stirring both coffees, then walked into the living room, handing one to her. She took it, looking up at me as I wracked my brains for something to say.
“When I met Bridget, she said I reminded her of someone. She didn’t say who,” she said finally. “She was your girlfriend?”
Was. Is. Who knew what she was – what I was – anymore.