Through the haze of the fog that would eventually become grief, I heard the helplessness in his voice. He was lost. He didn’t know who to turn to. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I knew that it must’ve taken a lot for him to come to me.
“Come on,” Maia murmured in my ear. “Come and get dressed. We need to go over there. Bridget needs you.”
I stood, my knees trembling as if they might not be up to the task. I heard Maia invite Alex inside. He was reluctant, but she insisted, ushering me into the bedroom as she made him wait in the living room. She closed the door behind us and I stood there, in the middle of the room, with no idea of what to do.
“You need to get dressed,” she said gently, opening drawers and pulling out a clean pair of boxers, boardies and a t-shirt and handing them to me. I stared at them blankly.
Clothes. They were clothes, and I had to put them on. But Henry was dead. How was I supposed to just get dressed when Henry was dead?
I looked up at her as the tears finally came. Her face crumpled and she wrapped her arms around me. I wanted to hold her, but my arms wouldn’t move. My body didn’t seem connected to my brain anymore. My brain was busy trying to process information, and any signals it should have been sending to my body were going astray.
Slowly, the signals seemed to find their way, and I reached up to put my arms around her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into my shoulder.
I didn’t know what to say to that. I’d never known what to say to that, and people had said it to me often enough over the years.
“Come on,” she said, rubbing my back gently and pulling back to look me in the eye. “Bridget needs you. You need to get dressed.”
I nodded, blinking back more tears. Bridget. Yes, Bridget needed me. I needed to get over there. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there, but she needed me.
Maia handed me my clothes again and I took them this time.
We drove over to Henry’s in Alex’s car, which was a Godsend. I didn’t think I was capable of driving. I was barely capable of breathing. I spent the whole time holding Maia’s hand in the back seat, while Alex kept checking us out in the mirror. The silence in the car was thick and heavy. I felt like I was getting dumped by wave after wave, barely able to take a breath in between times.
When we got to Henry’s, Bridget’s car was parked outside. I didn’t want to go in there. I tried to think of a logical excuse as to why I couldn’t, but nothing would come. The truth of it was, I just didn’t want to see Henry like that, and I didn’t know if I could stand to see Bridget in pain again.
None of this was fair. We’d just been here a handful of hours ago and he seemed fine. How the hell could any of this be happening?
Maia draped her arm around my waist and practically led me up the driveway. We lingered behind Alex, like some sort of advance funeral procession. When Alex opened the front door, I expected to hear sobbing, or wailing – something. But there was nothing. It was eerie.
I followed Alex up the hallway and into the living room. That’s when my legs forgot what to do. I sagged against the doorframe, Maia’s arm still around my waist. The room was still shrouded in darkness, the curtains still drawn. It took my eyes a few seconds to focus.
I tried not to see him, but I couldn’t help it. He was sitting in his armchair, like he was taking a nap. He had his old brown chequered woollen rug over his legs, his brown leather slippers peeking out from beneath it. His mouth hung open, as if he was in mid-snore. At first glance, he actually looked peaceful.
Bridget was sitting on the floor next to him, holding his hand. I don’t think she saw us. She had her back to us, and I wondered if she’d even heard us come in.
“Mum,” Alex said gently, putting his hand on her shoulder and sitting down beside her on the floor. “Heath’s here.”
My heart was pounding. The room felt empty. Henry was gone and Bridget was a shell. I felt the weight of responsibility bearing down on me, as I’d never felt it before. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help.
I forced myself to cross the room, and I knelt down in front of Henry’s chair. I made myself look up at him, although I didn’t want to. I didn’t want this to be the last memory I had of him. He deserved more than that. I wanted to scrub the picture out of my mind, but even at that moment, I knew it would be a long time before I’d be able to do that.
Up close like this, he looked old. Unlike in life, he looked his age. He was so still. The only time I’d known him to be this still was when he was giving me a piece of his mind. Then he would be very still, his blue eyes piercing mine. But his eyes were closed now, and he wasn’t talking. He wasn’t breathing.
I missed him already.
“He’s cold,” Bridget murmured, staring at his hand in hers. “I put a blanket on him, to try and keep him warm, but I don’t think it’s helping.”