I tried to think straight even though I was exhausted from doing nothing but thinking this past hour or so.
“No, not really,” I said, as the kettle cranked up a notch. “I mean, it’s not really him, is it.” I looked back towards the living room, where Bridget sat with Henry. “I mean, it’s his body, but you can tell he’s not in there anymore.”
I turned back around and Alex nodded, staring at his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
The air seemed charged around us, as the kettle got louder and louder.
“I’ve never seen a dead body before,” he said, almost to himself.
I looked over at Maia as she wiped tears from her eyes.
“Neither have I,” I said honestly.
Alex continued to stare at his hands. “They’re gonna want to take him away. The funeral director guy.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They have to.”
“She’s not gonna want them to,” he said, looking up at me.
He was right. We hadn’t been able to get Bridget to leave Henry’s side since we arrived.
“We’ll have to convince her.”
He nodded and went back to staring at his hands. The kettle whistled, then switched itself off. Maia poured the boiled water into the teapot and put the lid on, turning the pot a couple of times before leaving it to steep.
“I’m going to ask her if she wants to come through here and have a cup of tea,” she said, walking over to the door. “Maybe we can ease her away slowly, then it won’t be so much of a wrench when the time comes.”
She squeezed my shoulder as she passed, this woman of mine with the heart of gold. She’d been a rock all morning. I had no idea where I’d have been without her.
Alex sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and leaning back on the seat. I knew he was hurting too, but he was keeping a lid on it for now. Probably for the same reason I was.
“I need to tell you something,” he said.
He looked up at me, and I was damned if I could decipher his expression. Something half-way between anxiety and heartache. It made me nervous, like I was waiting for the hammer to fall.
“The night Em disappeared, she called me.”
The words floated just beyond my reach for several seconds. When I finally grabbed hold of them, I felt sick.
“What?”
He swallowed, and it sounded like a sonic boom in the quiet kitchen. “She called me but I didn’t hear the phone. I didn’t know until the next day. There it was, just sitting there, staring at me. Missed call from Emily.”
He spoke the last few words in a voice that didn’t sound like his. His head was bowed low now, as though holding it upright was beyond his capabilities.
That was the first I’d heard of any phone call. Right through the investigation, and the endless questions, and the going over and over and over what happened that night, no one had ever mentioned anything about a phone call.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Does Latimer know? Did you tell the cops?”
“Yeah.”
What the hell did he expect me to do with this information? I went back over the night she disappeared, stirring around my memories and combining them with the facts I’d learnt since, and trying to figure out where this phone call fitted in. Had she called him to come and pick her up? Was that it? Was she looking for a lift home, trying everyone she knew? Was he the only one she called, or were there others? Why had this never come up before?
“I let her down,” he croaked, and I realised he was crying, even though his head was still bent so low I couldn’t see his face. “She needed my help, and I wasn’t there for her.”
Was this a confession? An apology? Or something else?
“I fuckin’ hate myself,” he whispered, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs shook his body.
I wanted to comfort him, but I wasn’t sure there was anything I could say that would help. I didn’t even know if that’s what he wanted from me.
I threw caution to the wind and reached over to put my hand on his arm. It took a few moments for him to get control again, and he sniffed, wiping the back of his other hand under his nose. Then he pulled his arm away.
“I just wanted you to know,” he said, sniffing again.
I was more confused than ever. “Why?”
“Because you’re not the only one who let her down. I’ve been acting like you are because it hurts so bloody much, I didn’t know what to do with it.”
For the first time in almost five years, he was speaking a language I could understand. I understood hurt and I understood guilt. He was giving me a gift here – insight. He was opening up to me and I had the opportunity to do something right. I had the chance to make a difference. It’s what Em would’ve wanted me to do.
“You’re not going to find the answer to any of this at the bottom of a bottle,” I said carefully. “Trust me, I’ve already looked.”
He sighed, his whole body sagging as his hands sank back into his lap. It was as if his body was caving in on itself, crushed beneath the weight of devastating loss. I knew that feeling, too.