Then it began to wilt. Colours fading now. She didn’t notice when it fell.
‘Daisy’—GRAY
By about one am Jolie can no longer disguise her yawns. A while ago someone got out a guitar and a girl from one of the support acts is playing something I’ve never heard before. It’s slow and easy and puts me back at the beach at dawn with the sun warm on my face and the taste of salt in the air.
Gray doesn’t act like a big star. He’s just like the rest of us. Jolie is curled up beside him.
When Jolie’s eyes drift closed, Gray insists on calling a car to take us back to the apartment. It’s probably seconds before Luc would have called an end to the night for his sister’s sake, and I think he’s grateful not to have to be the bad guy for a change.
‘Is that part of the wish?’ I whisper to Luc.
He shakes his head. But he doesn’t object.
Gray walks us out to the private exit, where a car waits for us in a narrow alleyway. Cass, Finn and I mumble our thanks and back away fast, still a little star-struck. However, Luc’s approval at the care Gray has shown Jolie shines through the way he shakes the singer’s hand and claps him on the shoulder.
‘Thanks for a great night,’ he says.
And I bite back a giggle, because I know Luc’s not talking about the music.
I think Gray does too. His gaze skips to where Jolie waits a few feet away from the rest of us. She’s tinier than ever, wrapped in Gray’s leather jacket, but still glowing with happiness.
‘You go ahead,’ she tells Luc. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
He hesitates but lets me pull him towards the car. I glance back as we get in to see Gray holding both Jolie’s hands.
Luc’s arm settles over my shoulder and I look up into his dark eyes.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asks.
‘I’m wishing them lots of moments together.’
His lips press against my forehead. ‘Us too?’
I lift my head and catch his mouth with mine; my body warms at the gentle touch. ‘Us too.’
When we get back to the apartment, Jolie’s more energised. She insists on having a hot chocolate and raving about how awesome the concert was. Cass and Finn drift off before long, pleading tiredness. But when they leave, they go into the same room, deep in conversation, and I don’t feel jealous at all.
Luc takes all the empty dishes to the kitchen, leaving me alone with Jolie. She’s curled up on the single armchair, so tiny on the white leather with her make-up smudged and eyes drifting closed. At once the oldest and youngest sixteen-year-old I’ve met.
Tonight has been incredible and I realise how lucky I am to have been a part of it.
‘Aren’t there others you could have travelled with?’ I ask. I didn’t realise it was bothering me until now. I’m still trying to work out what I did to deserve the last few days, let alone the VIP concert experience.
She doesn’t answer for ages. Her eyes are fully closed, her lashes resting on her cheeks.
I settle back on the couch to wait for Luc. I’ll ask her in the morning.
‘It’s tiring being friends with me,’ she says suddenly. Her eyes are still closed, but she continues talking. ‘I’ve missed heaps of birthday parties because I was in the hospital, and I’ve never gone to a single school dance. Can you imagine how unfun that is? The friends who’ve stuck with me are awesome, and I’m grateful for every one of them. But this is the closest I’m going to get to backpacking through Spain on my own. I wanted to meet new people.’ Her eyes open and her smile is like a gift. ‘Like you.’
‘Thank you.’
Luc comes back in and crouches next to her. ‘Want some help to get to your room?’ he asks. His hand sweeps her golden hair from her forehead. ‘I could piggyback you,’ he teases.
She stirs, pushing him lightly in the chest as she drags herself upright. ‘I can handle it.’
‘I know you can,’ he says.
She heads towards her bedroom without looking back, leaving Luc and me alone.
‘Great concert,’ I say. Because suddenly there’s silence, and while it’s not uncomfortable, exactly, it’s brimming with the kiss we shared and all it means. Well, that’s what I’m thinking. For all I know, Luc is tired and has forgotten about what me kissing him would mean.
Except, I’m sure he wouldn’t.
And now he’s shifting closer on the couch and happiness bubbles in my chest. Me, happy. I’d stopped believing it was possible and yet here I am.
Here we are.
This should be serious and romantic but I’m so happy I can’t suppress a giggle.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asks.
I try to keep the silliness from my voice. ‘Nothing.’
‘You’re laughing.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Don’t laugh. I’m doing my best moves here.’ He punctuates his declaration by sliding his hand up along my bare arm. Slowly. Goosebumps spread in his wake. Now he’s reached my shoulder, then my neck. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be saying something, but I have no idea what. His gaze is on my mouth.
‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘I didn’t ask to kiss you.’
His fingers are massaging the muscles at the back of my neck and there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now. ‘Why not?’
His head dips towards me. ‘Because I thought we were past asking.’
His mouth is on mine. I sink back onto the couch. Kissing Luc is like it should be. Not for oblivion or escape. Not because some stupid scheme says it’s a good idea.
But because I want to.
Because I like him.
I really like him.
Kissing soon becomes us both lying on the couch. My head is on his chest and his hand rests on my hip. The lazy circles it makes do crazy things to my insides and his heart is beating hard. I’m so tired, but I could happily stay here all night.
We talk a little more about the concert. Luc concedes that Gray’s music isn’t the commercial pop rubbish that he thought.
‘You’ll be a fan next,’ I tease, loving the rumble of amusement he makes in response.
He freezes.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
He eases me off him and straightens. ‘Did you hear that?’
I blink, trying to get my bearings. ‘I didn’t hear anything. I must have been drifting off.’
He listens, his head tilted. At first there’s nothing, and I’m about to pull him back to me when I hear it too—a faint cry.
The colour drains from his face. ‘Jolie.’
I’m on my feet and following him towards her room. He pushes at the door. It slams against the wall, leaving a handle-shaped dent in the plaster. The light is on but I can’t see much past him, only that she’s pale. The heavy smell of vomit hangs in the air.
‘Call an ambulance,’ he barks.
But I’m already dialling and the woman on the end of the line helps me get out what I’m trying to say. Following her instructions, I head past a bleary Cass and Finn to the door to meet the paramedics. I’m in the hallway when Luc’s heavy tread follows me.
He pushes past and runs for the lift. Jolie’s cradled in his arms, her head lolling. He stabs at the button with his shoulder. His eyes are wild and sweat shines on his temples. ‘I can’t wait for them to get up here.’
‘The triple zero woman said not to move her,’ I say. But I don’t try to stop him. He knows his sister and what this means. He’s been here before.
Anyway, he’s not listening. He’s murmuring to Jolie, promising her she’ll be fine. Talking to her about the concert, trying to keep her conscious or happy or something.
It doesn’t work.
Her eyes are closed by the time we reach the ground floor. The doors slide open and the end of the hallway is lit up like Christmas. I’ve never been happier to see blue and red flashing lights. The ambos meet us at the doors with a stretcher. They take Jolie from Luc’s arms and he stands there, his hands by his sides. The paramedics work quickly, explaining what they’re doing in calming tones.
I move to stand beside Luc and squeeze his hand.
He barely spares me a glance. ‘Can I come with her?’ he asks.
They agree. He jumps into the ambulance and I stand there feeling useless.
‘Do you want us to come?’ Finn puts my question into words.
Luc’s answer is clear from his closed-off expression before he opens his mouth. ‘No. We’ll handle this.’ Then he’s gone.
I’m left outside the apartment in the cold, watching as the flashing lights disappear into the night.
* * *
Morning comes, and by the time we need to leave for the airport there’s no real news. Luc’s desire for immediate family only was confirmed by a call from Finn’s mum a few hours ago. As I pack my things, I text him to see if he wants me to stay in Melbourne, but he doesn’t reply.
We’re too new for this, I guess.
It’s already hot and the cloudless sky above suggests the day will be a scorcher, but I’m chilled inside thinking of what Jolie and her family are going through. Cass, Finn and I are out the front of the apartment, waiting for our taxi, when Finn gets another call from his mum. I can’t hear what he’s saying, thanks to the passing traffic, but I try to read his expression.
Finn’s cheeks pale and his eyes close.
‘Thanks, Mum, I’ll see you soon.’ He hangs up and turns to face us. ‘They’ll be staying in Melbourne for the next few days. My uncle flew over first thing. They’re hoping she stabilises enough to come home soon.’
‘Home as in she’ll be fine?’ Cass asks the question I’ve been worrying about since the ambulance left. The one I’ve been silencing by reminding myself she’s been here before and pulled through.
Finn’s usual optimism is nowhere to be seen. ‘It’s not good.’
My hand tightens on my phone. I want to call Luc but I don’t want to bother him. And I don’t know what to say.
But I have to try. The taxi is pulling up when I press his number. The thud of my heart is so loud I probably won’t even be able to hear when he answers. If he answers. The phone rings on, and as the last of our bags are loaded into the back of the taxi it clicks through to his voicemail.
‘Hi, Luc.’ I clear my throat. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you all. Especially Jolie. Call me anytime, for anything. Oh, um, it’s Zoey.’ I hang up, my cheeks hot, wishing for a redo but it’s too late. At least he knows I care.
There are only two seats together and Cass sits with me without any discussion between her and Finn. Their body language is distant but I can’t work out if it means they’ve split up. I think Cass will let me know what’s going on when she’s ready.
We don’t talk much on the flight. Instead, I write in my songbook. Nothing I’d keep, but it helps to give words to my feelings. The questions that rang in my brain after Dan died are back with a vengeance.
Our seats at the back mean we’re among the last off the plane. As I trail Finn and Cass up the ramp towards the gate I’m not really looking ahead. I’m too busy turning on my phone to check for a reply from Luc.
There’s nothing.
I lift my head, breathing in deeply through my nose. I don’t want to feel hurt but I’m worried. For Luc. For Jolie.
I blink. Mum is walking towards me. My mum. The person I didn’t even bother to give my flight details to.
‘Mum?’
‘Marlene told me what happened. It’s so sad for the family.’ She nods to where Finn’s mum is insisting on holding his jacket. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.’
‘Mind?’ I manage a shuddering breath. ‘Not at all.’
She must hear the break in my voice. Her arms go around me and even though I’m taller than her now I rest my head on Mum’s shoulder and let the tears come. We stay like that, ignoring the movement of people around us and the droning of announcements over the speaker system. I think maybe she’s crying too. I hug her tighter.
When I can finally hold myself upright again, her top is damp with tears.
I touch my finger to it. ‘I’m sorry.’
But I’m not just talking about her top. And I think she knows.
* * *
I sleep most of the day away. There are no nightmares, but whenever I wake I remember Jolie is in the hospital and feel even worse. Twice more I try to call Luc but it goes straight to his voicemail each time.
Cass texts in the afternoon to see if I’ve heard. We agree to share any news and I drift back to sleep.
It’s like my body is trying to catch up on the sleep I’ve missed in the last months.
I wake after four, and venture downstairs. I can’t put off talking to Mum and Dad any longer.
I stand in the kitchen doorway for a minute, watching them. Dad places a coffee in front of Mum and retires to the other side of the table to read his section of the Sunday paper, squeezing her shoulder as he passes. She looks up, her gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, and offers him a small smile, which he returns.
There are matching deep creases around their eyes. It’s like I blinked and missed a decade. I don’t know when it happened but they’ve grown old. Weary.
‘Zoey?’ Mum’s spotted me.
‘Sorry I slept so long,’ I say. I cross to the fridge and pour a glass of water. Anything to avoid having to see how Dan’s death, and maybe my reaction to it, has aged them so.
They share a surprised look. I guess it’s been a while since I bothered explaining or apologising for anything.
I lean back against the counter. It’s one thing to know I’ve made mistakes, another to put it into actual words. Ones that aren’t full of excuses or accusations.
Mum breaks the silence. ‘How are you feeling?’
I stretch my arms above my head. ‘Tired.’ I hesitate. ‘And really sad. Jolie is . . . she’s amazing.’ I have to swallow past a lump in my throat. ‘It’s not fair.’
Dad sighs. ‘No, it’s not.’
I can almost feel my brother right there at the table, wondering how I could be so stupid. I’ve pushed away the two people who really understand what it’s like to miss him.
‘I’m sorry. Really sorry. I just couldn’t . . .’
Mum crosses to me, her arms wide. ‘I know.’
I take the last step and close the distance between us. She holds me, and soon Dad’s arms wrap around us both. Not as big a family as we once were, but still a family. When I break the hug we share a teary smile.
Mum straightens and checks the time, dabbing at the corner of her eye where her eyeliner is smudged. ‘Shivani had to work late this afternoon. We’re taking a casserole around there for dinner.’ She hesitates. ‘Would you like to come? I’m sure they’d like to see you. Little Danny has grown so much.’
I saw the single serve of pasta she’d left in a bowl in the fridge when I grabbed a drink earlier. I know she expects me to say no, but now I realise that doesn’t mean she wants me to stay behind. Her comment that they’d like to see me isn’t a dig about the dinners I’ve missed.
Mum’s simply doing her best to keep going. Just like me.
Dragging myself upright, I stretch some of the kinks from my shoulders and nod. ‘Sounds good.’
She smiles. ‘Good.’
Dad doesn’t comment when I slide into the back of the car, carrying the pot still warm from the oven. But when I meet his gaze in the rear-view mirror his eyes are crinkled at the corners in a way I can’t remember seeing since Dan died.
I’m nervous as we walk up the path to the house. I haven’t exactly been sister-in-law of the year. The setting sun stains the sky above a pale orange as the streetlights come on. There’s the hint of a chill in the air and I shiver.
I hate the cold.
I remember Dan’s scrunched up face as he made the declaration on a family trip to the snow. He changed his attitude after he discovered snowboarding, but he always liked summer best.
The door ahead is opening and I hurry to catch up to Mum and Dad. My foot catches on a crack in the pavers and I stumble, looking down so I don’t drop the dish. I hear the phone ring and the sound of a child crying, and when I straighten, the others have gone inside already. I missed it, my chance to say something—anything—to Shivani.
I step inside and close the door behind me. I can hear little Danny grizzling as Mum takes the dish from my hands and leads the way to the kitchen, where she pops the casserole in the oven and begins organising plates and cutlery. She moves around the space with a familiarity that reminds me how many times they’ve done this.
The guilt settles in my chest like a stone, and for a second I wish the anger back. That all-encompassing rage at everything and everyone that meant I could avoid moments like this.
Because it hurts. It hurts in a way only sticking around will help. And right now that seems pretty hard. But then Mum is holding out the cutlery and nudging me in the direction of the big old table, and the urge to run from this fresh grief fades.
I walk around the column that divides the two areas and freeze. There, in the shadows in the corner, is Dan’s chair. The brown leather recliner was given to him by our Pa when he first moved out of home.
Placing the cutlery takes only a minute, then I follow the pull of the chair and cross the room. The mumble of Mum and Dad’s conversation fades to nothing as I sink into its warm embrace.
I check my phone and send another text to Luc.
Sitting in the chair, I imagine I can smell my brother. The odours of boy sweat and the cheap aftershave he wore through his teenage years, rather than the more grown-up one he favoured by the time he got married.
I close my eyes and breathe him in.
God, I miss him. The lump in my throat threatens to give way and let the building tears flood me again, but I hold them in.
When I’ve pulled myself together enough to open my eyes, little Danny is on a bright red and blue play mat a few feet away from me on the floor, and Shivani is in the kitchen. Another chance to speak to her missed.
I look down at my nephew. A little stranger, although not as little as I remember. Mum was right when she said he’d grown.
And something a lot like wonder wraps around me. Wonder at the little person lying there on his back like a stranded mini-whale. He’s wearing nothing but a nappy and singlet due to the warmth of the late sun through the windows. He’s all baby rolls and chubby cheeks and drool. His hand reaches towards a toy, a little red plush cow. It lies just out of reach, taunting him. His face screws up.
Uh, oh.
Just as I’m about to call for back-up, he seems to decide not to cry. He squirms, wriggles, does some crazy worm thing and propels himself across the floor . . . in the exact opposite direction to where he’s trying to go.
Cue wails.
‘Know how you feel, buddy,’ I mutter. I’m out of the chair and on my knees beside him before I can think.
He startles, mid-cry. Blinks at me.
‘I’m Zoey,’ I say, because it’s been so long he deserves an introduction.
His head tilts and I swear I can read his thoughts in the widening of eyes. The expression is so like my brother’s, it’s painful to see.
So what?
A laugh escapes me. ‘So, I’m big, and I can help you out.’
I pick up both him and the red cow and sit them together on my lap. He stuffs the cow’s leg into his mouth with one chubby fist.
I look up at my sister-in-law. I tense, half expecting her to take him from me. I would if I was her.
But she doesn’t.
Her slender shoulders droop and she brushes at a tuft of little Danny’s hair. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘Good to see you. Both of you.’
‘It’s nearly dinner,’ she says before returning to the kitchen and leaving me to get to know my nephew. It’s Sunday night, family time. Thinking of Luc and Jolie reminds me of how lucky I am to be here.
Little Danny squirms in my lap and I can’t help but smile at the sheer life in him.
He’s not my brother.
But I’m the only one who’ll be able to tell him about the Dan I knew. Only I knew Dan the big brother, who I adored even while he drove me crazy. The boy who cut a lock of my hair on a friend’s dare at eight, and who stood up to the meanest of mean girls for me when I was six. The boy who smelt so bad I’d pretend to suffocate in his presence.
The boy who gave the best hugs in the world.
* * *
I receive the text I’m dreading three weeks later.
Jolie May Hunter passed away peacefully in the early hours of this morning, with her family at her side. Funeral details will be shared in the coming days. The family asks for privacy at this time.