Please Don't Leave Me Here (35 page)

‘What the fuck! He was Eric's son?'

A shuffle.

‘Tucker had made harassment complaints. Sam was obsessed with him — he'd been stalking him.'

‘Jesus,' says Ryan, a hand-over-mouth muffled sound. ‘Lucky Brigi doesn't remember any of it.'

Aidan clears his throat. ‘Are you OK?'

No answer.

Minutes pass in silence. A clock ticks.

A mobile phone rings.

‘I thought you weren't allowed to have those on in here.'

‘Those rules don't apply to police.' He takes the call. ‘Detective Sergeant Serra ... Yep, she's out of the ICU ... OK, mate. Meet you at the front desk downstairs, escort you up.' A rustle, a creak, a long shadow. ‘Got somebody here to see Brigitte. Might help.'

‘Campbells are bringing the twins in, too,' Ryan says.

‘Good. Why don't you go for a walk? Get some fresh air and a coffee.'

‘I need a drink.'

‘Join you for one later.' Footsteps.

‘Hey, what's it say on your arm?'

The footsteps stop. ‘Huh?'

‘The tattoo.'

‘Come as You Are.'

‘The Nirvana song!'

‘Unconditional acceptance.'

‘Really? I love that song, but I thought it was about drugs and guns.'

‘No. It's about people and how they're supposed to act. Accept things as they are, and not as you wish them to be. And then look ahead, not behind.'

‘I had you pegged as a dumb cop, mate. Not a philosopher.'

‘Had you pegged as a classical-music geek. Not a Nirvana fan.'

Almost a laugh.

‘And you can tell your grandfather I caught the bastard in the blue Camry.'

A pause.

‘She likes you, you know,' Ryan says.

‘Bullshit. Hates my guts.'

The footsteps fade.

***

A cart rattles by, and cutlery clangs. The smells of roast meat and vegetables and disinfectant fill the air
.
She tastes metal in her mouth. It's so dry — she's never been so thirsty. The unbearable thirst drags her up through the greyness and into the light. Absolved. Free.

Her head throbs, with the worst hangover ever. Her eyes feel glued together. She forces them open, squints at the light, blinks away the fuzzy edges, and looks up. Into Adonis blue. Time has not faded the colour of his eyes, but life has made lines around them, and around his mouth — from laughter more than from pain. Sunlight glints on the wedding band around his finger. He closes the book he was reading, and saves his page with a handmade bookmark — stick-figure people and hearts lovingly drawn by a child's hand. He puts the book into his satchel bag and holds it open on his lap.

She struggles to swallow, and looks at the jug of water on the bedside table. He reaches for it, pours a cup, and helps her sit up to drink.

She looks at the tube in the back of her hand; her eyes follow the IV line to the clear plastic bag hanging on the stand beside the bed. ‘Why didn't you ever look for me?' Her voice is a whisper, hoarse.

He hesitates and then doesn't really answer the question. He doesn't need to — it was in the hesitation. ‘Detective Campbell made it
very
clear that you couldn't be found.'

Their fingers touch as he takes the cup and places it back on the table.

‘I kept that photo I took of you at Raymond Island for a long time,' he says. ‘On the dashboard of my car. It made me sad, but I couldn't throw it away. I turned it to face the windscreen so I didn't have to see it and miss you every day. But at night when I drove past lights, your image would flash backwards.' He closes the flap on his bag, sits on the edge of the chair, uncomfortable. He's not planning to stay long. ‘In the end, it faded so much you couldn't tell what it was. I left it in the old Commodore when I traded it in.'

Now is the chance she's pined for, to tell him she's sorry. She doesn't say it.

He's looking at the scar on her forehead, not at her eyes. Ryan once taught her an acting trick to calm nerves: look just above the brows of your audience members, instead of into their eyes. Most people can't tell the difference, but she can.

‘It was a long time ago.' He smiles, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. ‘I met your children downstairs. They're beautiful. You should be with them now. Not me.'

She nods. She has nothing more to say to him.

He puts his bag over his shoulder, looks at his hands, brushes things from his jeans that aren't there. ‘I'll go tell them you're awake.' He stands up and walks to the door.

‘Matt?'

‘Yes?' He looks back.

‘Is Aidan here?'