When I Lost You: A Gripping, Heart Breaking Novel of Lost Love. (6 page)

‘The thing most people don’t understand about poverty is that it feels like an impossible wall holding you back from a different life. When you’re on the ground looking up at it, it seems insurmountable. When you learn how to build a ladder, you realise it’s just a wall. That’s what education was for me – it was the way out.’

‘Isn’t there something like income support payments? From the government?’ Molly’s gaze wavered, and she pressed those words out towards me hesitantly. I had embarrassed her. I hadn’t intended to, but now that I had, I wasn’t entirely sorry it had happened.

‘There are, but they are very small and studying is a very expensive past-time,’ I said carefully. ‘I couldn’t have sustained it without the scholarship.’

‘I guess there are good things I never knew about Declan, as well as bad things.’

‘Your brother taught me to look for the good in people. Yes, our friendship was difficult and weird at times but it was worth it. Declan was a good guy. If what I told you today makes you think otherwise, then I shouldn’t have told you.’

‘No, you did the right thing. I’m just adjusting to the reality that he had a whole other side that I didn’t even see,’ Molly said. She glanced at me. ‘Dad was mortified when he started bringing you to our place, you know. He and Dec used to fight about you all of the time.’

‘He was trying to protect his son,’ I said quietly. Defending Laith
twice
in the one day? God, I’d lost my mind. ‘Maybe he was right to do so.’

‘Why on earth would you say that? You can’t seriously blame yourself for the decisions Declan made about his own life.’

‘It’s not about blaming myself, I’m just a realist.’ I was suddenly finding it difficult to look at Molly again, so I turned my attention to the centrepiece in the middle of the table. ‘There’s surely a good chance he’d still be alive had our paths never crossed. I never intended it of course, but he
was
exposed to that world through me.’

‘That is complete bullshit,’ Molly said. I raised my gaze to her and shrugged.

‘Perhaps.’

‘Look at my father, Leo – he’s sixty-four years old and he hasn’t taken a day off work since he left school. When Dad had that heart attack last year, the doctor told him that if he didn’t slow down, he was going to die. So he fired that doctor and found a new one who prescribed medication instead of rest. Dad’s every bit as addicted as Declan apparently was – his drug of choice is just work. If it wasn’t heroin via your cousin, it would have been something else through one of his wealthy friends instead. It sounds like what you actually did was to provide my brother with a soft, private place to land whenever he crashed, and I can’t even imagine how much that took out of you.’

She reached across and placed her hand on my wrist and squeezed gently, and I was startled by the contact. I didn’t expect her to touch me – and I certainly
didn’t expect to find myself immediately distracted by the softness of her hand against my forearm.

I couldn’t have missed Molly’s beauty if I’d tried, but up until that moment I’d observed it with a sense of detachment. Her skin against mine changed everything because suddenly, she wasn’t just a beautiful woman, she was a beautiful woman who was touching me and staring intensely into my eyes. Something shifted in the conversation with that contact. The vague curiosity and sympathy I felt towards her faded until I was simply
aware
of her. It was as if my pulse had grown loud within my body, and with each thump of my heart against my chest, that awareness grew. I noticed her scent in the air and the gloss on her lips. These things were all innocent, but suddenly my thoughts towards Molly were not. There was an undercurrent between us – hiding deep beneath the nostalgic conversation and the drama of what she’d discovered about her brother. Did she feel it too? Her hand lingered on my wrist.

‘You have a lot of tattoos,’ she murmured suddenly. Her gaze lingered on the place on my forearm where her hand rested. ‘Do they mean something?’

I realised that her fingers now rested right beside the tattoo that I’d had made immediately after her brother’s death. I’d never explained my body art to anyone before, but I felt a sudden compulsion to. The meaning behind my tattoos was intensely personal, but the only reason I had never shared it aloud before was that I’d never actually wanted to – it was my truth, and only mine. What did it mean that I wanted to share this with her? I barely knew her but I knew one thing: she had lost Declan too, and she would understand my grief for his loss.

With the fingers of my sling-bound hand, I awkwardly pointed to the symbols on my forearm beside her hand – two heavy arches around a series of circles – and I said quietly, ‘This tattoo was actually for Declan. It’s a dot painting – it represents two men sitting together – it signifies friendship. Do you know what “sorry business” is?’

She shook her head.

I said softly, ‘There were hundreds of Aboriginal nations here in the past and each had their own sort of culture, but death was always a time of ritual. That’s what “sorry business” means. It is different ways of remembering and commemorating a person lost. All of my recent ancestors were city people and most of those traditions are lost within my family, so what I learned about traditional customs mostly came from books. But Declan’s death was the first time I’d been scarred by grief, and I didn’t really have a framework to understand how to deal with it so I made my own ritual.’

Molly lifted her hand off my arm slowly, but her forefinger immediately landed on the next tattoo along. She traced the shape almost absentmindedly, and I watched as her finger moved along my skin. Her touch was much more familiar than our fleeting acquaintance dictated and it felt to me to be almost intimate; bewildering given we were fully-clothed, near strangers and sitting in a public café. I could feel the heat rising in my blood.

‘Do these tattoos go all the way along your arm? And the other arm?’ Molly murmured. I was so distracted by the gentle friction of her fingernail against my arm that I almost missed the question, but once it sunk in, I suddenly regretted the turn the conversation had taken. Silently I nodded and tried to think of a way to redirect the chat. But I was too slow in doing so – she asked me next, ‘So, what do the others represent?’

‘The same idea,’ I admitted reluctantly. ‘Each one is for a time I’ve seen someone lost in the field. Each represents its own story. They’re a reminder of a life or lives that touched me somehow… and then ended.’

‘Goodness,’ Molly whispered. I flicked my gaze to her face and found her staring back at me. ‘That’s a lot of grief for one lifetime, Leo.’

‘It’s a closure thing. A way to honour those people.’ I suddenly felt exposed and awkward about it. Withdrawing my arm gently, I sat up straighter in my chair. ‘I don’t really talk about this much.’

‘I was thinking about you today,’ Molly said suddenly. She too had withdrawn the hand that had been against mine, but now she leant her elbow onto the table and rested her chin on it. ‘You could have taken the truth about my brother’s death to any newspaper in the world and swapped it for any position you wanted. And you didn’t.’

‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘There’s no “of course” about it. I know plenty of other journalists – I think most of them would have written that story.’

‘Any decent human being would have kept it to themselves if it was about someone they cared for like a brother. God, who would embarrass a grieving family like that?’

‘Maybe someone who was embarrassed by that family at the funeral of their best friend?’ Molly suggested quietly.

I shook my head briskly. ‘I would never have considered it.’

‘That’s my point – I wasn’t having a go at you, I was just…’ She sighed and smiled at me. ‘Thanks, the way you handled this whole situation says a lot about who you are.’

‘Well, you weren’t as upset as I expected you to be this morning.’

‘I did cry a bit when I left you,’ she admitted easily. ‘But I already knew something didn’t add up. And you know, I’ve already grieved Declan. This is so tragic but it was always tragic. I guess contacting you was more about finding out the truth for myself, rather than trying to deal with losing him – which I’ve kind of done by now. Also,’ she grimaced. ‘I’m not really the weepy type. I’ve spent most of my life “in public”. I’m pretty good at keeping myself together when I need to.’

She picked up her fork, and resumed her meal. I did so too after a while and we ate in silence for a few moments. I just couldn’t assess that silence. It wasn’t the kind of familiar, comfortable silence two old friends share – but it wasn’t exactly the awkward silence of strangers, either. I felt unsettled; I’d exposed parts of history that I’d never intended to, and I was now acutely conscious of the woman opposite me and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

When our conversation resumed, it was small talk again, as if we had silently agreed to lighten the mood a little. We chatted about her job, and she asked me more questions about mine. After a while, when we’d finished eating dinner, the conversation faded to a natural close and we split the bill and walked side by side towards the train station.

When I turned to enter, I extended my hand to shake hers. ‘Good luck with everything, Molly. If you ever want to talk, you have my number.’

She looked at my hand, then gave a little laugh and threw her arms around me – wrapping them right around my waist. I hugged her back with my free arm, and we paused just like that. The embrace was an innocent gesture on her part I was sure, but that didn’t change the effect it had on me. She fitted so beautifully against my body – the perfect blend of softness and strength as well as a gentle warmth that I could feel through my clothes. Even as she stepped away I was sure that the scent she wore had bound itself to me, as if she’d somehow imprinted herself upon me. We’d walked through tough memories over that day, and shared grief has a way of forging a bond.

‘You don’t mind if I call you again?’ she asked.

‘Of course I don’t.’

‘Thanks, Leo. For everything.’

I nodded, offered her a smile and walked away. Within a few footsteps I was already trying to figure out a way that I could see her again without our focus being on her brother.

I
set
the alarm on my phone for lunchtime and crawl into the extraordinary comfort of my hotel bed. I take only a moment to luxuriate in the sensation of being stretched out on an appropriately comfortable surface before sleep overtakes me.

When I wake, I immediately realise that it is late afternoon and I’ve slept through the alarm. I shower and wash my hair, then dress in the first outfit I lay my hands on. I run the block back to the hospital, stopping only to pick up a large box of hot
supplì
from a restaurant on the way. As I race down the hallway towards the ICU, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirrored window and groan. Somehow, a decent stretch of sleep and a shower have left me looking even worse – my hair has semi-dried into a frizz ball and I’m wearing a geometrically patterned skirt in shades of orange and pink with a blue and yellow striped top. It occurs to me that I look exactly like a clown and I laugh a little hysterically at the thought.

Craig Walker and a doctor I do not know are in Leo’s room. I can see from the expression on his face that Leo is not hearing good news. I pause at the door, my fingers at the handle, and Alda approaches me.

‘You go in,’ she says softly. ‘This is neurologist. Leo has tests today; they talk about results now.’

I steady myself as I push the door open. The three men look at me and I focus on Leo. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Do you – do you want me in here? I’m so sorry, I slept through my alarm.’

‘Come in,’ he says. ‘You should hear this too, I guess.’

‘This is Dr Fida,’ Craig tells me. ‘He’s Leo’s neurologist. I’ve been helping to translate.’

‘Hello, Mrs Stephens,’ Dr Fida says, and he extends his hand towards me. I shake it and return his greeting.

‘I had some scans and a proper neurology assessment this morning,’ Leo informs me.

‘Dr Fida was just explaining our theories about the issues with movement in Leo’s lower body,’ Craig says quietly.

I listen for the next few minutes, trying to make sense of the doctor-speak as Dr Fida and Craig explain the findings. Leo’s ability to coordinate the muscles of his legs or balance himself when he stands is impaired. These symptoms are likely a result of the location of the fracture and underlying bruising to his brain. It’s too soon to tell if this will be lasting. The doctors recommend an intensive rehabilitative programme to support him as his brain continues to heal.

‘Are you optimistic?’ Leo asks.

The tone of this discussion is making me nervous for Leo, and I want to take his hand, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

‘It’s really too soon to tell much about your long-term prognosis, Leo,’ Craig says. ‘We can see on your scans that there’s been some damage to your brain – but it’s a remarkable organ. It will heal with time, and with therapy it can adapt, even when there is permanent damage.’

‘I just need to know that I’m going to walk again,’ Leo says, very carefully. ‘It’s really – well – beyond imperative that I can walk. I mean, if I can’t walk…’ He breaks off. Now I do take his hand and squeeze it. I will let go if he pulls away, but unless he does, I will hold it so tightly that he will never forget for a second that I’m here to support him through this.

Dr Fida and Craig converse quietly in Italian for a few minutes. I watch Leo’s face. He is terrified and trying very hard not to show it. After a while, he finally meets my gaze and I offer him an anxious smile. He doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t look away either.

‘Your best chance at restoring your mobility is to commence rehabilitation as soon as you can. We can’t give you any guarantees, Leo.’

‘I know that millions of people in the world live wonderful lives in wheelchairs,’ Leo says stiffly. ‘But I can’t. I can’t do my job in a wheelchair. Nothing in my life would work if I can’t walk.’

‘There are ways of adjusting and coping,’ Craig tells him gently. ‘But you’re getting way ahead of yourself. Step one to your recovery will be to rest a little more, and then the next step is going to be to get you into a rehabilitation programme. There are some world-class brain injury programmes in Sydney.’

‘And – Leo’s amnesia?’ I prompt hesitantly.

‘We are confident it will resolve in its own time.’ Craig turns back to Leo. ‘In cases like yours, where the patient is able to form new memories and has only lost a portion of the previous memories the prognosis is actually very good. It’s likely most of your missing memories will return as the swelling recedes.’

‘I’ve already had a few memories return,’ Leo tells us, and I glance at him in surprise. I can tell by the way he looks immediately to me that he’s remembered something about us, and judging by the warmth in his gaze, the memories are early ones.

‘That’s very encouraging,’ Craig tells him.

‘Is there anything I can do to speed it up?’ Leo asks, and I nod enthusiastically at this idea.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Is there medication? Or some kind of therapy we could enrol Leo in?’

‘No, I’m afraid not in this case. The “cure” is time and patience.’ Leo and I both sigh. ‘Now for the good news,’ Craig continues. ‘You can travel whenever you’re ready – but only by air ambulance. You’re not in any shape to attempt a commercial flight.’

‘I’ll organise a medical crew for our jet,’ I say, and Craig nods, but Leo laughs weakly and says dryly, ‘Of course. “Our jet” – how could I forget?’

I
hate
the sarcasm and it’s an immediate reminder of how things used to be between us, unsettling me more than it should. ‘Do you want to go home, or not?’ I snap, and I immediately feel the doctors’ eyes on me. I flush, and then work hard to follow up my sharp tone with a gentle explanation: ‘It belongs to my parents, but I can still use it. We can get home whenever we want to – if you want to, Leo.’

As the doctors prepare to leave, I tell Leo that I need to visit the bathroom and on my way out, I hand him the box of
supplì.
As soon as Craig steps out, I waylay him in the corridor.

‘How are you holding up, Molly?’

‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to ask your advice.’

‘Happy to help if I can.’

‘We were…’ I freeze up when I try to say the words to explain our situation. I don’t want to admit the terrible mess we’ve made of things, not even to this doctor whom I will soon bid farewell to and never see again. ‘You said to keep him calm. How calm did you mean? There’s so much that he has forgotten, I don’t even know where to start. I just don’t know
what
to tell him.’

‘I’m inclined to suggest that you trust your instincts. I think you’ll know when he’s ready to hear the things you need to tell him.’

I stare at the floor, trying to figure out what that will look like in practice. Craig adds gently, ‘I think you need to ask yourself what he
needs
to know, Molly. Your role between now and when he’s well again will be one of tour guide – let him experience the world again for himself, but give him the information he needs to understand it.’

I take a moment to collect myself, and when I return to his room I find Leo busily eating the
supplì
. He’s sitting up in bed more easily now, not leaning into the pillows anymore. There’s a newspaper on the table beside him. Leo is definitely on his way back.

‘These are amazing,’ he says.

‘There’s a wonderful pizzeria between the hospital and my hotel. I’ve had more carbs in the last two weeks than I’ve had in the last year. It will be so good to get home.’

‘But where will I go? Surely rehabilitation centres have waiting lists.’

This has occurred to me too, but I have a back-up plan. If we can’t find Leo a suitable place, we’ll have to get therapists to come to us. He would have to move into my apartment, though – his house has too many stairs.

‘Money talks, Leo. It’ll be fine.’

We both fall silent for a moment, then Leo pushes the box of
supplì
towards me. I take one. ‘You said you’d remembered something,’ I prompt.

‘I remembered meeting you a few times, when we were talking about Declan. When you mentioned it earlier, I had a…’ He struggles for words, then says, ‘It was just like… maybe like déjà vu? It was familiar, as if it had been there all along but I’d forgotten how to access it.’ He hesitates again, and then mutters, ‘Very hard to explain. But I do remember thinking…’ Leo pauses, and seems to select his next words very carefully. ‘I remember thinking that, if I’d met someone like you under any other circumstances, I might have asked you out.’

‘How far do these new memories extend?’

‘There was certainly nothing romantic going on in what I’ve remembered so far.’

‘Do you remember the night we met up for a drink at Darling Harbour?’ He frowns, pauses to concentrate, then sighs in frustration and shakes his head.

‘Do you think you could take me there?’ he asks suddenly. ‘To Darling Harbour – and maybe some other places we went together – you know – if I’m allowed out once we get back to Sydney, and if the memories still aren’t back.’

I glance at him quizzically. I don’t know how I feel about the idea. It makes sense to take Leo to some of our old haunts, but this is hard enough already without literally taking myself back to remember the things we’ve lost. I remind myself that the most important thing is for him to be well, and even if it’s a little uncomfortable for me to revisit those days, he has
been such an important part of my life. I need to do what I can to help him.

‘Sure, if you think it’ll help.’

‘Thanks, Molly. Anything I can do to speed things up, I’m willing to try. It’s frustrating to have more questions than I can figure out how to ask. You said before that Laith isn’t in our lives? But we use his jet?’

‘We don’t usually. And he’s not in
our
lives, but
I
still see him occasionally and I speak to Mum often. When I called to tell them you’d been injured, they told me to use the jet. It’s not such a big deal – Dad has a second one for the company anyway.’

‘I still can’t believe I got involved with you,’ Leo says, and when I laugh softly he hastily adds, ‘I just meant…’

‘I know what you meant.’ I glance at my watch and calculate the time difference in my mind. ‘It’s very early morning at home, but I did tell Anne you’d call her tonight. How are you feeling after all the tests today? Are you tired?’

‘I’m fine, Molly. I had a rest before the doctors came by. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? I really need to get to know you a little.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘What’s your favourite colour?’

‘
That’s
where you want to start?’

‘Seems as good a place as any. And I can’t really tell from the clothes you’re wearing.’

I look down at my quasi-clown outfit and grimace. ‘Yeah, I was in such a rush to get back, I didn’t really look at these before I put them on.’

‘I wondered if fashion had changed in the last four years.’

Leo’s wardrobe consists of dozens of pairs of identical chinos and identical casual shirts. He has no sense at all of style.

‘As if
you’d
know what’s in fashion,’ and we laugh together. It feels good to laugh with Leo again. Once upon a time our life together was punctuated by easy laughter and shared smiles. ‘My favourite colour is yellow.’

‘Do you know mine?’

‘That’s a trick question. You don’t have a favourite colour.’

‘What’s your favourite food?’

‘I like anything I don’t have to cook. And you like simple food. You’ll eat pretty much anything, especially when you travel, but when you’re at home you crave simplicity. When we first moved in together, you came back from your first long trip and I was so excited to have you home I made you an elaborate four-course dinner. I don’t cook so that was quite a big gesture from me. You didn’t have the heart to tell me you had a little routine that I was getting in the way of so after I’d gone to bed, you snuck downstairs and I caught you at the table with a cup of tea and your precious vegemite toast.’

Leo laughs and nods, as if he knows immediately what I’m referring to. ‘It started off as a practical thing. I always kept some bread in the freezer and vegemite lasts forever, so it didn’t matter if it was stupid o’clock and I’d just come from the airport. Nothing feels more like coming home to Australia than good old-fashioned vegemite on toast. I never meant for it to become a ritual.’

‘Anyway, I learned not to bother you when you came home. I would just wave at you from the couch and wait until after you had finished.’

Leo frowned at me. ‘Surely I didn’t just ignore you until I was done eating my snack.’

‘That
is
pretty much what you did, actually.’

‘Didn’t that annoy
you?’

‘I think it was about decompressing, actually. Yes,
it annoyed me sometimes, but for the most part I understood that it was your way of compartmentalising your work. It was your pause before you came back properly into our home life.’

The truth is, the only way I could actually tolerate his stupid ritual at all was because right up until things between us really broke down, he always made it up to me. There was a second ritual that came immediately after the toast in the kitchen and that was long embraces with me on the couch, moments layered with affection and emotion. Even when he was exhausted, he always made such an effort to really come home to me. Leo never said sorry, but I interpreted every affectionate move in those blissful moments of reunion as an apology anyway.

‘What’s our favourite thing we do together?’ he asks me now.

I think about this for a minute, then say casually, ‘We love watching reality TV.’

‘Okay, now I know you’re lying. I do
not
watch reality TV!’ He’s aghast, as I knew he would be. I grin at him, and for a moment I’m lost in my own memories of nights on the couch with Leo’s warmth against my body through our clothes, our limbs entangled, his scent around me and the soft glow of the TV before us. That’s who we
really
were together when things were good – just me and Leo and the natural entwining of our hobbies and habits.

‘We usually sat together after dinner and I watched reality TV shows while you read next to me,’ I explain. ‘Every now and again you pulled your head out of your book to make disparaging comments about whatever show I was engrossed in. I usually pretended to be offended. It’s a bit of a game we played.’ Even the banter was perfect in the early days, tinged with tenderness and affection and a warmth that went all the way through the very layers of who we were as individuals.