I grip the steering wheel.
Breathe in.Breathe out.
I’m here.I actually did it.
Now all I have to do is get out of the car and walk into the aftermath of someone’s death.Then face the man who I can’t seem to stop tormenting and insist that I’m here for no other reason than to babysit Daisy.It’s not a lie but it’s not exactly the whole truth either.It’s the sort of justification that lands me in trouble ninety- seven per cent of the time.
One hundred per cent doable.
Probably.
I run my hands down my black silk dress and use the rear-view mirror to check my eyeliner, applied that morning with shaky precision.The next few seconds are spent trying not to think too much.If I start thinking, I’ll turn the car around.And if I turn the car around, then none of this ever happened.And I don’t think I want that.
I take a deep breath and open the car door.
The heat hits me like a warning – dry, still, heavy with dust and the kind of silence that feels as if it knows things about you.
I cross the small patch of gravel and head straight for Ella and Darcy’s car.Darcy is halfway through wrangling a pram from the boot while Ella rummages around in a bag for wipes, trying to juggle a newborn who clearly didn’t nap in the car.
‘Here,’ I say, reaching for the baby bag before Ella can drop it.‘Let me.’
She glances up.‘You don’t have to—’
‘I know,’ I reply, slinging the strap over my shoulder.‘But I want to.’
Darcy shoots me a grateful look and silently hands me a stack of baby clothes to shove into the bag.Truthfully, I’m just happy to have something to hold on to.Something to keep my hands busy.
Once Daisy is strapped into the pram, we turn towards the house.
A pair of old work boots sit neatly by the door.A ceramic pot of lavender, mostly dead, slouches near the steps.Wind chimes hang in the corner, swaying in the breeze with that hollow, tinny sound that always makes me feel as if I’ve walked into someone else’s memory.
I follow Ella and Darcy up the wooden porch steps, each one creaking beneath me.The screen door groans as they ease it open and step inside.
The air smells like him – earth and eucalyptus – with something citrusy underneath, maybe lemon, maybe wood polish, maybe just time.It’s the kind of smell that seeps into floorboards and skin and becomes part of the house itself.
Darcy places the bags down as I move through the hallway on autopilot, my chest tightening with every step until I find myself at the back of the house.Through the open doors, I see Darcy’s parents,Sophia and James, alongside dozens of other people under the wide canopy of a swamp bloodwood tree.The deep pink blossoms are in full bloom, bright and lively and wrong.Too vibrant, too beautiful for a day like this.Several of them fall in slow-motion flurries onto the red soil and dusty shrubs – confetti at the wrong kind of party.
I freeze.
My feet stop at the top step.
I can’t go any further.
A wave of nausea rolls through me.This was a mistake.A colossal, reckless, what-the-hell-was-I-thinking mistake.
Daisy cries.
I blink and turn in time to see Ella gather her crying baby into her arms and duck towards a bedroom to breastfeed.Darcy breaks away when he spots someone he knows in the crowd outside.Still clutching the baby bag, I turn back around and watch people mill about, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
Sophia Thornwood floats by with a tray of empty wine glasses.She pauses beside me and says, ‘Would you be able to grab the other tray for me, darling?’
I follow her gaze and spot the second tray on the kitchen bench.‘Of course,’ I say, grateful to be put to use.More people shuffle down the hallway, wearing various masks of grief.I pop the baby bag in the room with Ella and then busy myself with helping Sophia in the kitchen.
My head is buried in napkin folding when Ella reappears with a sated Daisy.‘Hey,’ she says softly.‘You good?’
I glance up and smile awkwardly.‘Yeah.You?’
Ella gives me a knowing look, then says, ‘I asked him if it was okay if you came, given you’d already planned this trip, and he said it was fine.’
