by K J
“That’s a look of confusion if ever I saw one.” Francine cocked an eyebrow, and pressed mute on an episode of the metaphorical train wreck that was reality TV, which they’d been happily dissecting for the last forty minutes.
“It’s the internationally recognised expression of what the fuck?” J’aann nodded wisely, then grinned. Cam waved her hand at both of them.
“No. It’s from Sophia. Look.” She twisted her hand so they could see the screen.
“Looks like she butt-dialled you.”
“Drunk dialled, more like it.”
“Sophia doesn’t get drunk and this isn’t—” Cam frowned. “I have a weird feeling about this.” She bypassed the message and headed straight for the phone app. Cam held a finger in the air to show she’d only be a minute, and Francine flapped her hand as if to say ‘no problem’.
The dial tone cut out as soon as Sophia picked up. There was no immediate greeting, but Cam knew she was there because quiet breathing whispered into her ear.
“Hey Soph? I got your message, but I didn’t understand it. You okay?” Cam said tentatively. Sophia took such a long time answering that Cam opened her mouth to repeat the question.
“Louise left.” Sophia’s voice was raspy, underscored with a thready note of disbelief.
Cam’s eyes darted towards J’aann and Francine, who had stilled their movements. “I don’t follow, sweetheart. Where did Louise go?”
A soft whine drifted into Cam’s ear. “Dead. Didn’t save her.”
Cam inhaled sharply. “Soph, sweetie. I’m coming over, okay?”
Quiet breathing greeted that statement.
“Okay. Right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hang on, sweetheart.”
Cam leapt off the couch. “Soph said someone named Louise has died. I need to go to her now.” She gasped mid-turn, and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Louise Verheer.” The air rushing out of her mouth pushed her fingers away. “No!”
J’aann and Francine were standing, eyes round in shock.
“Isn’t she one of the players you interviewed?” Francine wrinkled her brow in concern.
“Yes! Oh God, no wonder Sophia’s a mess. Oh, this is awful.” She spun around and raced to her bedroom, grabbed her backpack, shoved her wallet and phone into the front pocket, snagged her jacket off the bed, then made her way out to the lounge. Her feet stuttered to a halt, and her breath gave a sudden hitch. “A taxi. I have to—”
J’aann took three long strides and wrapped Cam into a tight embrace. “You need to process this as well, hon. We’re here, okay?” She held Cam’s shoulders. “Meanwhile, go be with your girl.”
Cam dashed up the laneway behind Provender, mindful of the slick blue-black cobblestones with their mirror-like surfaces, which were shattered with each quick footstep. She shoved open the gate, and as she grabbed the railing to leap up the stairs, a flash of baby-blue caught her eye. A dreadfully sick feeling bubbled in her stomach, because Sophia always covered Flo for the night. Always. Cam took the steps two at a time, adrenaline driving her forward, and knocked on the door. She rocked from side to side in agitation, then knocked again. Louder.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered frantically. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she twisted the doorknob, then jumped with fright as it turned and she fell into the flat. Cam shook off her jacket, and dropped it with her backpack next to the doorway, then plucked her glasses from her face so she could whisk the rain from the lenses with the hem of her shirt. A single floor lamp in the corner of the lounge made a fairly unsuccessful attempt at lighting the entire room, and shadows loomed large across the furniture.
“Soph?” Her voice was unexpectedly loud in the space. She took a few hesitant footsteps across the floorboards. “Soph?”
A single sob pulled her attention, and she could make out Sophia’s fingers dangling a bottle by its very top, like she was daring it to fall, then softly twisting her wrist so that the base of the bottle swung in large circles above the coffee table. As if approaching an injured creature, Cam carefully made her way past the couch, slowly slid down the front, and gazed at Sophia’s drawn features. It was almost too dark to tell, but Cam could have sworn that Sophia’s eyes were too large for her face.
“Soph?”
The bottle was lowered unsteadily to the table, and Sophia swung her gaze towards Cam, like she needed to move her entire head rather than just her eyes. “You’re here.”
“I am.” She reached out and stroked her hand down Sophia’s arm. “What happened, sweetie?”
The touch was the invitation Sophia must have been waiting for, because she curled her body, tipped sideways, her temple coming to rest against Cam’s shoulder, and Cam quickly gathered her in as bone-deep sobs travelled from Sophia’s chest, to land heavily in Cam’s lap. Sophia’s strong body shook, and she clutched great fistfuls of Cam’s shirt as if the fabric was a lifeline. Cam curled her arm under Sophia’s knees, and somehow managed to pull Sophia’s legs, weighed down by alcohol, over her own so that she was cradling her like a child. The sobs deepened. Cam blinked away her own tears, frantically trying to join dots in her mind about the day’s events that had brought her to Sophia’s side.
“What happened, Soph?” Cam’s repeated question seemed to register, as Sophia gulped and held mouthfuls of air in her throat so she could answer. Even then, her words were engulfed by great waves of shudders and sobs. Her head lifted and her blue eyes, the colour afloat on an ocean of pain, met Cam’s.
“Louise…Louise died. She was only eighteen. I didn’t protect her.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Sophia’s mouth opened, her lips stretched tightly over her teeth. A high-pitched keening poured from her body, and she burrowed into Cam’s chest. The sharply sweet tang of whiskey permeated the air, as it seeped from Sophia’s skin, and Cam held on, her hand on Sophia’s shoulders reaching up to skim her hair. Sophia’s grief felt intimate, like Cam was witnessing a personal peeling of layers that was so much more than clothes. It was raw and primal and Cam held on. She held on.
After a while, when it seemed the time to ask, she murmured into Sophia’s hair. “Why didn’t you call Ben?” Sophia let out a shuddering breath.
“It’s their anniversary. I…I didn’t want to interrupt,” she mumbled into Cam’s shirt. There was silence for a moment. “I didn’t…I didn’t interrupt you, did I?” Cam squeezed her gently, her heart breaking and healing all at once. Oh sweetie.
“No. You didn’t interrupt me.”
The sobs began to quieten, but Sophia gave absolutely no indication that she was letting Cam go. Cam reached out and lifted the bottle of whiskey off the table. A gentle tip to the side highlighted just how much Sophia had drunk, assuming it was new when she’d opened it, then Cam tucked it under the table, and resumed her embrace. They sat for another long period, so much so that Sophia’s breathing began to match the rhythm of Cam’s.
“Did you know that my Dad held me together after Mum died?” Sophia’s voice was raw, strained, like her vocal cords had forgotten how to modulate tone. Cam squeezed her shoulders in response. “He and Ben. I was a mess. Then Dad died, and it was Ben who held me together. And Lin too.” She coughed quietly. “Well, she held Ben together, who held me together. We were like that rescue technique they use to get people out of rapids.” She lifted her head. “You know the one?” Cam gazed at Sophia, whose face was the colour of milk, even in the muted light. She smoothed a thumb across her cheek.
“I do know the one.”
Sophia nodded, then ducked her head. “He became a shell. I’d heard that saying before and I’d scoffed at how clichéd it was.” A humourless laugh popped out from her lips. “A shell. But it was the perfect description for my Dad at the end. He became hollow.”
Cam brushed a circle over Sophia’s back and brought her lips to the soft blonde hair. Sophia’s sigh was precarious, as if the air was checking to see if it was safe to come out.
“I couldn
’t save him, Cam. Just like I couldn’t save Louise.”
“No one expected you to, sweetheart.” Cam continued her soft circles, as they seemed to be having the desired effect. Her own tears kept threatening, some pushing down her cheeks.
“Everyone leaves, Cam. Everyone.”
More soft circles. A sigh, steadier this time. Bigger, like her lungs were done with being a prison for air.
“My heart is une feuille morte,” whispered Sophia.
Oh Soph. Cam’s breath caught in her throat, and her hand stuttered in its rotation on Sophia’s shirt. Through her fog, Sophia seemed to feel Cam falter. Her head rolled to the side so she could peer up into Cam’s face. “It means it’s a dead leaf,” she murmured. Cam held her gaze.
“I know what it means, sweetheart.”
Sophia sagged and Cam realised that Drunk And In Pain Sophia had begun to drift into Nearly Asleep Sophia, which was going to make life difficult if Cam wanted to get her into bed, rather than the couch.
“Soph, we’re going to stand up, okay? I need to get you into bed.”
Sophia mumbled incoherently, but responded to the request with a half-hearted attempt, eventually draping herself across Cam’s shoulders. The journey to the bedroom was assisted by the walls, as Cam braced Sophia against them every time she started to slide. Eventually, Sophia collapsed onto the bed in what Cam hoped was her bedroom. There’d been a choice of two. Then, like an efficient nurse, Cam whipped the blue-green covers down, and divested Sophia of her training pants and socks. After a quick hunt around for Panadol and grabbing a glass of water, she placed both on the bedside table. Cam stared at Sophia, whose eyes fluttered open, and her gaze wandered until she found Cam’s face.
“You’re here,” said Sophia in wonder.
Cam nodded. “I am. Get some sleep, sweetie,” she whispered, and brushed the hair from Sophia’s eyes, stroking her fingertips over temples and cheekbones. Sophia reached up and held Cam’s wrist.
“Please don’t leave.” Her grip tightened, her eyes pleading, and Cam knew without a doubt that Sophia was asking for more than right then.
Cam gently extricated her hand, and brushed Sophia’s face again. “I won’t leave.”
Sophia’s body visibly relaxed, then her eyes closed, and she rolled to her side. Cam pulled the covers up to her shoulders, then leaned over and softly kissed Sophia’s cheek. Sophia didn’t fit the egotistical athlete template that Rachel had burned into her heart. Cam shook her head, disappointed with herself. To think that in the beginning she’d almost missed finding Sophia, simply because she refused to notice. Asleep from the exhaustion of grief and alcohol, Sophia looked so vulnerable, and Cam felt incredibly protective of her. It was purely the affection one felt for a friend and—oh, who am I kidding? I’ve fallen in love with her. Cam sighed, and padded out of the room.
She retrieved the bottle from under the table, tipping it again to check the level—there was more in there than she thought—and poured a small mouthful of whiskey into the abandoned glass. Cam still didn’t know what had happened tonight. Those details would come soon. She tossed the whiskey into her mouth and swallowed, grimacing at the taste. Then she stared into the glass, leaning over her knees as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Louise had died and she needed to be mourned. Other feelings, like love, could simmer away at the back of the stove, waiting their turn.
***
A quick check on Sophia at eight o’clock the next morning revealed a blonde head, with the attached body tucked under the covers, still very fast asleep. Sophia’s skin was so pale she could have been transparent, except for the dark half-moons under her eyes. Cam blinked as she leaned over her hands which were braced on the kitchen bench. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck, which had then reversed and run over her again. She pulled her glasses off and scrubbed at her face, pressing her fingertips against her eyes.
“Okay,” she muttered. She’d wanted to call Ben, but Sophia’s phone had a lock on it, and she wasn’t about to sneak into the bedroom and press the thumb of an unconscious woman against the touch pad. That was just all sorts of creepy. A quick investigation of Sophia’s kitchen revealed instant coffee, an electric jug, and milk. She set the jug into motion, and found a mug in the cupboard near the stove. One cup of coffee later, Cam went downstairs to Flo.
“Morning, Flo.” Cam slicked the water from the seat. “Your Mum’s in a bit of bad way right now, so I hope you don’t mind if I cover you today.” She hauled the tarpaulin over the moped.
“I thought Sophia was the only one who talked to that bike.” Ben’s deep voice came from behind her. She turned to find him holding the gate for Lin. Their arrival brought a fresh collection of tears to her eyes, and Lin stepped forward to embrace her.
“We heard. It was on the radio this morning.” Lin pushed on Cam’s shoulders, and stared into her face. Cam swallowed.
“I’m…Soph rang me, so I’m here.”
Lin rubbed her hands up and down Cam’s arms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Thank you.”
“She didn’t call you because you had a date night or something.”
A gentle smile lifted Lin’s lips. “It’s so like her to not call us because she didn’t want to interrupt. Even when her world has just imploded.” She squeezed Cam’s upper arms. “Have you had some breakfast? Sleep, even?”
Cam tipped her head, and closed her eyes. “Not a great deal.” She flicked her eyes open. “But that’s okay. Seriously.” She sent a quick glance at Ben. “She had a good go at a bottle of whiskey last night.”
Ben blew out a breath. “Yeah, I figured. She did that when…” he trailed off, and Cam gave a quick nod. People process grief differently. It didn’t make Sophia’s processing wrong. It just made it…hers. Cam imagined that when she understood more about Louise’s death that her processing would be different from Sophia’s as well. Maybe without as much whiskey.
Ben, his blue eyes, so much like Sophia’s, shimmered with tears and sympathy, and he rested a hand on each of their shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go up.”
Chapter Eighteen
Words like ‘carpark’ and ‘overdose’ rattled around in Cam’s head, as Lin and Ben shared what they’d heard on the news. Both words seemed nonsensical and they simply made the whole situation even more awful. Cam wandered about, tidying Sophia’s shoes and bag, wiping down the coffee table and washing up the glass, tucking the bottle away at the side of the bench, and folding the blanket she’d used to cover herself last night when she’d slept on the couch. Finally, Lin had snagged her hand as she went past.
“Sit. You’re making me tired just watching you,” she said gently, so Cam chose the rather lovely replica Eames armchair and melted into the leather. Ben’s arm reached past and placed a coffee on the little lamp table beside her.
“Thank you.” Cam knew her voice revealed how tired she was. Perhaps the second coffee would build the resilience needed for the remainder of the day. She contemplated how the first coffee hadn’t seemed to even make it to her bloodstream, as she cradled the mug to her chest. A pastry, balanced on a small white plate, appeared in front of her.
“Sugar hit. You’ll need it.” Ben nodded and nudged the plate towards her. “Go on. I didn’t run down to Cooper’s Bakery for nothing, you know.”
Cam smiled and accepted the plate. “Thanks.”
“You ran down to Cooper’s because it’s right on the corner and you like their apple turnovers,” said Lin, dryly. Ben grinned, and Cam’s heart warmed at their banter.
“Hey.” Sophia’s voice, quiet and raspy, drifted from the space where the hallway joined the lounge. She was still barefoot, but had found a pair of jeans to wear, as well as a black sweater with sleeves that were so stretched she had to curl the material into her palms. She looked much younger than her thirty-four years, and yet not, as grief had smudged exhaustion into her skin. Ben dropped his pastry onto his plate, and took one stride across the floorboards to engulf his sister, holding the b
ack of her head as he pressed her temple to his shoulder. Quiet murmurs issued from their embrace. Cam and Lin sat, silently watching, knowing that Ben was probably saying everything that needed to be said. Eventually, he tucked Sophia’s hand into his own and brought her to the couch.
“Coffee?” he asked, as Sophia collapsed gently, cupping her chin in her hands and resting her elbows on her knees, as if her neck had resigned from its position as a support structure.
“Yeah.” She sent a glance to Lin. “Morning.” Then rolled her head and looked blearily at Cam. “Hey.”
Cam met her gaze. “Hi sweetheart. I wasn’t going to ask if you’re okay because it seems such a vacuous question, but are you? Okay, that is.”
Sophia closed her eyes gently, then opened them as she answered. “I actually don’t know. I do know that I have a spectacular hangover. Thank you for the Panadol, by the way.” She straightened, and beckoned. “Can you sit next to me, please?”
Cam settled the plate on the table, then picked up her coffee, and moved to the couch, turning her body so she was square-on to Sophia. Ben arrived, held Sophia’s wrist, and placed the coffee mug into her palm. She stared at it for a moment, then spoke to the liquid inside.
“Thank you for last night.”
Cam paused, then reached over and brushed her hand across Sophia’s shoulder, feeling the soft hair fall lightly on her skin. “There was never a doubt about coming over,” Cam said, quietly.
Sophia turned, screwing up her cheek and squinting as the movement seemed to set off a drum kit in her head. Her bloodshot eyes gazed at Cam. “Well…thank you anyway. Um…do you want a shower or anything?”
Cam smiled. “I wouldn’t say no to a fresh shirt. It rained last night, and I feel a bit gross…” Cam trailed off as Lin pushed forward on her chair, so she put out her hand. “Don’t get up, Lin. It’s fine.” She turned back to Sophia, and raised her eyebrows.