I try to blank my mind, to simply sit, but my hand hovers on my camera, as if ready at any moment to flick it on and capture a moment in time, to translate an emotion onto digital film.
That’s what I do.
I trap moments like someone might a butterfly, pinning it as though that can bring it back to life.
A busker begins to play his guitar, singing an acoustic version of a song that was on the top of the charts a few years ago. I listen, and I watch, and I forcibly remove every hint of Holden from my thoughts because having him there doesn’t serve any purpose.
* * *
I shouldn’t be here.
It’s about the tenth time I’ve admitted that to myself since my driver pulled up outside Cora’s place. I shouldn’t be here and yet I have been for the past hour, looking up at her place, waiting for lights to switch on to indicate that she’s home, or waiting until I see her walking home. Something.
I tried to forget with alcohol, but this time it didn’t work. Drinking made me angrier, so I contemplated throwing my phone into the harbour so Theo and Jagger would stop calling me, feeling sorry for me, wanting to heal me somehow.
I also contemplated getting on my plane and leaving Australia, leaving Jagger and Grace and baby Felicity, and Cora, just disappearing for a while. But I’ve tried that too. After I first learned the truth I lost myself in Europe for months at a time. Jagger and Theo kept loose tabs on me but otherwise they let me go, as if they understood I needed that time.
So why can’t they understand that I still do?
Another ten minutes pass. I lift my phone out and think about texting her. I hold it in my lap. Another five minutes go by and then I hear the sound of the Vespa before I see it. A moment later, it zips around the corner and my gut kicks me into action. I wait until she’s parked and lifted the helmet off and then I step out of the car, crossing to her before she can see me, so I’m almost touching her before she realises and looks up.
Her lips part in recognition and then something else—concern?
I register it and realise I must look like shit. I showered a day or so ago, but since then I’ve consumed my body weight in liquor and barely eaten. Maybe coming here right now, like this, wasn’t my best idea.
‘Holden?’ My name is swallowed inside of her. She shakes her head, like I’m some kind of ghost or something. ‘You’re still here?’
It’s what she said last time, like she keeps thinking I might have flown right out of the country. ‘I’m still here.’ My words are unintentionally gruff. I don’t have a problem with Cora—she doesn’t deserve my wrath, even the overflow of it. I have to get a grip on this, and I can see only one way to do that. Assuming a more nonchalant tone, I shrug. ‘I’m here for another week. Seven days.’
Her eyes flare and she swallows, her throat moving beneath my focused inspection. ‘And then you go back to the States?’
Relief bursts through me. A week is good. A week to do some work with the manager of the casino floor, a week to see Felicity and get Theo off my back and a week to have a bit more fun with Cora—if she’s amenable. Going by the last time we were together, I’d say she will be.
‘So, why are you here?’ She gestures to her house and there’s no misunderstanding now.
‘I came to ask you to come over.’
A frown shifts across her expression. ‘Why?’
My look is sceptical and her cheeks bloom with colour.
‘Why not just call me or send a text?’
‘Because I wanted to make sure you said yes.’ None of this is her fault and yet the power she holds over me fills me with resentment. ‘Because I didn’t want to wait for your answer.’
She closes her lips, looking beyond me, towards the limousine at my back.
‘Damn it, Cora,’ I say when she doesn’t respond. ‘Either invite me up or get in my car.’
She bites into her lower lip, and her eyes are so awash with confusion that I could drown in their depths. What am I doing? What right do I have to come here and draw Cora into my messed-up life?
She expels a soft sigh and I feel it. The battle she’s waging. The fight she’s locked in—like me. Knowing what we should do, knowing what’s inevitable. She looks towards the house, a little furrow on her brow, and then back at me.
‘Wait here. I just need to grab something.’
She thrusts the bag she’s holding towards me then hesitates, and I hold my breath, wondering if maybe she’s going to change her mind after all.
But she doesn’t.