I’m not really sure what to say. There are a hundred reasons I’m here, and some of them she won’t be ready to hear. ‘I got baptised.’
Her eyebrows lift slightly. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Then I left.’
More staring. ‘You left what?’
I swallow. ‘Everything.’
She takes a moment to process this. ‘So why are you looking for me?’
The sting in my nose is instant. She should understand better than anyone, but I’m feeling more and more alone with each passing second.
Because I really don’t want to cry in front of her, I turn and walk away.
‘Annie,’ she calls instantly.
The edge in her voice makes me turn back.
I see her swallow, and then she looks over her shoulder. ‘Let me get my things. Wait here.’
I watch her walk away, feeling slightly better.
She returns a moment later, her sketchbook in hand. ‘My car’s parked down the road. I’ll take you to my place.’
She has a place. And a car. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Fortitude Valley.’
That doesn’t mean much to me. ‘I don’t know my way around yet. Is it close?’
‘Ten-minute drive from here.’
We arrive at a red Ford Laser. Bridget climbs in and reaches over to unlock my door. We drive along the streets that I’ve been walking every day this past week searching for her. Ten minutes later, we pull into the car park below her apartment building, and I follow her to the door. She puts in a code, then hip and shoulders the door.
‘It sticks in this weather,’ she explains.
There’s no lift, so we walk up six flights of stairs to apartment 36. Inside smells familiar—like her, and a little of home. I want to lie down on the floor and breathe in the comforting scent. Obviously, I don’t do that. I stay very much on my feet and follow her through to the kitchen. She doesn’t give me a tour, simply puts the kettle on and drags a jar of teabags to her.
‘Tea?’
I spot the plunger nearby. ‘Coffee if you have it, please.’
She pushes the jar back in place and grabs the coffee plunger. ‘Bet Mum doesn’t like that.’
‘No, she doesn’t.’
She puts the kettle on and spoons some ground coffee into the plunger. I watch her, bracing for the inevitable questions.
‘Does Mum know where you are?’ she asks.
And so it begins.
‘She knows I’m in Brisbane, but she doesn’t know where.’
Bridget leans against the bench on the far side of the kitchen. ‘When did you get here?’
‘Sunday.’