Page 1 of When You're Gone

ONE

HOLLY

I’d been expecting the call. I’d known for quite some time that it could be any day now, but my breath still caught in the back of my throat when I answered my mobile, and my brother’s voice whispered softly, ‘It’s time.’

I literally ran out of work, stopping only to scribble a brief explanation on a yellow Post-it that I stuck to Nate’s laptop screen for him to see when he finished his meetings. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I don’t want to know. I didn’t even stop by my apartment to grab an overnight bag. Anything I need I can pick up in the local shop once I arrive.I just need to get there before it’s too late.

The engine is making a weird noise as my foot presses heavily on the accelerator. My rusty old car isn’t used to travelling this fast. The doors rattle and the steering wheel vibrates between my hands, reasoning with me to slow down. I force my foot closer to the floor and weave in and out of the motorway traffic, all the while cursing any slow drivers under my breath.

The familiar two-and-a-half-hour drive from Dublin to Galway maps out like infinity in my mind. Every minute I’m not yet with my family is tearing little pieces off my heart. An amber light flickers on the dashboard, and I roll my eyes, knowing that my little car is well overdue for a service, but I just can’t afford it at the moment. Nate said he’d bring it to the garage for me last month, but that was before our world fell apart. Before I selfishly pushed my fiancé away for something that wasn’t his fault. A stupid car service was the least of my worries. My fingers curl tighter around the steering wheel, and I plead with my car to hold out until I make it to Galway.Wait for me, Nana. Please wait for me.

The traffic is forgiving, and in just over two hours, the familiar crunch of pebble stones under the tyres of my car sends a shiver down my spine. I used to love this noise as a child. This noise meant we had reached the long, winding driveway leading to my grandmother’s farmhouse in Athenry, County Galway. The journey from our family home just outside Dublin was always trying. Ben and I would spend most of the time fighting in the back seat, and my mother’s patience would wear thin. She’d warn us that if we didn’t behave she’d turn the car around and there would be no weekend with Nana. We always knew she was bluffing, but we’d stop our arguing nonetheless and allow our excitement to take over instead.

My grandmother’s house was a place of stories, homemade apple tarts and hard-boiled sweets. It was my favourite place in the whole world when I was a little girl, but it’s a very different place now. The years have passed. Ben turned thirty last month, and I’m almost twenty-nine. Life is busy, and we don’t visit as often as I wish we could. I try to squeeze in an overnight visit once a month at least, but it’s becoming steadily more difficult to free up the time. Ben gets pissed off if I nag him to visit when I can’t. It’s almost hard to believe we were ever the pair of goofy kids who loved the old house almost as much as we loved the old lady. Time has changed us all; just as my grandmother always warned me that it would.

‘You can’t save time, Holly. So spend it wisely,’ she always said, pointing her finger towards the stars in the sky, and I often wondered if she was talking to something or someone up there.

‘One day, you’ll be all grown up,’ she used to warn. ‘You’ll be too big to sit on my knee and too old to listen to my stories.’

‘I can’t wait to grow up,’ I always replied excitedly.

When I was seven years old, I meant it. I thought being a grown-up would be amazing. And, sometimes, it is. Just not lately. I wish Nana had warned me that being a grown-up can be hard. I’d have taken her advice on board. I always took her advice. I still do.

Swooping around the final bend in the driveway and nearing the front of the house, I seek out the familiar, overgrown apple tree on the front lawn and decide to park next to it. I smile as I think about how much Nana loves this strong old tree with its knobbly bark and sweeping branches. I remember the summer’s afternoon I fell from the top branch and broke my left arm. I was nine, almost ten. I screamed so loudly I lost my voice for hours. Nana gave me two pounds and told me we could walk to the village shop to buy sweets when I came home from the hospital. I don’t remember if we bought sweets that afternoon, but I do remember Nana’s arms around me telling me I was the bravest girl in all of Ireland. I wish I was brave now.

Today, I barely recognise Nana’s big country house. I hardly recognise myself recently either, if I’m honest. Everything is changing so suddenly it scares me. Over the past couple of months, the smell of antiseptic cleaner has replaced the smell of baking in my grandmother’s large farmhouse. The stories we hear now are no longer fairy tales read from dog-eared books; they’re long-winded explanations full of medical jargon read from hospital notes.

My brother opens the front door as I tap the brakes and tuck my car under the weary branches of the old apple tree. I swallow a little acid that’s been lodged in the back of my throat for the entire journey and breathe a sigh of relief. I snatch my handbag off the passenger’s seat, and I’m out of my car almost before it has come to a complete stop. Forgetting to slip back on my work heels, I race towards the house, struggling on the loose pebbles in my driving slippers. I can’t move fast enough towards all the memories I cherish, even though I’m running towards a future that scares me.

‘Did I make it?’ I shout.

My voice echoes around the huge open garden and carries back to hit me like a slap across the face. And then silence. The wind doesn’t rustle the leaves on the trees. The birds don’t chirp as they perch on their nests. It’s as if nature waits with baited breath for my brother’s answer. Ben doesn’t shout back.Oh, Christ.

‘Did I make it?’ I call again; louder this time as I edge closer to the front door, searching for clues in Ben’s face.

Ben nods, and it’s only then I realise I’ve been holding my breath.

I stop running as I reach the rickety doorstep. I remember how it wobbles every time you step on it. I’ve spent years awkwardly stepping over it because I don’t want to be the one to break it. But today I stand right in the centre of it, and as if the old, concrete slab sympathises – it doesn’t move under my weight.

Ben’s eyes are puffy and bloodshot. It’s obvious he’s been crying. I want to hug him, but I’m afraid that if I touch him, I’ll fall to pieces. My chest tightens, and I’m suddenly aware of my heart beating against my ribs.

‘You made it,’ Ben says, his stiff upper body softening, and the corners of his lips twisting to form a half-smile. ‘You made it.’

My hand smacks against my chest, and I cough. ‘Thank God.’

‘C’mon. Nana is in her bedroom.’ Ben tilts his head towards the prominent sweeping stairs behind him. ‘The nurse is with her, and Mam is there too.’

Ben steps to one side and makes room for me to pass by, but I don’t move. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand rigid, and my back curves like that of a startled cat. IthinkI’m actually afraid to go inside. I feel like a small child again. Suddenly I need someone to tell me it will all be okay. But I know how this story ends. The grown-up in me knows this one doesn’t have a happy ever after.Maybe if I never go inside, it’ll never happen, I tell myself. I can stay out here on the porch, and Nana will be fine.She will be fine.

‘Holly, just come in. It’s freezing,’ Ben says. His hand cups my elbow, ushering me inside before he closes the heavy front door behind us.

I drop my handbag onto the tired wicker chair that sits just inside the door. I realise my father is sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, staring into a cup of coffee. I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. He looks up and smiles, but he doesn’t talk or stand. I understand. I exhale slowly, nod, and brush past.

‘Are you coming, Ben?’ I say, stopping and turning around halfway up the stairs.

Ben shakes his head. ‘You go. Take some time with her on your own. She’s been asking for you. I’ll come up soon.’

She’s been asking for me?Guilt swirls in the pit of my stomach. I should have come sooner. Work has been crazy recently, since Nate was promoted to head of our department, days before we broke up, but that’s no excuse. I should have made time to visit my dying grandmother. My legs take the remaining steps two at a time.

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