Chapter 34 Please See What I Can See
Please see what I can see
Morgan
I did as he said and pulled out an old photo album collection Mum started when we were kids. Hating storing them on the computer, she swears by keeping something you can touch. Something you can feel to remember the moment.
Tangible proof? Is that what he meant?
Like I did when I looked through my diaries, I lean against my bed and flick through the albums, feeling as though I’m being lied to. A dull haze has me trapped underneath it. I can’t see the way out. I don’t know what’s real or not.
But Holly is real. I know that.
Holding up my hand in front of me, I can see it. I know it’s there. I know I’m in control when I wiggle my fingers, seeing them move.
So why, when I listened to the conversation that Paddy recorded, could I only hear my voice? I know that conversation was real. I remember every word.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Reaching for my phone, I send Holly a message, my head spinning in total confusion.
Sorry we argued. Can you come back to mine so we can talk?
Waiting for her to reply, I study the photos around me, happy memories provoking a mixture of emotions.
When a knock comes on the door, I look up before staring down at the photo in my hand. “Come in.” My throat is dry and burning as my stomach knots.
Paddy opens my bedroom door, holding a cup of tea, his eyes looking over the photos scattered across my floor before landing heavily on mine. The sadness on his face rips my heart out. “The floor was uncomfortable.” He nods to outside my room, using the carpet as an excuse to come in here.
I don’t smile. Can’t find the energy to. Instead, I nod, unable to let him know how I am. Because that’s what he wants; to make sure I’m okay. How can I say that I am when I don’t even know myself?
Looking down at the photo in my hand, I run a soft stroke over the image. “I remember this like it was yesterday.”
Leaving my bedroom door ajar, Paddy asks, “Can I see?”
I nod without looking at him, and Paddy places the mug he’s holding close to me before coming to sit by my side.
I look at the gap he’s left between us, and I’m not sure whose benefit it’s for. It feels like a thousand miles. “I thought the floor was uncomfortable?”
His cheeks pull for a fraction of a second. “Not when I’m next to you.”
I stare at him. “Why are you doing this?” I ask seriously, eagle eyes looking for something. Anything. Any trace of a lie that indicates why this is happening.
“Because I love you, Morgan.”
I don’t see what I’m looking for. Choking on my unspoken words, I swallow harshly. He isn’t lying.
“Can I see it?” Paddy points to the picture in my hand.
Passing it over, I reach for the steaming mug. “This for me?” My voice cracks, and there’s a slight tremor in my hand.
He nods, inspecting one of the many photos. “I like that you still have these.” He fans the photo in front of him.
I huff. “I hate technology.”
“I know you do.” He looks down at the photo again. “When was this?”
I glance at it. “Summer holidays, the year before we finished college.”
“Where were you?”
“Brighton Beach.”
“I didn’t know you all went.”
A group of us, including Holly and Fi, took off for a week camping. “Yeah. It was a laugh.”
He looks over the photos, pushing a few aside to see the ones underneath. “And this one?”
I peer over. “Um, that’s my dad’s fiftieth birthday. We went to The Globe Theatre in London.”
His eyebrows raise. “Which play did you see?”
“Romeo and Juliet.” I shrug. “It was my favourite in school.”
“I didn’t know that.”
I take a sip from my mug. “Did you know that in the prologue, the end is revealed before the play even begins?”
Paddy shakes his head. “I didn’t.” There’s a touch of humour in his voice.
“Not everyone notices.”
“I guess the end isn’t always clear.” Paddy sighs.
“What is it, Paddy?”
He looks up at me, and I wholeheartedly know that whatever he’s about to say, I’m not going to like. “I have another photo for you to look at, curly fries.”
I wait, my heart now gunning in my chest.
Paddy holds it out, passing it over to me.
It’s from Holly’s birthday party. The photo Mrs Danford makes us line up for every year. “Why are you showing me this?”
Paddy searches my features, his lips parting and closing in quick succession.
“Paddy?”
He clears his throat before sucking in a breath. “What do you see?”
I swallow, looking down at the photo. “I see everyone at Holly’s party we had in the Summer.
” When I look at Paddy, it’s like he’s waiting for me to say something more.
I double take before continuing to reel off what I can see.
“There’s everyone we’re close to in the village.
Mr and Mrs Danford, me and Holly, you, Fi, your parents. ”
Paddy chokes on his next words. “And?” I want to reach out and comfort him. But I can see it in his pleading eyes that it’s me making him this way.
“And,” I begin, dragging out the word as I look down once again.
My eyes squint, looking for smaller details.
“We’re standing in front of the table you put the food on as you arrived.
There’s balloons, food and drink…” I blow out an exhausted breath.
“Paddy, I really don’t get what you want me to see. ”
“The banner. What does it say?”
The big birthday banner suspended behind us was bright pink. Her favourite colour. “Happy birthday,” I challenge, not liking how wrong I’m getting things, judging by the look on his face.
Paddy’s eyes well, glistening under the light in my bedroom.
“It says happy birthday. Right?”
Slowly and painfully, Paddy shakes his head from side to side. “No, curly fries. It doesn’t say that.”
Lifting the photo up to my line of vision, I stare at it hard, willing my eyes to see what I’m missing.
“Look hard, baby. Tell me what you can see.” Paddy closes the gap between us, his body pressing against mine. “I need you to really look. Please, curly fries. Please.”
The crack in his voice has me turning to face him. “Paddy, what’s wrong?”
He lifts his head to the ceiling, and I know he’s trying desperately to hold it all in. His breathing is heavy. His body’s shaking. “Please see what I can see. I’m begging you.”
A surge of pain hits me in the middle of my chest. “Hey.” I cup his face, brushing my thumb over his stubble. “I’ll try. I will.” For him, I will.