Still Gone
She sat on a closed toilet seat and rested her head against the cool wood of the cubicle divider. Her face was hot, and she knew her eyes would still be red and puffy. She wondered if she's ever stop wanting to cry.
He was gone.
She wasn't there when it happened. There was an order of sandwiches to collect and Harry and Ruth assured her they they had everything under control. She was standing in the brightly lit shop when it happened.
She was trying to smile as the shop assistant counted out her change.
Gone.
"Sam?"
A male voice, echoing off the tiles and completely wrong. Colin, come to collect her, to get her to do her job. She opened the cubicle door and looked at him. Then he gathered her into his arms and she rested her head on his chest as she sobbed. She sobbed and she closed her eyes and she pretended she couldn't hear him crying as well.
Everyone knew that Sam cried at the drop of a hat. But not Colin. If Colin was crying then it must be . . . real.
Danny was gone and it was real, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.
She sat in Harry's office and drank his scotch. She let Colin rest an arm around her shoulder and she let Malcolm lend her his handkerchief. She sat there in silence and wondered what was going to happen next.
He was still gone.
She hugged Ruth when she returned. Ruth, who looked thin and pale and old, as if Danny's death had aged her changed her. She sank into Sam's arms and Sam held her up. They both cried together until Sam thought she was going to collapse herself, and Harry and Malcolm took Ruth away from her and ushered her out of Harry's office.
He was gone and the world was crumbling around them.
They all stayed at work. Even Adam and Fiona came to join them eventually. It was so different to Tom's dramatic departure, or Zoe's quick exit, when they had escaped as soon as they could, wanting to wash away the dirt of the office. This time they wanted to be in the last place they saw him alive. They wanted to feel like he'd never left them at all.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
"Sam?" Colin stood in front of her, a steaming cup resting in his hands. "Would you like some tea?"
She took the cup from him. "This is supposed to be my job."
"Malcolm says being the tea boy is good for the soul." He sat down beside her. "Are you going home tonight?"
She sipped at the tea, wondering if the warm liquid can remove the lump from her throat. "I'm not sure. I know my flat shouldn't feel any bigger or any emptier now that Danny's . . . " She looked down at her hands and wondered why they were still shaking. "I'm afraid it will be unbearable."
"If you want . . ." She looked up at Colin, but his voice trailed off and he shook his head. "Never mind."
"No." She laid her hand on Colin's arm. "Please tell me, Colin."
"Well, if you wanted, you could always come walking with me."
"Walking?"
"Yeah. You know." He looked straight at her and she realised there was a hint of fear lurking in his eyes. "Sometimes, when everything is falling apart and it all stops making sense, I like to go for a walk. Long walks, usually. It's really quite relaxing."
"And you'd like me to come?"
"Only if you want to, of course." He patted her hand. "I just thought, well you know, I thought it might be easier than sleep."
Sleep meant nightmares. She'd been having them for a while now. Nightmares in vivid colour and sound, with everyone she loved either disappearing or dying . . .
She wondered if Colin had nightmares too.
"Thank you, Colin." She smiled, and she knew it wasn't her normal smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. It meant there was a chance things might get better. "I'd really like to come for a walk with you."
"Great. Fantastic." He stood up and took her empty cup from her. "I'll let Harry know we're leaving. Just give me two minutes."
"Sure." She watched him walk away as she collected her coat and her bag. She knew that one walk wouldn't make all the hurt or all the pain go away. But maybe it would help her get through to tomorrow. Then she could go walking again, and then on the next day. And she would just keep on walking until the pain was minimised and she began to feel like herself again.
And maybe, just maybe, one day the pain would be gone.
Gone. Gone. Still and always gone.