Gone
Bridget felt sick to her stomach. Her mind darted in different directions, panic set in. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her body. The prickling burning behind her eyes as she put her tongue to the roof of her mouth in an attempt to halt the tears that her eyes were only just holding in.
For one of the first times in her career, she didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. She was shell-shocked. Without words. She felt almost paralysed as she stood there. She could feel her hands shaking by the side of her body, as she looked down in an attempt to compose herself, she noticed the opening to her shirt was quivering.
Her mind flicked back to this morning, how she had stood, semi dressed in front of the ironing board as she waited for Franky to finish ironing her shirt for her – one of the many little things Franky did as she knew how much Bridget hated ironing. She remembered how Franky had pretended to iron slowly as she cast her eyes up and down Bridget’s toned torso, how she had let out the most infectious and wicked laugh as Bridget had tried to hurry her along.
Franky. She would be shattered.
Sobbing.
She was snapped back to reality as Vera let out an almighty sob in front of her. But then silence. It was one of those sobs that exploded but then which robbed Vera of any air. Bridget stood, stricken as she watched Vera shake, her body overtaken by the silent sobs which now escaped her.
Silence hung between the women.
Bridget exhaled shakily and tried to summon every ounce of composure from within her. Disconnect. Her body didn’t feel like hers.
She forced herself to walk over to the internal window and flick the blinds closed. Her legs which felt like they did not belong to her carried her back to the desk where Vera was now sitting, still sobbing, still struggling for air.
There was a buzz in Bridget’s ears, almost a hum. She could hear her own heart beat as the blood wooshed through her head, her body’s natural reaction to hearing something so achingly shattering.
The words that had left Vera’s mouth only moments before, hung in the air. Still.
“Bea Smith has been killed”.
Bridget had still not responded, she didn’t know how much time had passed since Vera had said those five words. Bridget felt as if the world was in slow motion.
As she moved closer to Vera, Bridget stood behind her and placed her arm on her shoulder. Both women were shaking. Vera grabbed Bridget’s hand and turned her head to face look up at Bridget’s.
“I’ve failed” Vera said flatly through the despair that halted her breath. “I failed the women, I’ve failed everyone. But most of all I failed Bea Smith”.
Bridget didn’t respond. She couldn’t.
Bea Smith. After all of her time at Wentworth, Bea had finally opened up to her, in a “Bea Smith” kind of way. She had seen a new side to Bea, a lightness, a strength a new sense of resolve and of relief. She had stepped down from top dog and was utterly in love with Allie.
Bridget’s mind flashed to Franky and how she now spoke of her “Red” – a far cry from the way that Franky had spat her name when Bridget had pushed her to talk about the way that had played Franky to take the position of top dog.
As Bridget had often said to Franky, taking the top dog position from Franky was the best thing that Bea had ever done for her. Franky would never had surrendered that role voluntarily – Franky being Franky. It was an unlikely friendship in some respects, but one which had grown significantly since Franky had been paroled.
She remembered the night that Franky had broken down, recounting the fire, in the early days of the relationship – “I owe my life to Red”, she had said through the tears and she had finally processed the enormity of what had happened to her.
She knew that Franky was a regular visitor – partly because she had access to all of the prisoner’s visitor logs but also because Franky was open with Bridget about when she had gone to see Bea. There was, however, something that Bridget couldn’t quite put her finger on with those two – something that she suspected Franky was hiding from her. Bridget trusted Franky 100%, but call it the sixth sense, the gut feeling, there was just something not quite right.
Franky had told Bridget about Allie and Bea – not that Bridget did not already know, but she filled in a few more details, but without breaking Bea’s confidence. Momentarily, a lightness lifted in Bridget when she remembered Franky’s recount of her conversation with Bea and how Franky thought she was hilarious mentioning the “McMuff” to Bea, roaring with laughter as she threw her head back.
Franky. A wave of disbelief washed over Bridget.
All she could think about was how on earth she was going to break the news to Franky. Silent tears ran down Bridget’s face as she pursed her lips in an effort to steady herself. Vera was looking to her to respond, to say something, anything, to reassure her, to guide her. But Bridget couldn’t.
Bridget was jerked back into reality by Vera’s stifled sobs.
A wave of nausea swept over her and she glanced sideways to check that he bin was where it always was.
She then felt a flash of anger inside of her, knowing that she needed to guide Vera, but she couldn’t. She didn't want to.
“I thought Joan was being released today…. What the fuck happened?” she said in a matter of fact way, her own feelings overtaking her professional obligation to be that guide, that calming one, the measured one.
Vera sat across from her. Blank.
All Bridget could think of was Franky.
“Does the board know, what Channing doing?” Bridget demanded.
“He is on the way over. Once he gets here, he will advise the board and then probably the media” Vera responded.
Vera then recounted what she knew of the events. Nothing made sense to Bridget. Why were the two of them together? Why were they even outside? How did either Ferguson or Bea have a weapon? Why were they alone? Why was Vera watching? Questions whirred about Bridget’s head. But before she had the chance to ask anything….
Fuck ,thought Bridget. Franky. She had to get to Franky.
She reached down into her draw to remove her handbag and keys and stood up without saying anything.
“But Bridget, what do I say to Channing.. where are you going?”.
“Where do you think?” She looked at Vera and could feel the anger piercing behind her eyes, driving the tears that were still flowing down her face. She knew she was being irrational, that her actions were being fuelled by her emotions. She didn’t care.
As Bridget pulled out of the car park, she impatiently waited for the gate to open. Once on the open road, she hit the word “Franky” on her driving console and her phone started to ring.
“Well ... Hi there Gidge, I almost wasn’t going to answer as I’m just about to head into a CAC at the Juvey Court”
“Ok, so you’ll be what……half an hour maybe” Bridget replied, trying to speak cooly down the phone line. Bridget knew from her work in the juvenile detention system in the early days that Franky was referring to a Case Assessment Conference and for a second, she was struck with how proud she was of Franky and what she had achieved since being released.
“Umm, yes” Franky responded sounding somewhat puzzled and before she could ask more, Bridget then said “Did you walk there?”
“Well yes I did inspector Gidget.. aren’t you at work?” Franky playfully replied.
“Look I was, but I’m not now..umm look…. Can I pick you up from there…. The Juvenile Court has moved hasn’t it.. um... its' now attached to the Magistrates court?” Bridget questioned.
“Yep that's it… wow Gidge if you want to pop a surprise romantic after work drinks date on me you are kinda going about it in a weird way”, Franky laughed down the phone.
“Anyway Gidge, I gotta go, about to pass through security and you know how the drill with all that”. Bridget nodded unconsciously, as people often do even when they are on the phone even thought the other can’t see them.
“Ok darling, I’ll see you outside” Bridget responded.
“Ok Gidge, look is everything OK?..” Franky trailed off. But Bridget had already gone on the other end if the phone, or so Franky had thought.
She had heard Franky but she couldn’t bring herself to respond, couldn’t bring herself to lie, to pretend that things were fine, to pretend that she wasn’t about to deliver news to Franky that she was sure would bring a wave of torrential pain and grief over Franky.
It took her about twenty minutes to drive to the Courts precinct and she parked a little down the road and off on a side street. Whilst they didn’t hide their relationship as much as they did in the early days, she certainly didn’t want any of Franky’s colleagues or any of her own former colleagues from around the psychology circle seeing them together and rousing any suspicion. They were so close to the expiration of her restraint period that permitted to her have a relationship with a former patient that she did not want to blow it now.
She was a psychologist, she was one of the best in the business; she knew that. But nothing – no degree, article she had written, paper she had presented, course she had run, the thousands of patients she had counseled – prepared her for what she was about to so.
As it neared half an hour, she text messaged Franky to let her know where she was parked. Franky responded with a simple love heart, which made Bridget’s heart beat fast. The adrenaline started to course through her, she could feel it, she knew how to recognize its early effects, she knew why it was happening, preparing her body for a high stress situation.
She saw Franky walking towards the car and she took a big breath, and staggered its release and glanced at herself in the rear view mirror. Her face still held subtle signs that she had been crying… not recognizable to most, but she could see it in her own face and wondered if Franky would be able to as well.
As the car door opened and Franky got in, the car, she leaned in to kiss Bridget softly, her hand gently grasping the back of Bridget’s neck. Bridget felt her stomach rising, again, the adrenaline, she thought to herself. Franky pulled back and looked into Bridget’s eyes.
“Gidge… have you been crying?” Franky asked in a worried tone and a look of concern swept over her face. “Are you ok? ... what’s happened?” Franky said gently, with a tone of such reassurance.
For a moment, Bridget wanted to bask in the strength of Franky’s voice in the way she showed such loyalty and support to Bridget. The way their relationship had turned a full circle in recent months made Bridget’s heart swell. It was Bridget who just wanted to burst into tears right there and then.
But she did not. She could not. As she swallowed, she pushed the grief to the pit of her stomach, steadied her hands on the wheel and said “lets just drive back to our place first ok”. She wanted to tell Franky there and then, but she didn’t want to do it in public. She didn’t know how Franky would react. Would the flight or fight response lead Franky to flight. Their house was close by anyway. Franky nodded, putting on her seatbelt and she kept her hand resting on Bridget’s leg.
They rode in silence, for which Bridget was thankful. Franky knew when to push Bridget and when not to. Knew her intimately as Bridget knew Franky intimately. They had travelled to the corners of each others’ souls, to places reserved only for those supremely close, to places that Bridget suspected not even Franky knew that existed in her own mind.
As they went inside, Bridget threw her clear bag over the couch and kicked off her heels. She spied Franky’s car keys on the kitchen counter and she quickly threw them into the top of the kitchen drawer, where they were out of sight. Franky, who came up behind, enveloped Bridget in her arms and Bridget sank back into Franky’s chest. She then spun around so her chest was facing Franky.
She had to tell her. She didn’t think she could maintain her controlled state, the one where she drew on her centre, grounded herself through breath, the way she had been trained to break tragic news to people. But then, Bridget thought to herself, she didn’t have to. She wanted to tell Franky as her lover, her partner and her best friend.
“Franky”, she said clearing her throat. “I have some sad news.” Franky looked at her, eyes widening, her lips slightly parted. Bridget felt a pang go through her entire body. There was going to be no easy way to do this.
Franky looked at her expectantly.
“Ahhmmm” Bridget said, flicking her eyes downward before she forced herself to again met Franky’s eyes. Bridget felt her throat tighten, as her own grief and her utter love for Franky, whom she knew she was about to devastate, threatened to steal her voice.
“Darling”, Bridget said taking each of Franky’s hands in hers.
Bridget looked into those breathtaking eyes, wanting to memorize the split second before they were engulfed by sorrow. “Bea died today”.
Her words hung in the air. She waited for her words to register on Franky’s face.
Franky said nothing. Did nothing. The two of them stood there in suspended animation.
Then.. Then a look of disbelief spread across Franky’s face.
“What… What did you say?" Franky stammered, voice uneasy. Her brow frowning slightly, the way it when she was caught off guard, which wasn’t often.
Bridget knew that she had heard her, but that her brain was struggling to process something that she did not want to hear. She kept ahold of Franky’s hands and replied “I am so so sorry, but Bea is gone”.
Franky looked back at her in disbelief. Mouth half open. Searching for words, but nothing. No words. No sound. Bridget felt Franky’s bodyweight shift as she tried to back away from Bridget’s grasp.
Bridget held firm.
The utter look of devastation washed over Franky’s face, she turned her head to the side and started to shake her head in rapid succession. “No, no she isn’t” Franky whispered, “I just talked to her yesterday”, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.
“Baby. Bea is gone, she is gone”, Bridget said as gently as she could, feeling her eyes prickle and her throat again begin to tighten.
Then suddenly, all of the colour ran from Franky’s face. Franky’s lips began to tremble. Her body started to shake. Bridget swiftly stepped towards her pulling her body against hers as Franky sobbed. Silent sobs that shook the entirety of her being as Bridget held her body tight against her own.
Bridget then felt Franky’s legs give way. Despite Bridget being smaller than Franky, her strength supported Franky as she lowered them both to the ground slowly, holding Franky.
Bridget continued to hold her as she sobbed. She had half expected Franky to run, or to try to at least, which is why she had put her car keys out of sight.
The immense grief that was wracking Franky’s body rendered her unable to talk, as she fought to be able to inhale air in between her sobs. Bridget didn’t speak. Tears too rolled down Bridget’s face.
After how long, Bridget did not know, Franky pulled away slightly and looked at Bridget. The grief etched in her face was immense, it made Bridget feel sick to her stomach.
“Do you know what happened?” Franky said, pressing her lips together in an effort to somehow contain the grief and disbelief that was flooding over her.
Bridget took a labored breath. Not quite knowing the full story, not quite knowing how to tell Franky. Wishing she had asked more questions of Vera.
“I don’t know the full story” she replied. “But Ferguson was involved”. Franky’s eyes flashed with rage even before Bridget had finished the sentence.
To be continued .....