I got home from Hamilton at about two in the morning. The kitchen light was on, so Jess was up. Usually she’d be asleep when I got home. Something was wrong. I got the guitar out of the car, locked the door and went inside.

Jess was standing in the middle of the kitchen holding Isabelle in her arms. She stared at me, frantic, as I came through the door.

“She’s burning up, Isaac. I’ve given her the baby paracetamol, but it hasn’t done anything.” The tears started rolling down her cheeks like she had just been keeping it together until I arrived home.

“Let me hold her.” I took Isabelle off her, and even the blanket felt hot. I touched my lips against her forehead, and, instead of being soft and warm, she was hot and dry. I pushed the edge of the blanket away from her face and studied the closed eyes, the waxy white skin, the cheeks red and burning. I put my face close to her mouth to feel if she was breathing. Her breath felt like a soft whisper against my cheek. She was flushed and quiet and floppy as if all her bones had gone.

“Do you think I should call Mum?” asked Jess.

“Nah. Call an ambulance.” We’d been through colds and teething and earache, but I’d never seen anything like this. I bet if we called Jess’s Mum, she’d say to call an ambulance.

Jess picked her phone up off the table and dialled 111. I could see her hands shaking, but the tears had stopped.

“How long has she been like this?” I asked as we waited for an answer.

“I don’t know. She was fine when I put her to bed. I heard her cry out a little while ago. She was like this when I picked her up.”

Someone was on the other end.

“We need an ambulance,” said Jess, then answered questions while I held our little girl. She was so still, I couldn’t tell if she was alive.

When I got ready to go pick Luke up this afternoon, she was happily toddling around the house, talking to me. A beautiful little girl, full of love, the centre of our world.

“Daddy, ‘tar,” she said when the guitar went in the back seat. She put her arms out to be hugged before I got in the car. I picked her up and her hand slid around behind my neck, and her cheek rested against mine.

“See you in the morning, kid.” I handed her over to Jess and took off. We were going to be late. I thought there was no time to muck around.

It seemed like hours before the ambulance arrived, but it was probably only minutes.

“Should we pack anything for her?” Jess asked.

“I don’t know.” I’d never taken a baby to hospital before. Fuck, a few hours ago, I was on stage in a pub, playing a violin. I still smelled of the sweat and alcohol.

So we did nothing. We just waited. I figured if we needed something, Mum or Dad would get it for us. Or Jess’s parents. They could come and get us from the hospital too. I wasn’t taking the car. There was no way either of us was letting her go into that ambulance alone.

Finally, the ambulance arrived, and we were rushed to the hospital.

Isabelle died an hour ago.

A virus.

Nobody’s fault.

That’s what the doctor said anyway.

Jess is nineteen.

I’m twenty.

Isabelle was eighteen months.

Luke and Reg helped me make the coffin. Luke helped me carry it. Did you know, when it’s a little kid’s funeral, the whole world turns up? And they expect you to shake hands and say the right thing. And, Jesus, what’s the right thing? It gets like you’re trying to make them feel better.

In the end, I couldn’t stand it. They could all say what the fuck they liked as far as I was concerned. It wouldn’t bring Isabelle back. I buggered off and left them to it. I walked around to Collins’ house and let myself in.

I thought maybe I’d play something, try to lose myself in the music the way I could in this house. But I didn’t. I got out the stuff Collins and I are working on and stuck it up on the ledge. Then I sat on the piano seat and did nothing.

After a while, I heard the key in the door, and when it opened there was Collins. He stood by the door for a moment like he was deciding what to do. Then he came over and sat beside me, the way we’d sit if we were working on something.

“What are you playing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

He nodded, and we sat for a while. Then he said gently, “You can’t be here now, Isaac. Everyone is looking for you.”

“And?”

“I have to let them know where you are.” He said it like he was asking permission.

“Okay.” I shrugged. Like I cared.

He got his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.

He must have rung Jess’s dad. “John,” he said. I guess he had his number. They work together.

“He’s at my place.” Collins listened for a moment, then asked me, “How did you get here?”

“Walked.”

“Walked,” he said into the phone. Another pause. “Yeah, okay. I’ll drop him off at home soon.”

Someone must have got rid of the flowers and cards because by the time Collins dropped me off it had all been cleared away. Jess and her Mum were waiting for me.

“Where did you go?” Jess asked.

“Collins’.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I figured no one would be there.”

“We were worried about you, Isaac,” said Jess’s mother.

I shrugged again. Why would they worry about me? I’m useless. I couldn’t even protect my own kid. I wasn’t even here when she got sick.

After that, the house was filled with emptiness. I tried to support Jess, but it was hollow. She tried to support me. It didn’t work. Our parents helped us hold our lives together. They said it was until we could face doing it for ourselves. But we just drifted. Like two ghosts wandering through a house filled with emptiness. We survived each day going through the motions and not thinking.

Jess and I worked and lived, but something was always missing. It was like what we once had was wrapped up somewhere in a corner, and we couldn’t find it. Like we were two train tracks. If I looked ahead, it looked like we would get closer soon. But no matter how far we went, we never found a way to touch.

One day Jess said, “Isaac, I’m going to the cemetery to put flowers on Isabelle’s grave. Do you want to come?”

“I could come after work.” But when I got home, she’d already done it.

Or, I’d come home and see Jess had been crying. It was like that, sometimes. Something would happen, and it would hit you when you weren’t looking. Then missing Isabelle would flood over you. If Jess was like that, and I tried to go near her, she’d push me away like she was lost in that place and didn’t want to be found.

That’s the way it is with us now.

Life is hell.