‘Oh for fuck’s sake. Can you hear yourself? Get over it already. Seriously, Jen, you’re thinking about my blisters. Can you hear how pathetic that sounds?’
‘I miss her so much, Ed.’ I hide my face further into his T-shirt on the verge of tears, but my tears turn to laughter because I’m remembering that while Mick Astley was never gonna give us up, Kerry had farted and was wafting her hand in front of her face and looking at the woman next to her dressed in a ‘Frankie Says Relax’ T-shirt with disgust, when in fact, it was Kerry who had dealt a silent but violent.
I retell the story to Ed. It feels good to be talking about her.
I sit up on my knees and wipe my face with the back of my hand. ‘Let’s go somewhere, Ed. We’ve got the day to ourselves, thanks to global warming it’s as warm as the Med . . . let’s pack a picnic and go somewhere.’
Ed shields his eyes from the sun. ‘Where?’
‘I’ve got an idea.’
My feet slip into my flip-flops as I go through the kitchen and into the bleakness of the garage. My hand slides across the wall until I find the light switch, casting artificial orange light onto the toolboxes and old board games until I find what I am looking for. I flick the switch back off, the board games and toolboxes once again hidden in darkness.
The AA Map of the British Isles drops onto the grass. Ed reaches for it with an unsure smile. ‘I didn’t know we still had this.’
I kneel behind him and cover his eyes with my hands. ‘Do you remember when we used to do this?’ I whisper into his ear, passing a drawing pin into his palm. My eyes follow the line of goose bumps crawling up his arm as he twists his head away.
‘Argh, you know it gives me goose bumps when you talk in my ear.’
‘Yeah but you like it really.’ I pull the end of his earlobe with my teeth.
He grabs my hands from his eyes and pulls me onto his lap, kissing me on the mouth.
‘Ow!’ I shift as the drawing pin digs into my hip. ‘You’re supposed to stick that in the map, not me!’
‘So I’ve been doing it wrong all these years? I’m not supposed to stick it in you?’
‘Ha ha, very funny.’ I reach for the map. ‘Choose a number.’
‘Sixty-nine.’
I roll my eyes. ‘That wasn’t predictable at all. Pick another.’
He chooses twenty-five, and I open the page showing part of Wales and return to my position behind him, once more covering his eyes as he plunges the drawing pin. I scurry to his side and scrutinise where the pin has landed. Pembrokeshire fills the page.
‘Ooh. We’ve never been there, have we?’ I ask.
‘No, but—’
‘What?’ I tilt my head and smile at him. ‘Come on . . . let’s have an adventure. We’ve got the whole of Saturday to ourselves.’ I scour the map and point to a coastal town, which I Google. ‘Look, there are some beautiful beaches. We could go skinny dipping.’ I wink.
‘Jen?’
I turn to him. ‘Look, it only takes a couple of hours,’ I say, ignoring the doubt pulling at the corner of his mouth.
He puts his forehead against mine; unspoken words hang between us, lingering with our breath. ‘Do you know where my swimming shorts are?’ he asks defeatedly, and I grin.
‘In the swimwear drawer,’ I say, standing up and grabbing his hands.
‘We have a swimwear drawer?’
‘Who doesn’t have a swimwear drawer?’
‘I love you.’
‘I know.’
Chapter Sixteen
Jennifer
I’m happy. This is the thought that mixes with trees, the hills, the breeze coming into the car through the open window that my arm is leaning out of. My reflection in the wing mirror is that of a young woman who is happy. Everything about her tells me this, like the laughter in her eyes as her handsome husband tells her a joke; it radiates from them as she watches in awe the hills that rise and fall around the road that is leading them to their destination. The car in front slows our progress; a small grey head only just visible through the back window suggests the driver is nearing a century old.
Ed swears under his breath; he hits the brakes again as we meander around a bend in the road. We clear the turn and Ed changes gear, the growl of the engine shouting its frustration as we pass. My reflection is laughing and shifting position until the reflection is no longer smiling back at me; instead, my head is leaning out of the window, the air pushing my hair back with the speed of the car, catching my breath as I ‘woo-hooo!’ out of the window. The elderly driver looks at me with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. Before I know it, my hand is erecting my middle finger up at her. I don’t know who is more surprised, the elderly lady or me.
‘Jen!’ Ed’s hand has grabbed my other arm as we pass the bonnet of the car and slide into pole position. I’m breathless, my reflection confirming this with a flush to my cheeks, with the rapid rise and fall to my chest. Laughter rumbles from within my stomach, the wind snatches it, my laughter cascading over the hills along the doors of the car, laughter filling the gaps of the trees and rising into the sky. I take a sideways glance at Ed, his anger dissipating with the snorts and gasps that have taken control of me. ‘It’s not funny,’ he snaps, although I can see the beginnings of a smile in the way he is tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth. His eyes dart towards me as I wipe a tear away from my face. The muscles in my stomach are hurting, and the sounds from my earlier laughter are now just gasps and grunts. Ed’s eyes are trying to remain stern, but his mouth – his beautiful mouth – is curving, his hand rubbing the beginnings of stubble until finally he begins to laugh too. ‘You’re outrageous . . . do you know that? You could have given the poor woman a heart attack.’
We continue travelling, both of us singing badly to the radio, until the signal begins to break up. The car slows as we approach a roundabout. I reach over as Ed turns the wheel, resting my hand on his thigh while he looks at the screen of the sat nav.
When we were first together, we always used to travel in this position. My hand behind the gear stick, resting on his leg. I look down at my hand: it looks comfortable, there is no tension in the muscles, their weight is leaving an indentation in Ed’s beige shorts, beneath the fabric the soft hairs along his thigh are bending in submission. The indicator tocks and clicks back into place. Ed’s now free hand covers mine, his thumb running over my skin. I stare at our hands. They fit. Would my hand fit inside another man’s in the same way? Would his hold another woman’s with the same ease, each digit perfectly sliding into place?
If something happened to me, if I got hit by a car when I was crossing the road, would he ever find another woman’s hand to fit? I stare at his fingers, the creases of skin that cover the blood pulsing in his veins. I pull his hand towards my mouth. I begin to kiss it, as a need to taste his skin – to devour this part of him – takes over me. His attention is taken from the road ahead and he glances in my direction, his eyebrow raised as I open my mouth and run my tongue along the length of his index finger.
‘Pull over,’ I instruct.
‘But we’re not far away—’ He meets my eyes, the hunger in them unmistakable. ‘Jen, we can’t just—’