‘It was only once.’
‘Twice,’ Oscar butts in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Twice?’ Ed folds his arms, his body taking on a ‘Strict Dad’ pose.
‘OK, it was four, but Aunty Kerry said that we were old enough.’
‘What movies did you watch?’
‘There was the one with the willy . . .’
‘Willy?’ Dad’s face goes pale and Mum has begun to maniacally squirt the draining board with disinfectant.
‘Yep . . . it had an eye,’ Hailey says quietly.
‘Just one,’ Oscar adds. ‘It was gross.’
‘And he was all stiff.’
‘But Aunty Kerry said that was normal,’ Hailey clarifies.
‘Normal?’ I squeak.
‘Yes. She said that dead people go stiff and that One-Eyed Willy had been dead for a long time.’
‘Oi . . . You guys!’ Kerry admonishes.
‘The Goonies?’ I ask with relief. ‘She let you watch The Goonies.’ My voice is explanatory as I meet Ed’s relieved face, while Mum returns the disinfectant to the cupboard under the sink with an audible breath of relief.
Dad joins us at the table.
‘So, will she?’ Oscar asks again. ‘Go to hell?’
‘No, love.’ Mum puts her hands on Dad’s shoulders and kisses his bald spot. ‘Your Aunt Kerry will be dancing with the angels in heaven.’
‘Aunty Kerry said that there is no heaven and hell and that is what grown-ups say so we behave.’ Hailey dips her flapjack into her milk. ‘I think Aunty Kerry is a tooth fairy.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Aunty Kerry was clever and the tooth fairy is way better than an angel.’
‘Why?’ Oscar asks, his mouth full, the contents exposed.
‘Because they’re rich, silly.’
I follow insomnia into the kitchen like an awkward friend. Kerry is sitting at the kitchen table, blowing the rim of her cup of Horlicks.
Why are you drinking that? I ask, turning my back on her and filling up the kettle. You hate Horlicks.
‘I hate to break it to you, Jen, but I’m not actually here. Maybe it’s you who wants some Horlicks?’ I pause and consider this. Is that what’s happening? Are my memories of Kerry mingling with what I want to see and hear? I shake my head. Insomnia laughs at me . . . Do you really think cutting out caffeine is going to stop me? My hand reaches for the tub and spoons some into my cup. My legs take me to the table where I try to sit, quietly massaging my temples.
‘Why did you save me, Kerry? Why am I still here?’
I close my eyes, fold my arms on the table and rest my head against them. I’m deep in sleep when my phone rings: red coat, red boots, silver nails, emerald ring. The images begin to fade as I try to order my thoughts, the way I used to before she died. What day is it? It’s Thursday. What time is it? Nessa’s number blinks on the screen beneath the time, which reads 12:45am. I rotate my neck and lock myself into the downstairs toilet, answering in hushed tones.
‘Hello?’
‘Aunty Jen?’ Erica’s voice is quiet and scared.
‘Erica, sweetie? What is it, are you OK?’
‘I . . . I had a nightmare and I tried to wake up Mummy and she won’t wake up.’
Her words are ringing in my ears, its peal drowning out the hammering of my heart. ‘Where is Mummy now?’ I ask.
‘She’s in her bed. She’s snoring.’
‘Try to wake her again, give her a little shake. She must be very tired.’ My explanatory tone camouflages my concern. In the background I hear a groan, the muffled sound of Erica explaining that she is talking to Aunty Jen.
‘She won’t wake up.’
‘Stay with Mummy, Erica, I’m coming over. Can you tell me your new address?’
‘It’s 45 Rosemary Drive, I wrote it in joined up letters on my picture for Daddy.’
‘You are a clever girl. Now when I get there, I will knock on the door three times, so you know it’s only me. Like a secret password, OK?’
‘I can’t open the door, Aunty Jen. Daddy says I must never open the door. I will be in trouble and he won’t give me my pocket money and I’m saving for the new LOL doll. Can’t you use the key?’
‘I don’t have a key, sweetie.’
‘You can use the spare key the gnome has. Mummy hid it, the fishing gnome in the garden has the spare key.’
‘Brilliant. Good thinking, I’ll get the spare key and then I can make Mummy a nice cup of tea and wake her up.’ I’m about to hang up and call for an ambulance when I hear Nessa’s voice in the background. ‘Is Mummy waking up?’ I ask.
‘She wants to speak to you.’ The sounds from the other end of the phone become muffled and I picture it being passed over.
‘What time is it?’ Nessa’s words run into each other and it takes me a moment to decipher them.
‘Almost one in the morning, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. Just had some-wine-that-must-have-been-off. What-time-s-is-it?’ Nessa’s voice asks again. She’s drunk. Very drunk. ‘Why are you up?’
The smudged sounds of conversation blur in the background.
‘I had a bad dream and you wouldn’t wake up. Are you poorly, Mummy?’
‘I’m OK, I’m OK. Come and snuggle with me.’
I stay on the line, listening to Nessa comforting her daughter with slurred words until she realises that I’m still on the other end of the phone.
‘Thanks, Jen, I’ll call you tomorrow.’ And with that the line goes dead.
Sleep is far from my grasp.
My promise to Ed rattles my conscience, so I leave him a note in the kitchen explaining that Nessa is poorly and that I’ve gone to look after Erica. I add that I’ve got my phone so he can ring me if he needs to.
The dark streets are deserted as I follow the tiny lady trapped inside my phone telling me that my destination will be on the right, I turn off the ignition, step out of the car. Perhaps I should just go home, they’re probably sleeping. But losing Kerry has taught me how precious life is. They could both be fast asleep, but then again, something could be wrong.
I lift the rusty latch, releasing the gate, and look at the house, feeling like an intruder. A dog barks further along the street, halting the progress of a black cat along the garden wall which eyes me with suspicion, as well it might. I glance down at my clothes and realise with a snigger that I’m wearing a black-and-white-striped T-shirt and black jeans. I may as well have a bag over my shoulder saying ‘Swag’.
Weeds are knotted around the soles of my grey Converse and the knee-high grass makes my progress tricky, so I tread carefully on tiptoes. This is ridiculous. Honestly. I can practically hear the Pink Panther music as I make my way across the garden, my body halting at every noise, every car engine, every squeaking gate.
I give the door a gentle knock and wait, but there is no answer.
‘Use the spare key.’ The image of Kerry startles me: she has black smudges beneath her eyes, her black-and-white-striped top matching mine, her swag bag clenched in her hands. She had dressed up as a burglar for our Halloween party last year; Nessa was a policewoman.