‘What would you have had me do, Ed? Tell a five-year-old sorry, no I’m not free? Explain to my dead sister’s widow—’
‘Wouldn’t she be a widower?’
‘I don’t know, Ed! What would I say to her? Sorry I didn’t come and help you with your daughter while you were passed out because I’m too busy sleeping in my Egyptian cotton sheets next to my husband – who is a Viking in the sack by the way—’ Ed smirks slightly at this even though his brow remains furrowed, ‘so no I can’t go around to your house and comfort a five-year-old who is petrified.’
‘Fine.’ Ed straightens his face. ‘But you still should have woken me up.’
‘If it happens again I will.’
‘Good.’
‘Good.’
‘So . . .’ Ed starts to grin. ‘Ragnar Lothbrok, eh?’
‘Huh?’
‘The Viking?’
‘Oooh, he’d make a good Ragnar.’ Kerry steps back into our hallway just as the tumble dryer beeps the ending of its cycle.
‘I’ll get the clothes out,’ Ed says, passing me into the kitchen.
‘He’ll figure it out, you know,’ she says, examining the last bit of crust before putting it into her mouth.
Figure out what?
‘That my sister can see dead people.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Jennifer
Erica and Oscar are singing ‘Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar’ in the back of the car, while Hailey has slipped on her headphones and is tapping away on her tablet. Oscar and Erica have both been to a birthday party and I offered to stay and bring them back.
‘Who are you trying to kid? You offered so you could keep an eye on Nessa.’
I ignore my subconscious and plaster a smile on my face as I pull up outside the house and see that Nessa is half-way through mowing the lawn. Her hair is tied back and she has the beginnings of a tan. Just outside her gate is a couple in their mid-forties who have their faces attached to each other.
‘Ugh,’ Hailey groans from the back seat. Oscar is giggling. I look into my rear-view mirror and catch Erica’s eye.
‘I never see my mummy and daddy doing that!’ Erica says, giggling.
‘My mummy and daddy do that,’ Hailey confirms. ‘Daddy does it to Mummy in the cupboard under the stairs.’
‘No, he doesn’t. He tickles Mummy in the cupboard under the stairs because I heard her laughing and then she ate some chocolate.’
‘What do you mean, Oscar?’ I ask. I know that I should shove this conversation onto another track, but curiosity is getting the better of me.
‘Because you went mmmmmmm, like you do when you eat chocolate.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I was, um, eating chocolate under the stairs with Daddy.’
‘Why were you under the stairs?’ asks Erica.
‘Erm—’
‘They were playing hide and seek,’ Hailey butts in, and I’m grateful for her no-nonsense tone.
‘And then Daddy hurt his-self cuz he went ugh-ah-ah!’
I swallow down my discomfort. We had thought they were busy watching a film in Hailey’s room. I make a mental note to make sure we are more careful.
‘You should play Monopoly instead,’ Erica interjects, ‘and then your daddy wouldn’t hurt himself.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ I announce as I look back to where the couple have unlocked their faces and are continuing along the street.
‘Or Just Dance, you and Daddy like to play Just Dance on the Wii, don’t you?’
‘Just Dance?’ I ask, as a vague memory of a caravan holiday springs to mind.
‘Yes, when we went in the caravan in Wales and it rained the whole time, I woke up because the caravan was rocking and you said it was because you and Daddy were playing Just Dance.’
‘Just Dance, yes. Um. Kids, stay in the car while I take Erica in.’
Erica’s hand holds tightly to mine as we make our way through the front lawn, which is patchy and yellow, but I’m pleased that Nessa seems to be making some changes. She bends down and hugs Erica, avoiding my gaze, as I stand back and try to hide the concerned expression from my face, hoping that it is buried deep within the contours of my skin, that it isn’t there for her to see.
‘Daddy’s inside,’ she announces to Erica, who does an overstated ‘Yes!’ and runs towards the doorway.
‘Pumpkin!’ Daniel exclaims, stepping over the threshold: blond hair, long legs, wearing a look of confusion that never seems to go. He is lifting Erica up beneath her armpits and swinging her around as Erica giggles in delight; Nessa rolls her eyes but there is no malice behind them. Daniel and Nessa married when they were young, realised they had made a mistake early on, and split up in a very Gwyneth and Chris kind of way. They are the most abnormally normal exes I’ve ever met.
‘Look, Jen . . . I’m sorry, about the other night,’ Nessa says quietly.
‘You’ve already apologised.’ Nessa had rung the following morning, her voice cracked, her words broken. ‘I’m just glad I could help. How are you?’
‘OK.’ She smiles. ‘You?’
I don’t look over to where Kerry is currently cartwheeling across the lawn, her blue summer dress tucked into her knickers. I think back to the beach last year; for any other twenty-five-year-old woman to be cartwheeling would have seemed childlike, but for Kerry, it seemed normal. She just had that way: effortlessly cool, Ed always said.
‘I’m fine.’ I return her smile with my own. ‘I’m OK.’
‘Good.’ The lies surround us, the ‘OK’s and ‘fine’s itching our skin and making us shift our bodies uncomfortably.
‘Muuuuuummmmy!!!’ Hailey yells from the open car window. ‘Hurry up! Oscar has farted and it stinks!’
‘Trumped!’ I correct. ‘I’d better go.’ I lean and give Nessa a hug; she holds her breath, her body tense as my arms fold around her. She responds by giving me a gentle pat on the back. As we release each other, the breeze blows her hair in her eyes, blows the hem of my skirt upwards, and I don’t look over to where Kerry is giving out a wolf-whistle.
‘It’s not funny, Ed!’ I reply, but I’m trying not to laugh. ‘They thought we were playing hide and seek.’
‘Well we were, in a manner of speaking.’
I throw the tea towel at him and return to the business of onion-chopping. I’m trying to ignore Kerry sitting on top of the kitchen counter, watching me while I cook.
I continue to ignore her. ‘Ed, pass me the garlic press, please.’
He opens the drawer, fishes it out and begins opening and shutting the press with a puzzled look on his face. ‘Who do you think invented this thing? I mean, what made this person stop and think, “I know! I’ll make something specifically for squashing garlic”?’
‘Someone who was sick of having their hands stink, I suppose.’ I glance up at the space Kerry had sat in and for a split second, instead of seeing my sister alive and sitting on the kitchen counter, I see her body in the air: red coat, red boots, silver nails, emerald ring.
I catch the tears forming with the back of my hand and continue chopping.