‘Daddy? Can we go on our tablets now? You promised if we stopped singing “Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar” in the car that we could have a whole hour on them.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ Ed catches my eye and gives me a wink. ‘Hmmm.’ He pretends to give this serious consideration; the one side of his mouth curves upwards, with the spark of mischief behind his eyes. The love I feel for him flutters heavily inside my chest, as though it’s actually there in physical form: hundreds of moments of our life together hidden in tiny molecules pumping around the inside of my heart; but I can’t reach them, can’t touch them: they’re trapped. ‘OK then . . . off you go.’
‘Yes!’ Oscar punches his fist into the air; Hailey bounces her legs even more enthusiastically, my body riding the aftershocks on the sofa cushion next to her.
‘Thanks, Daddy.’ She vaults from the sofa, runs over to Ed and gives him a fist bump, following her brother out of the room and up the stairs.
The guilt I feel for being allowed these moments with my family reignites my insides. Kerry will never have one of these moments again . . . because I took her life away from her.
My shoulders sag and fold forward like my lungs have been punctured; I’m left with nothing to extinguish my scorched insides. Ed rushes to me, kneeling in front of my body as I try to breathe, concern stealing the mischief that was there just moments ago and etching worry around his eyes. His hands rub the tops of my legs rhythmically; I grab hold of them, stilling their motion and gripping on to them: holding on to him before I fall somewhere that I may never return from.
‘Did I ever tell you about when Kerry tried to help me buy your birthday present?’ His voice is calm, a voice trying to anchor me.
I shake my head, even though the smallest of movements steals more of the air from the room.
‘I wanted to get you theatre tickets: The Lion King. But she talked me out of it, in that way she had of getting her own way.’
Kerry crouches down next to Ed, looking at him with that look of adoration that others often thought was more than sisterly-in-law love. But they didn’t understand. She loved him like that because of how much he loves me.
‘Jen doesn’t want theatre tickets, Ed.’
‘Jen doesn’t want theatre tickets, Ed.’
The words are spoken at the same time: reality mixing with the unreal.
Ed continues. ‘I’d thrown up loads of suggestions – a necklace, earrings, flowers? A picture? But she’d rolled her eyes. I’d started to lose my patience. “Well, you tell me what she wants then!” I’d said . . . and do you know what she replied?’
Kerry tilts her head and smiles at him: ‘She wants you, Ed. Always you.’
‘She wants you, Ed. Always you.’ Ed repeats Kerry’s words. ‘And then I knew what to get you.’
My breathing is slowing, the rise and fall of my chest calming until I can find the air to speak.
‘You took me on the walk,’ I say, a smile ironing out the tightness that is pulling around my mouth.
‘I took you on the walk,’ he confirms. I close my eyes and feel the heat from his body shift next to me, his arm encircling me. ‘We walked to the train station and sat in the seat opposite the door where I first saw you. I gave you a blackcurrant throat sweet because that’s what I had in my mouth.’
‘We went to the florist’s, but I didn’t hit you with the door that time.’
The memory is filled with calm, and I feel the light surrounding it, forcing away some of the red-hot vacuum. I picture us walking hand in hand as he led me towards his old address: I’d been wearing a blue-flowered summer dress and he had put his cap on my head backwards because the back of my neck was burning in the midday sun. ‘You sat me on the front doorstep of your first house . . .’ I lean my head against his shoulder, ‘because that’s where you’d sat after our first date when you’d got locked out. But it wasn’t raining like that day so you squirted water at me from a water bottle.’
‘And I took you to the old stone wall by the bus stop because that was where we had our first proper row and that was the moment that I knew I was in love with you but I didn’t have chance to tell you because you’d stormed off, jumped on the bus and left me on there.’
‘I cried all the way home. I stayed on the bus . . . did the whole round trip but you’d gone when I got back to the wall.’
‘I never knew that.’ He kisses me gently on the lips. ‘Let me help, Jen. Let me help.’
‘I don’t know how you can. It was my fault, Ed . . . it was my fault that she died.’
‘Oh, Jen . . . listen to me. What happened was an accident. A horrible, cruel accident. You are not to blame for Kerry’s death.’ He pulls away from me and grips me by the shoulders. ‘Are you listening to me, Jen?’ My head wobbles as he shakes me gently. ‘Kerry’s death is not your fault.’
He pulls me back into his chest and kisses me on the head. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
But it was.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ed
Is this what they call an existential crisis? I’m sure that’s what this is. I close the toilet seat and tap ‘existential crisis’ into the search bar of my phone as Oscar brushes his teeth.
People can suffer from an existential crisis for a number of reas—
‘Is that two minutes?’ Oscar interrupts.
‘No, buddy . . . another, um, forty seconds.’
—ons: guilt over losing a loved one . . .
Ha! Jackpot!
Right. I type in ‘how to fix an existential crisis’ as Oscar spits. I’ll have this sorted in no time . . . I’ve already diagnosed the problem; I’ll have Jen back to her old self by the end of the week.
There is no quick fix to an existential crisis, but there are a number of things you can do to help. 1. Identify your triggers.
‘What’s an egg, eggsiss—’ Oscar leans over and peers at the screen.
I close the tab and stand. ‘Right, what story do you want?’
I distract my son and guide him into his bedroom, ignoring the sounds of Jen crying from behind the bedroom door. I can fix this.
I lean in and kiss Oscar’s forehead, closing the door quietly behind me.
‘Daddy?’ Hailey’s voice calls out. I glance at my watch.
‘Hey, poppet, what’s up?’ I smooth down the unicorn’s face on her duvet and pinch the end of her nose.
‘I can hear Mummy crying.’ I turn my head towards the door where Jen’s soft sobs can still be heard. ‘Is she alright? Is she cross that I drank proper Coke?’
I smile. ‘No, no . . . we haven’t done anything wrong. Remember how I said that Mummy’s heart is a bit broken?’
She nods, her blonde hair bouncing with the action. I tuck it behind her ears and follow the outline of her birthmark with my finger.
‘Well, sometimes, to fix it, you need to cry. Just like you did when Chester the hamster died. Do you remember?’
She rubs her eyes, red-rimmed from the chlorine in the swimming pool and the pull of sleep.
‘Shall we make her some flapjacks tomorrow?’ Her mouth opens wide as she yawns through her words. ‘Mummy made me flapjacks when Chester died and then I was OK.’