‘Wait.’ Ed grabs my hand and pulls me back. ‘Go tomorrow. I’ll take you, let me explain it to them. Let me help you.’
‘Tell him everything, Jen, it’s make or break time. After all . . . it’s another day tomorrow.’
‘What does Kerry say?’ he asks, looking towards his shoulder.
I take a deep breath.
‘She says I should tell you everything. And then she’s just kind of quoted Scarlett O’Hara.’
His eyebrows raise in surprise. ‘The one about tomorrow being another day?’ He ponders briefly. ‘Gone with the Wind? It doesn’t sound like one she’d like.’
I nod. ‘It’s what she does . . . what I do. That’s how I know she’s not really here. She quotes films that I know she never watched.’ I wipe away a tear.
‘Well . . . that’s a start. So you don’t—’ a smile crinkles around his eyes, as he quotes from The Sixth Sense.
Kerry bats him on the arm.
‘That’s what Kerry said.’
‘Stay the night, Jen. Let’s eat dinner, let’s talk. Then tomorrow—’
‘I’ll tell my parents that I can see their dead daughter and that the one they’re left with is going crazy?’
‘That the daughter they love needs all of our help.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Ed
I wait until I know Jen is in a deep sleep, then move myself from beneath her arm and go downstairs.
I wait for the kettle to boil as Google blinks at me. What did we do without it? Do you remember the days when you would spot an actor and you couldn’t place them? I remember me and Jen arguing over this guy, I was sure it was Malcolm McDowell, but Jen was certain it was Terence Stamp. Jen was right and every time a similar conversation came up, she would say, ‘Don’t make me Terence Stamp you.’ There are no Terence Stamp moments now, are there? A quick swipe of the screen and your answers are right there in front of you. Maybe life would be better without it; pre-Terence Stamp I wouldn’t be about to read stuff that I know, in my gut, I don’t want to know.
I open the fridge; the remains of the cannelloni sit inside a Tupperware tub. I feel like throwing it across the room. Instead, I reach for the milk and go to make a mug of tea, but my fingers are gripping the plastic handle of the carton . . . what would spilt milk achieve? Even so, my hand is shaking as I take out the tea bag and stir in the milk. The spoon clatters onto the work surface, my fingers grip the edge as my head drops to my chest, tears spill unchecked, my chest begins to heave and I have to force my fist into my mouth to stop the sounds of my sobs escaping into our house.
For better or worse. In sickness and in health. I picture her face as I lifted her veil away; the absolute trust in her eyes that she was marrying the right man was there for all to see. Was she wrong? Would another man have been able to help her? I want to be able to protect them; I want to be the one they turn to when they are scared. Jen is my other half. The other half of me. And she’s broken. I have to find a way . . . to fix us.
Google is still blinking at me. It’s like it’s daring me to type the words into the search bar as I sit down.
I rub my temple and lean on the table. My fingers flex and then I type the letters and stare at them as I take a sip of tea.
‘My wife is seeing someone who isn’t there’. I click the mouse.
The word I don’t want to see is the first word I read: ‘schizophrenia’.
‘Ed?’ Jen’s voice startles me. I close the laptop and turn to face her.
‘Hi. Sorry, did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep.’
She gives me an unsure smile. ‘Kerry keeping you up?’ she says, but she’s joking. I think.
‘Is she, um, is she here?’
Jen yawns and shakes her head. ‘No. Come back to bed?’
I drum my fingers on the top of the laptop. It’s warm and for a moment I picture the word ‘schizophrenia’ burning away beneath my palm. ‘I’m just reading through this proposal for the meeting on Friday. I’ll need to make sure it’s a good one before I ask to reduce my hours for a bit.’
‘What will you say to work?’
That my wife is in pieces, I almost say. ‘The truth. That my wife is ill and needs some recovery time.’
She exhales loudly. ‘Come to bed. It might be the last time we’ll be together for a while.’
‘Sure. I’ll just finish up. Five minutes?’
She nods, chews her bottom lip as if she wants to say something more. ‘OK.’
I wait until I hear the click of the bedroom door before I open the laptop. The words blink at me, but I exit the screen. There are going to be plenty of nights alone when I can read through this stuff.
Jen is still asleep when I call my mother-in-law.
‘Sorry to call so early, Judith, but I just wanted to let you know what, um, what has happened. It’s Jen.’
‘What’s the matter? Is she hurt?’ Her voice rushes from the phone and I curse myself for not starting the call better.
‘No. She’s fine, nothing like that. But. No, well she’s not fine actually. She’s—’
‘We’ve noticed she’s been . . . different.’
I breathe out a sigh of relief. ‘Would she be able to come and stay with you for a while? She needs some space. I’ll explain when we get there.’
‘Of course. Of course.’ The line goes quiet for a moment. ‘You’ve not had an affair have you, Ed? Only Brian told me about the sailor hat and the . . .’ she clears her throat, ‘handcuffs, and I wondered if you were trying to spice, uh-hem, things up and I thought that there might be problems with things. It’s not unusual for a man of your age to have problems with getting a—’
‘Please stop. For both our sakes. No, I am not having an affair. Jen is ill, Judith, she—’
Jen’s amused voice interrupts. ‘Is going round the bend?’
‘What did she say?’ my mother-in-law asks.
Jen kisses me on the cheek and takes the phone from my hand. ‘Hi, Mum. I’m going nuts and need to come and stay. I’ll explain later, OK?’
‘Nuts?’ I hear Judith’s panicked voice as Jen moves the phone from her ear.
‘Mmmhmmm.’ She pauses. ‘Pretty nuts, Mum. Pretty nuts. Do you mind if we tell the kids that Dad is poorly? So, if he could pretend to have a bad back or something?’
Jen is talking to, I was going to say to herself, but it’s not is it? It’s Kerry. I stand in the doorway and watch her as she folds her clothes neatly into her case.
‘I know it’s the right thing to do, can you see my white bra?’ She waits for an answer. ‘Thanks,’ she says.
You would think I would find this creepy or disturbing and I do but I mostly feel sad. Because, at the moment, she still has Kerry. What happens when we fix this? When the doctor gives her whatever medicine she needs, treats her for schizo—whatever this thing is. What then?
I push the door open. ‘Almost done?’
She jumps when she sees me and looks over to the wall beside the window where I presume Kerry is standing. ‘Yep!’
She places her bra on the top of the clothes and runs the zip around the case. She arches her back, leans against the bed with her head down. I walk towards her and rub her back the same way as I did through her contractions. A noise leaves her mouth, a strangled cry in a pitch that I’ve never heard come out her mouth before. I pull her into my arms and try to soothe the sobs that are shaking her body. I don’t know what to say, what to do. I just hold her.