‘Oh come on, Jen, it’s stupid!’ She chomps on a nacho and shouts at the screen. ‘Just call the girl!’
‘You’re stupid,’ I smirk, and throw a handful of popcorn in her direction, a piece of which she catches and throws into her open mouth.
‘You OK?’ Ed asks.
‘Yes . . . You?’ I whisper back. He meets my eyes, the flashes of blue from the sky on the screen flickering as the shot pans to an aeroplane descending, the noise as it touches down on the runway pulling his attention back to the screen.
Kerry sighs as the story moves on from the hero to the heroine opening the door to an old cottage somewhere in the hills. The blonde actress on screen reaches for the phone but decides not to use it.
‘Oh for God’s sake! Now she won’t ring him!’
Beside me, Ed unwraps his sweet noisily as I quickly whisper back, my response hidden by the crinkling of his wrapper.
‘If she called him, there would be no story. Stop being a grumpy git.’ I throw another piece of popcorn.
This is exactly how things used to be and I find myself smiling as I accept one of Ed’s packets of sweets, the wrapping crinkling noisily as I tear it open with my teeth.
‘Shush!’ a man sitting behind us implores.
‘Sorry!’ Ed throws over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at me as he turns back to the screen.
The film continues, Kerry becoming so keen on her negative dialogue that I have to put my finger in my ear.
A few moments later, a torch beam bounces along the aisle and is pointed at Ed and me. Next to the attendant is a woman with large hair and wild hand gestures. The beam dips as the attendant consults the woman, who is gesturing and pointing maniacally at us. I gulp as she picks out a kernel of popcorn from her hair and glares at me.
‘Um . . . Ed?’
‘Hmm?’ His gaze slides from the screen to the bouncing beam of light and the popcorn-kernelled woman. His eyes widen amongst the flashes from the screen; I’m not sure if it’s the colour from the screen or Ed’s pallor that has changed to grey.
I look sheepishly up at Kerry, who is standing next to the petite woman. She has her arms arched over the lady’s head and is now pointing enthusiastically to the popcorn kernels ensnared within the backcomb and hairspray. I chew the inside of my lip as Kerry starts counting them loudly, laughing as she does.
‘Oh Jen! Jen! Look at that one! It’s buried right in there!’ Once she reaches six, Kerry bends over, her laughter so consuming that she has started snorting. In contrast, Ed’s face looks anxious. He leans in, speaking into my ear, but I can’t hear him, I can only hear the sound of the dramatic music from the screen and Kerry’s laughter. I glance up to where my sister – sniggering and looking more and more like she’s going to wet herself – narrows her eyes triumphantly as she spots another piece of buttered and salted.
I blink.
Kerry has disappeared.
‘Jen?’ Ed repeats my name.
‘I think I may have thrown popcorn at that lady.’ I look up at him with a grimace as his eyes widen in understanding.
The lady in question is now gaining the attention of other cinemagoers. The faces from the flip-down seats flash red as an explosion explodes from the screen. The attendant ushers himself forward along our row.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, madam.’
‘There has been a mistake,’ Ed begins, shifting his body to the edge of the seat, straightening his back. ‘My wife is ill and—’
I look up at Ed, tears blurring my vision, the laughter that was bubbling in my chest just moments ago bursting, leaving nothing but a feeling of emptiness as I gather my things and make my way across the empty seats. I try to apologise to the lady waiting at the end of the row, but Ed steers me slightly away, stepping just in front of me, apologising on my behalf, offering to pay for the woman’s ticket. Her expression softens as she listens to his words. I can’t hear what he is saying; I’m watching the screen instead, wondering if the hero and heroine will finally get their happy ending.
If only mine was as easy as their story.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Ed
A routine has ordered its way into our life over the past few weeks. I get up early, make the kids’ lunches, write in their reading journals, iron their uniforms, take them to school, go to work, smile and shake hands, keep my head down, say the right things at the right times, drink coffee, pick up the kids, worry about why Hailey is so quiet, notice that she is becoming quieter with every day that Jen is away, that she has started to get angry and frustrated with simple things that she used to enjoy. I make the dinner – try not to make the chicken nuggets again, try to stop Oscar from helping himself to the biscuits when I’m not looking – bath them, FaceTime Jen so she can read them a bedtime story, say goodnight, blow them kisses as she goes on with her life without us but still with Kerry. I kiss the kids goodnight, clean up, work from home for another couple of hours to make up the time for leaving early for the school run. I call Jen again before bed. Sometimes we watch TV together, her in her bedroom at her parents, me on our bed at home. We say I love you; we say we miss each other.
She says she’s getting better, but then tells me what Kerry thinks about the show on TV, laughing about how ridiculous her point of view is. I laugh too, as if this is all normal; I even throw in a few one-liners in response to some jibe Kerry has apparently said. I don’t say how every time she says the words ‘Kerry thinks’ or ‘Kerry says’ that it feels like parts of her are falling away from me. I ask if she’s taking her medication and she says she is; I tell her she’ll be home before she knows it. I run my plans for the weekend with the kids by her: the cinema is now a no go, so last weekend we went to the zoo, which was fine, I mean apart from a whispered over-the-shoulder conversation while we waited for the caterpillar ride and an outraged man who thought Jen was referring to him when she told Kerry that she was ‘such a dick’. This weekend we’re just having a day at Nessa’s because Jen says the tablets are making her ill.
Which brings me to Nessa.
Jen and Nessa, Nessa and Jen.
Jen is spending more and more time with Nessa. Lots more time. Judith seems to think it’s a good idea, that Jen has someone to talk to. That is what she said to me. But I’m not so sure; I mean, it’s not as if Nessa is in the best place either, is she? It wasn’t long ago that Jen was the one looking after her.
‘It’s good that she’s got Nessa to talk to.’
‘Why? She’s got me to talk to,’ I retorted. Even to my own ears I sounded snappy and impatient, but in my defence, I was practising a plait with three pieces of rope tied onto the back of a kitchen chair. The chair stays still and doesn’t wriggle around and complain about how I’m hurting its head.
‘Oh you know what I mean, Edward, sometimes you just need a girlfriend to talk to. She’s not only lost her sister, she lost her best friend too.’
‘Daddy. You’re hurting my head.’
‘Sorry.’ I stop the Dutch plait that my fingers have recently learnt to make. Thank the Lord for YouTube. Thanks to the chair and the rope, I’ve become quite proficient at girls’ hairstyles recently. ‘Almost done. Pass me the purple bobble.’