‘Cuppa?’ Dad asks as I land the box onto the pine table.
‘Please.’ I rip off the tape as Mum joins me, sneezing from the dust in the attic.
‘I thought this was another box of Christmas decorations. I thought I’d get them down and give them a bit of a clean, it’ll be here before we know it.’
‘It’s only the beginning of autumn, woman,’ Dad says, giving me a wink.
‘Oh, shush. You know I like to have everything clean and tidy ready for Christmas.’
My hands grasp a notebook entitled ‘Kerry Hargreaves 2006 Top Secret – do not open’.
‘It says top secret for a reason, dearest sister.’
‘2006 . . . how old would she have been?’ I ask.
‘Hmmmm,’ Dad thinks. ‘Eleven, twelve?’
‘Yeah . . . I would have been sixteen.’
The first page reads: ‘Things that make Jennifer happy – smile rating 1–5’.
‘How lovely is that?’ Mum says, clutching her heart. I flick through the pages: Giving her my last Rolo (3); Letting her borrow my iPod shuffle (4); Fibbing to Mum about who broke the toilet seat (5). There are pages and pages of entries. The book then splits off into ‘Chapter Two – Things that make Jen jump – scream rating 1–5’.
‘That little sod!’ I say, laughing as I recognise some of the things listed. ‘She put that frog in my school bag!’
Dad brings the tea to the table and scans the page. ‘You did scream, no wonder you scored a five.’ He crunches on a bourbon cream, reaches over and turns the page. ‘Dressing up as a ghost and jumping out of wardrobe (5)’.
Mum clears her throat, trying to ignore the elephant (or in my case the sister) in the room.
‘I remember that, she had your shirt on, Dad, and had covered her face in Mum’s talcum powder.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘No, she made me swear not to say anything or she’d tell you that I pretended to be sick and got the day off school because I hadn’t revised for my French exam.’
‘Did you? You little swine.’ But Mum is smiling.
We spend the evening going through the notebooks, laughing at the things she got up to without us knowing. I miss her so much my heart aches, but I don’t look at her once.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Ed
Jen’s coming home. It’s been a month with the new meds and I finally have my wife home. She’s still not properly back to her old self – I still sometimes see the sad look on her face, she still sometimes stares off into space – but it’s different now: she isn’t looking at something in the space . . . the space seems as empty to her as it is for me.
Hailey is pulling Jen’s case on its wheels through the hall and chatting about how she’s a free reader at school. Oscar pulls her hands and drags her into the kitchen, where blue-and-white-striped Greek flags are folded around cocktail sticks and stuck into pieces of pitta bread. He runs to the fridge and pulls out tubs of taramasalata and tzatziki. He has insisted that we prepare a Greek dinner.
‘Ta-dah! This pink stuff is trar-ra-ra-slaaaata and this one is tus-in-ki.’ His beaming smile looks up at her, eager for praise.
Jen bends and picks him up. ‘Oof! You’re getting so big!’ she exclaims as she pulls him close and kisses his ear, making him wriggle and giggle.
‘Me and Daddy made . . .’ Hailey looks at me for confirmation as she says, ‘moussaka. I helped chop the au-ber-gine.’
‘I can’t wait to eat it. Aren’t you all clever?’
‘Wait until you eat before you make your conclusions,’ I whisper into her ear. I kiss her on the cheek and her hand grabs mine, pulling me back to her.
I stand on the threshold of Oscar’s room while Jen makes all the right noises for the animals in his favourite story. Hailey appears, smelling of strawberry toothpaste and camomile shampoo.
‘Is she fixed?’ she asks.
‘I think so.’
‘But is she properly fixed, like when you bought new legs for the chair Grandpa broke and fixed it with the screws, or is she fixed like when you superglued my unicorn cup together?’
‘When was that?’
‘The day after Oscar’s nose bleeded all over Mummy’s bed sheets. You fixed it but I could still see all the cracks. I didn’t like it properly.’
‘Sorry about that,’ I say, thinking of the discarded cup.
‘It’s OK. It’s just that it was never the same after it broke.’ She lets go of my hand and pushes her way into Oscar’s room, sits on the end of the bed and sucks the ends of her hair.
Jen catches my eyes as Hailey roars like a lion and Oscar dissolves into a fit of giggles. My heart doesn’t expand like it’s supposed to according to all the romantic audio books that Jen listens to. Her eyes don’t twinkle, they don’t sparkle or dance . . . but there is a light behind them. I think that’s the best way to describe it: there is light, whereas for the past few months they have been dull.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Jennifer
‘Well, that was . . .’ I roll off Ed and we both laugh.
‘I know.’
Everything is as it should be. This is one of the moments I want him to remember. When we’re both flushed with the afterglow of sex, our bodies wet with sweat, our heartbeats racing and in sync. This is the woman I want him to remember.
‘God I’ve missed you,’ he whispers into my hair.
‘I’ve missed you too.’
We stay silent for a few minutes, a smile nestled into the corners of my mouth, the rhythmic strokes of his hands up and down my spine.
‘Who is your perfect woman?’ I ask.
‘Is this a trick question?’ Another kiss, more strokes up and down my arm. ‘You’re my perfect woman.’
‘Smooth-talker.’ I prop myself up on my elbow. ‘Seriously . . . like when you were a teenager, who was your perfect woman?’
‘I used to have a real thing for Penelope Cruz.’
‘Really?’ I never knew that. ‘So brunettes then?’
He lifts a strand of my hair and twiddles it around his finger. ‘I suppose . . . and her accent. Such a sexy accent.’
‘Mr Jones . . .’ I do a dreadful attempt at a Spanish accent, ‘are you saying you would like me to talk like these when we are in ze bedroom?’ I straddle him and sit up as he laughs softly. I love Ed’s laugh . . . if sounds were food, his laugh would be melted chocolate.
‘How about you?’
‘Honestly? I always liked blonds.’
‘You’re just saying that.’ He folds his arms behind his head.
‘I’m not . . . I always had a thing for Eminem when he was in his Slim Shady era.’
Ed begins rapping, badly, asking me what his name is.
‘You rap like a ztar,’ I reply, the accent making me snort as he rolls me over onto my back and kisses me deeply.
As we begin again, I’m thinking about how, if something were to happen to me, he could find his Penelope Cruz and how happy he would be.
Ed is sound asleep, so I retrieve my notebook and tread quietly down the stairs. Kerry is already sitting at the kitchen table, nursing what looks like whisky.