‘Daddy! The batteries won’t fit!’
‘Coming!’ he replies, giving me a chocolatey kiss and returning to the lounge.
‘You can do it, Jen.’ Kerry picks up the calendar and smiles. ‘It’s only time . . . it can’t hurt you.’
But I know that it can, it’s hurt me before, the seconds, the minutes, the hours without you.
‘You can do it. Fill that time with them.’ She nods to where laughter is coming from the lounge as the race-car track that Ed insisted the kids would love whirrs into action.
What if I can’t?
‘You have to.’
My reindeer slippers follow Ed back into the lounge, their antlers nodding with every step as my lips form a smile.
She’s right: I have to. Because the alternative will be even harder.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Ed
‘Just give me a hint . . . Where are we going?’ Jen asks.
‘That will ruin the surprise,’ I say. OK, cards on the table, I’m not a romance kind of guy. I mean I’m not completely crap, like I always get roses for her on Valentine’s Day, but I felt like after the year we’ve had that I should step up a bit for our anniversary, you know?
I indicate and pull onto the hotel carpark. We’ve got the night to ourselves; the kids are at Brian and Judith’s.
‘Ooh, posh!’ The hotel is a castle, an actual castle. I’m not one to brag but as far as weekends away go, I think I’ve nailed this one.
‘Don’t worry about the cost,’ I intervene. ‘I got a Groupon deal.’
She laughs. ‘Oh, Ed, ever the romantic.’
‘What? You can be romantic and thrifty. Romance isn’t about how much money you spend.’
‘True. Remember when you gave me your coat when I fell in the sea?’
‘I was being gallant, not romantic.’
‘Aren’t they the same thing?’
‘I don’t know. But my balls have never been the same after that weekend . . . they were the size of raisins when we got back to the chalet.’
‘It was your fault, you suggested we jump over the waves in November.’
‘I was trying to impress you by being spontaneous.’
‘Well it worked. I think I fell in love with you a little bit more every time your lips turned a deeper shade of blue.’
‘I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to love me even more after what I have in store,’ I say, winking.
‘Ooh, sex swing?’
There was a time in our relationship where Jen’s enthusiasm for a sex swing would have been right up there with when Arsenal won the FA Cup.
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ She sighs with a kind of dramatic disappointment. I still can’t quite get used to how our sex life has changed. When we first met, it was all the time . . . we were young, everything was fresh, like when I found the faint birthmark on the back of her leg; I felt special, no, not special, I felt privileged. That doesn’t work either, does it? What I’m trying to say is when I first saw it, it was as if I’d been allowed to see behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz. It’s just a birthmark, he was just a scatty old man, but knowing the truth somehow made that scatty old man something . . . more. That’s how it is when you’ve been married to someone for years: the rest of the world see something different to the person you are allowed to see. But now, it’s as if she has other birthmarks that I’ve never seen before.
‘Not a sex swing, but I promise there will be champagne. And sex stuff, if you’re lucky,’ I add as the tyres crunch into the gravel of the parking bay.
I carry our bags and we climb the steep steps and into the room. It’s Tudor in style . . . I think.
‘No sex swing but . . .’ I pull open the heavy curtain and we look out over the lighted gardens below, the turrets of the castle lit up by soft floodlights. Below us is the courtyard and beyond that is the sea, flat and laid out like a blanket behind the steep green banks that roll onto tall cliff faces.
Jen leans her head against my shoulder. ‘I love you.’
‘Good, because I’m going out for a bit.’
‘Funny.’
‘No really . . . I’m going out for a bit.’
‘What?’ She turns to me laughing.
‘Have a bath, and, um, don’t look in your case until I tell you.’
‘Mr Jones . . . you have got sex stuff planned!’
‘Not . . . exactly. Do you trust me?’
‘With my life.’ The words snag in her throat and for a moment she seems overwhelmed by the year’s events. But then she starts coughing. I pat her back as the tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to say the word water through her coughing fit. I pass her the bottle, make sure she’s recovered, then grab the bag and leave the room.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Jennifer
My hand runs along the stone walls inside the en suite . . . although that word doesn’t quite fit the small bathroom I’m standing in. My fingers run over the exposed brickwork where the shape of a fireplace remains as the room fills with steam. The bath is claw-footed; a sound escapes my mouth as I sink into the deep water, bubbles shimmering, shifting and nestling against my skin.
I close my eyes, enjoying the luxury. At first, the opulence feels delicate and beautiful as I take in the sensation of my muscles relaxing, of the warmth surrounding me. But the luxury starts to cling to my thoughts, like a cobweb, barely visible until you look closer and see the droplets of morning dew hanging from it like diamonds. The more I begin to enjoy the moment, the more beauty my life begins to fill with, the bigger the web seems to be. I reach out to touch it: the diamonds jangle and chime, the light catching the sun, dazzling in my eyes, hurting my retinas until I have to look away. My fingers are stuck to the web, the diamonds slicing my skin, nipping and cutting as I try to free myself, but I’m caught, I’m trapped by the beauty.
My eyes flash open and I push my body upwards, sloshing some of the water over the edge of the bath.
‘That puts death by drowning out.’
Kerry tries to pass me a towel. I ignore her and wipe away the bath suds with my hands. I pinch my eyelids, snapping myself awake. In the bedroom my phone is vibrating. I climb out of the bath, wrap myself in the white bathrobe, sink onto the bed and answer Ed’s call. I still feel like the cobweb is sticking to me.
‘Hi . . . where are you?’
‘I’ll be back soon. Did you open your case yet?’
‘No, I’ve just had a bath, like you said.’
‘Right, well, open the case and, um put it on.’
‘Put IT on? Oh, Ed, no more celebrity masks, I beg of you.’
His voice is soft and rich when he replies. ‘No celebrity masks, I promise. I’ll be back in about half an hour. Love you.’
‘You too.’
I pass my phone between my hands and look towards where my case is standing by the door. Kerry is lying on the bed, unwrapping the chocolate on the pillow.
‘Well . . . are you going to see what all the fuss is about?’
The web is disintegrating; it falls from my skin as I open the case and unfold the tissue paper sitting on top of the clothes I had packed. So, this is why Ed had insisted on fetching my bag from upstairs. Sitting inside the tissue paper is an emerald green dress. It straightens itself from the paper as I pull it free, standing up: proud, regal. The material cascades from the hanger; its shape is a fishtail by design, edged with delicate lace. I’ve never been one for coveting celebrities and fashion, but I can’t help but let out a little gasp as I run my fingers along the sweetheart neckline. I lay the dress across the bed; it oozes sex appeal and glamour. I glance back to my case and pull back another piece of tissue; a matching cashmere wrap sits on top of an emerald green underwear set and a pair of kitten-heeled sequinned shoes. They wink at me: hello, well aren’t we special? They’re like something a flapper girl would wear.