‘Oh, Ed.’
The underwear fits perfectly: the bra is not designed for sports and the knickers would be no good for a long day doing the school run, but for a night in a hotel with my husband? They couldn’t be more perfect.
I step into the dress, the soft shift gliding over my skin. I face my reflection, turning to the side and following the arc of my waist, the flare of material that smooths over my stomach. Kerry stands next to me smiling, the same pose that we had when I got ready for my first school disco.
‘You look beautiful,’ she smiles.
We both turn towards the knock on the door. The dress hums with each step that I take, the throw warm and comforting around my shoulders. Behind the door stands my husband, dressed in a suit, a darker shade of my dress. He looks shy, uncomfortable but happy. His mouth opens but no sound comes out. Instead, he offers me his arm. ‘Shall we?’
I’m following Ed, keeping my eyes closed as instructed. I hear sounds of automatic doors opening, of Ed thanking a man for a favour; no problem, the man says. Smells that are hard to place follow us, as does Kerry. I can’t see her but I know she’s here; she’s walking next to me, holding my hand.
‘Almost there.’ Ed’s voice is nervous, excited like the day he asked me to marry him. His hands rest on my shoulders. ‘Wait there, just a second.’ I hear him shuffle about and then Nat King Cole’s ‘The Very Thought of You’ begins.
I hear Kerry whisper into my ear, ‘I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you later.’ I feel a ghost of her kiss on my cheeks just as Ed’s warm hands cover my eyes.
‘OK . . . ready?’
‘Yes,’ I giggle.
‘Open your eyes.’
My eyes widen as I take in the scene in front of me. We’re inside a glass tunnel; above us and around us sharks, rays and sea creatures glide.
‘Oh . . . Ed.’ His name falls from my mouth. The blues and greens shimmer from inside the aquarium, reflecting all around us, as though we’re part of it, as though we’re at the bottom of the ocean. Bubbles rise; we are surrounded by warm springs while Nat continues to sing about the mere idea of us. Schools of brightly coloured fish seem to giggle past us in flashes of blues, pinks, purples, yellows as larger fish chase them into order like headmasters on a school trip. I grab hold of Ed’s arm and point to a shark shimmying past, its backend sashaying from side to side, its majesty commanding attention.
I look down at my dress, look into the water that surrounds us, look into my husband’s eyes; he’s practically dancing on the spot with excitement, just like the boy I fell in love with, so pleased at his gallant gesture. He points to a giant ray gliding above us, its smile pleased to see us.
In front of us are a table, two chairs, and a fairy-lighted champagne bucket, a small picnic basket resting next to it. My chest rises and falls, my lungs breathing life in and out.
‘You once said . . .’ he takes my hands in his and faces me, ‘that when you were a little girl you wanted to be a mermaid . . . You’ve made my dreams come true, Jen, I wanted to do the same for you.’
Tears swell, his face blurring through them as they fall over my eyelashes. His thumb wipes one away.
‘I don’t deserve all of this, Ed. Look at what I’ve put you through this year; how on earth have I made your dreams come true?’
‘You came back to me.’
‘May I have this dance?’ I ask him.
‘It would be my honour.’
Chapter Eighty
Ed
I don’t think I have ever been more in love with my wife. Not on the day I first saw her through the doors of that train. Not when she looked up at me and agreed to let me walk her home. Not on our wedding day with her perfect make-up and hair teased into unnatural ringlets around her face. Not when she looked at me and told me she was pregnant, or when she looked down at our new-born daughter. But right now, with the reflection of the artificial blues and greens of the giant fish tank, the bubbles rising behind her head, the stingrays with their goofy smiles passing us by . . . Right now. Her head is thrown back and she is laughing. I take in the gap between the front teeth that I love so much, the smudge of mascara under her eye, the green of her dress, reflecting on her throat like the yellow of the buttercups Hailey thrusts beneath Oscar’s chin. Right now, because she has never looked so alive. That look that has been there since Kerry died has gone. Left. Adios, bye-bye. Gone.
They say you never really know what you have until it’s gone . . . Do people say that or have I just made it up? Or is it a lyric? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know what it felt like to lose her. To see her disappear a little bit more as each day passed. And each day, it was like I lost a little bit of myself too.
‘Well, husband of mine.’ Jen leans forward and kisses me. She tastes of wine and salt. ‘You have outdone yourself.’ Her head leans to the side and she exhales and looks up at a shark swimming over us.
We’re tipsy when we return to our room, kissing outside of the door before I’ve got the key in the lock. The door opens behind us, and we fall through. I manage to kick it closed before my hands begin to explore the new underwear that is hiding beneath the dress. They are not disappointed.
Our lovemaking starts off with giggles and difficult clasps, with awkward positions and earrings caught in hair, but soon the struggles we have overcome seem to be at the forefront of our minds, as though we can make up for every wrong word we’ve said to each other with a kiss, every night spent apart while Jen was ill with a touch. Jen sits on top of me, her hips moving rhythmically, her hair falling forward, her eyes filled with love.
I wake up with a start. A door slam? I reach out for Jen, but the bed is empty. Her side is cold.
‘Jen?’ My voice is hoarse. My hand fumbles around for the light switch and the room fills with it. ‘Jen?’
Chapter Eighty-One
Jennifer
‘Jen?’ I stir and roll over. ‘Jen? Wake up.’ I open my eyes to see Kerry sitting beside me on the bed.
I’m tired. Go back to sleep.
‘Jen-ni-fer . . . I need to show you something.’
Ed is snoring gently beside me. The green dress is draped languorously over the armchair; you aren’t tired, are you, darling? The night is still young, it seems to say. I glance towards my case, to where my jeans and boots are enclosed, but think of the zip and sounds it will make.
‘Just put the dress on, we won’t be long, I promise.’
I step back into it, watching Ed’s back rise and fall, deep in the clutches of sleep, and grab the throw.
Where are we going?
She hops on her foot as she pulls on her boots. ‘I just need some fresh air.’
I slip my fingers into the shoes and leave the room quietly. The hotel is sleeping, the lights are dim, the sounds quieted.
We follow a path down through the gardens to the remains of an outbuilding. The floodlights are low now: dozing. I come to a wall, half-awake, half-asleep. Like me. Peeking over the wall is the sea; it rolls over, tosses and turns, throwing off its cover before pulling it back on. My hands run along the stones of the wall, stopping to watch the turmoil of the water below. I let my fingers follow the grooves around the bricks, the passing of time sewn into each downward pull, each scrape of the trowel.