To the left, there is a path that climbs the steep bank of a cliff, a wooden fence guarding it against the insomniac sea.
‘Come on.’ Kerry pulls at my hand. ‘The view must be immense from up there.’
I pull my throw tighter around my shoulders and follow her, my hands gliding over the smooth wood. I hesitate as the fence banks inwards, away from the edge of the cliff face, keeping spectators safe from harm.
My thoughts are consumed by Ed; how much better he looks now that I’m ‘better’. I hadn’t noticed how much I had taken from him since Kerry’s death until tonight. Until I watched him talking and laughing. I hadn’t realised the emptiness that he’d been hiding from me until I saw how full of life he now is. It’s hard to see the volume inside something, isn’t it? To calculate how much space there is? But if you tried to fill, say, a cavern with water . . . suddenly, you would have a sense of how empty it was before. That is what it’s been like tonight: I could see how full Ed is, full of love for me, for Hailey and Oscar, full of the life we have ahead of us.
As we continue, I notice the fence has a slight wobble, a discrepancy in the integrity of the wood; I stop and look at the spot where I’m standing. The wood has split in several places: tired of its job, lowly paid, long hours. This piece of wood has had enough; it wants to break free, to escape the confines it has been allocated: to feel the power of the water’s grip, to be caressed and played with as it swims to far-off lands, places with a new view, new cliffs to stand sentry. I push the wood a little, hear its groan of relief, hear its back crack, shackles falling to the ground as it leaps from the cliff edge. Free. Falling. No longer trapped by duty.
Kerry holds my hands as we watch it hit the water, the waves welcoming it, embracing it, offering to show it the secrets below.
I know why she has brought me here.
‘It’s time, Jen, it’s time for me to go.’
She turns and steps towards the edge of the cliff and faces the water.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Ed
I’m in that moment you’re in when it takes your brain a few moments to shuffle your thoughts and organise themselves as my hand taps Jen’s side of the bed, my eyes resting on the space beside me. ‘Jen?’
Something doesn’t feel right. Like that feeling when you wake up after a night out and you know you’ve acted like a dick, but you can’t quite remember what it was that you did.
I get up and push open the door to the bathroom, but it’s empty. Even as I call her name again, I know there will be no reply, because Jen isn’t here. I glance over to where her dress had been discarded last night: it’s missing. My heart is beating hard inside my chest as I call her number, but her phone is beside the bed, my face smiling up from the screen like a joke. Pulling back the curtain, I look down into the castle grounds, but I can’t see her down there. Maybe she went to the bar? I’m trying to convince myself that this is a possibility, even though deep down, I know I’m kidding myself. Something in my bones is telling me that this feels wrong.
My clothes are all over the floor and I push my feet into my trouser legs while simultaneously grabbing the room key and reaching for my shirt. Quietly, I descend the steps. The bar is closed; the hotel is so quiet as I make my way out into the grounds.
‘Jen?’ My voice comes out in a whispered shout; it hurts my throat. I continue calling her name, hurrying through the gardens and narrowing my eyes out towards the sea, towards the cliffs. My breath is hot in my throat as I see it: a flash of green high up on the ridge.
She’s there. The image I have tried so hard to fight is back. Jen jumping, lying flat in the water.
Fear courses through my veins, making my feet run, making my voice catch as I call out her name.
I’m breathing hard as I follow the curve of the path. I look up to where I can see her: she’s standing next to the edge, her right hand is stretching out like she’s holding hands with one of the kids, her dress is bright against the backdrop of dawn breaking, the wind pulling her hair.
‘Jen!’ I shout again but she doesn’t hear me. I’m too far away. I’m too far away to stop her stepping forward.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Jennifer
‘Stop!’ I take her hand in mine. I look down at the dark water; fear is burning my chest. I didn’t think I would be scared. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
Kerry turns to face me. She is wearing her red boots, red coat, her emerald ring, and is smiling out to where dawn is breaking over the horizon.
‘When I was little, if I had a bad dream, I used to sneak into your bed. Do you remember?’
I nod. ‘Your feet were always cold.’ A tear stings my skin as it rolls down my cheek.
‘I always felt safe when I was with you.’
‘You were my little sister. It was my job to keep you safe.’
‘No, Jen. It wasn’t.’ She wipes one of my tears away and smiles. ‘Me dying wasn’t your fault, Jen. It was just an accident.’
I shake my head, fighting her words. ‘It was my fault.’
I take a small step forward, closer to her, closer to the edge. The sea is hungry, snapping its jaws together beneath me. My legs are shaking, my throat tight; the fear of death has a hand on my shoulder and it is trying to pull me back to safety.
‘I’m scared.’ The words tumble from my mouth as I try to hold on to her hand tightly.
‘I wish I could take you with me.’ She smiles sadly. ‘But—’ Kerry puts on a croaky voice telling me she’ll be right here, pointing to my heart, quoting from ET, the film we would always watch if we were sick. Her plait is hanging over her chest in the same position as it was the day she died. ‘I have to do this,’ she says.
I nod.
‘It’s the best thing for you . . . for them.’
I swallow hard and peer over the edge again. I close my eyes and try to control the shaking in my legs; I breathe in slowly as my foot takes another step.
Kerry is smiling out towards the ocean, the sunrise catching the glint of green in her ring as she wipes a tear away. She turns her back on the sunrise and squeezes my hands. Her voice is steady and earnest. ‘I’m sorry, Jen. I’m sorry for putting you through this. I’m sorry for leaving you alone . . . but you have to go on living, Jen. It’s time for me to go.’ Her eyebrows raise as she rests her hands on my shoulders. ‘You don’t need me any more, Jen.’
‘I know.’ The words are caught, they come out as a breath. Kerry takes a step back.
‘Wait!’ Panic stretches my hand out towards her.
The Accidental Death of Jennifer Jones
If a person were asked to describe Jennifer Jones, they would say that she is happy with her life. They would say that she’s happily married to Edward, the third man she slept with, who was neither the best nor the worst of her conquests. She is happy with the way her children have turned out, a perfect pair – one of each, Oscar, six and Hailey, nine – who are both well behaved, polite and intelligent. If that person could see her now, they would see a woman dressed in a green dress which whispers with each step she takes, which glimmers in the early morning glow. The wind is playing with her dark hair; it twists and turns in the wind; her blue eyes are bright as she looks down into the water below. She replays the evening, watches herself and her husband laughing beneath a tunnel of ocean, the peace and majesty of the fish as they swam, the light in his eyes as he talked about their children and the year ahead. About old times, about her sister. Jennifer Jones knows that her sister will no longer be there with her. Her hands rest on a fence, high up along a cliff face. The fence has stood here for many years, keeping tourists safe, tolerating the sticky hands of children, as their parents hover closely behind them: not too close now, hold on to my hand, look you can see for miles. But this fence is becoming tired; it no longer has the strength to keep the children safe, to keep their loved ones from harm’s way. Jennifer Jones pushes her hand onto the wood until it snaps, cracks and falls. The woman in green leans gently forward and watches it plummet, a sad smile playing on her mouth.