Jennifer Jones knows this is the right thing to do, to say goodbye to her sister, but as Kerry steps towards the edge of the cliff, Jennifer is filled with panic. She doesn’t want to let her go. She can’t watch her sister die again.
Kerry turns towards the sea. She is ready, at peace, but as Kerry begins to take a step, Jennifer reaches out a hand to stop her. Jennifer knows her husband will come looking for her; she knows he will see the path; he will see the broken fence, he will know at once what has happened. He will ignore the little nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that tells him that he believed this would happen all along. He will picture how happy his wife has been recently, he will remember the snow and her arm around his neck, the laughter in her throat. He will picture their lovemaking: slow and intense, how blessed he had felt because he could see how much his wife loved him. That nagging in his stomach will be filled with despair at this tragedy; this accident that took away his wife from their children.
The tragic accident that caused the death of Jennifer Jones.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Ed
I’ve lost sight of Jen as I sprint as fast as I can around the bend of the path. Everything seems harder: it’s harder to breathe, it’s harder to run, harder to see. I’m repeating her name over and over and over as I picture her body hitting the waves, her body weightlessly sinking beneath the surface, dress floating around her, bubbles escaping her mouth.
But I did everything right, right? She was better, I did everything Wiki told me, everything Google told me, everything Dr Pepper told me. What if I didn’t fix her, what if . . . I can’t think of the what ifs. Why aren’t I fitter? Faster? I push myself; I run faster than I have in years, Jen’s name circling my thoughts of her, my beautiful wife.
Chapter Eighty-Five
Jennifer
‘Jesus, Jen!’ Kerry grabs hold of my shoulder and shakes me. ‘Come on, Jen, enough is enough.’ I look down to where parts of the cliff have begun to tumble into the sea. My feet are dangerously close to the edge.
I blink.
Like a sharp click of fingers in front of me, I picture my family. Ed as he opens his eyes first in the morning, the lazy half focus as he sees my face; Oscar’s face looming in front of me as he jumps on top of us, warm and smelling of sleep; Hailey pushing her glasses up her nose and smiling at me as I peer around the corner of her bedroom, telling her just one more page before she sleeps. The images come faster and faster: Oscar sneezing his cereal all over the kitchen table, Hailey bouncing on the trampoline, me and Ed sneaking Christmas presents down from the attic, stifling giggles in case we wake up the kids, the feel of Oscar’s hands around my neck as I carry him to bed, the excitement on Hailey’s face as she places her tooth beneath the pillow. Faster and faster the images come, Oscar peddling his tricycle – tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration – Hailey sliding down a slide – knickers showing as her dress billows around her, Ed fixing a flat tyre – oil smudged across his cheek, Hailey with flushed cheeks, 1st prize sticker on her chest at sports day, Ed shivering and putting his coat around my shoulders, the three of them holding hands while they jump over waves, Oscar chasing Hailey with a frog . . . More and more memories come, until my eyes flash open. My chest is rising and falling heavily, the smile on my face, the hunger to see them making my feet step backwards from the edge.
‘You have to let me go.’
I nod.
The love and joy I felt moments ago battles with the loss to come. A flicker of fear runs through me, fear of the visceral pain of grief and guilt that haunted me in the months after she died, that has been burning away inside me for over a year, but with a hiss, the flicker of fear is extinguished: wet fingers pinching a flame. My grief isn’t going to start again, this isn’t a new death . . . this is just my chance to say goodbye, to start living, for my life to begin again.
‘Goodbye, Jen.’ She kisses the inside of my palm, my hand dropping back towards my side as she takes another step back. ‘Tell squirt that adding a blob of PVA glue to his bubble mixture will make it magic, tell Hailey to add a quarter of a Bazooka bubble gum . . . that got me a twenty-five . . . but shush . . .’ She winks. ‘Don’t tell Mum.’ She steps back a little further. ‘And Jen? Be nice to Nessa’s new girlfriend . . . she’ll want your approval.’ My sister opens her arms and grins at me. ‘And . . . give Ed a kiss from me!’
She winks, and before I can stop her, before I can grab her hand, her body is flying backwards. Her eyes – bright and determined – stay focused on me. Her feet and arms are in front of her, as though she is just trying to touch her toes: red coat, red boots and a flash of green.
The ocean lies beneath her; it throws back the cool, green cover and welcomes her into its embrace.
‘Goodbye, Kerry,’ I whisper.
I stare at the water below, picturing her body slowly descending, her hair pulled around her like a halo, as she sinks past the blues and greens, the sunrise flickering light through the seaweed, until finally sinking into the dark, her face peaceful and calm.
The sun is coming up; the wind is cold and fresh against the tears on my skin. I take a deep breath – the smell of the sea and the peat of the earth is rich: I feel alive. My skin is covered in goose bumps, my skin tinged purple beneath them, but I’m smiling.
I turn my back on the sea and the cliff, on the grief and guilt that I’ve been drowning in, and break into a run: my life is about to begin again.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Ed
The path leans around a corner, my calves are burning, why am I even noticing this? I look towards the bend but someone crashes into me, full force. It takes a second to register that it’s Jen, that she’s in my arms as we slip, our bodies a flash of green and denim as we half roll, half slide down the path.
Jen is on top of me, both of us startled, both of us rubbing our heads . . . and she is laughing. She sits up, kissing every part of my face, as I try to talk, my words swallowed by her lips.
‘I thought—’ I begin.
‘I love you.’
‘I thought—’ I try again.
‘So much—’
‘Why were you—’
But the sentence is taken from my mouth with hers, the fear I felt being dismissed by the warmth of her, by the ‘aliveness’ of her. Is that even a word? Eventually, her kisses stop and I manage to speak as we stand, both of us shivering, both of us dazed.
I pull her towards me and hold her face in my hands. ‘What were you thinking?’ I ask, searching her face for answers.
‘I . . .’ She shivers again, and I pull off my jacket and put it around her shoulders. ‘I wanted to see the sunrise.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I needed to say goodbye. I needed to say goodbye to Kerry. Properly.’
‘Is she back?’ I ask; I almost look around.
She shakes her head with a sad smile. ‘No . . . she’s gone.’ Her voice is solid; it doesn’t waver, despite her shivers. ‘But I’m not.’ She leans forward and says this to me as if it’s a revelation, her tone the same as it was when she said ‘I’m pregnant’, when she said ‘Yes’, when she said ‘I do’. An answer beyond dispute, her voice certain and sure.