"Why not?" Emma replied.
"It’s okay, Jean," Beatrice said.
"No it's not okay,” Jean said. “It's none of her business."
"Jean," Derek said. "Calm down, love."
"I'm sorry," Jean apologised.
She looked at Beatrice and Mike who both seemed uncomfortable. She didn't mean to cause a fuss, but Emma was pushy. And, Jean hated pushy people. They were her friends, and it was up to them when they got married.
"It's alright," Emma said. "I understand. Really, I do. Eddie's death has been tough on you. I just wanted to cheer everyone up."
Judging by the silence that followed, Jean gathered Emma had accomplished her task to make her look bad.
When they got home, Jean and Derek prepared for bed. Derek hadn't stopped talking about bowling since they got back. He kept saying how it was kind of Emma to arrange for them all to go out as a family.
Jean found the whole evening torturous. But, Derek would only dismiss her if she said so.
"Eddie would have been pleased," Derek said. "Seeing us all together like that."
"Yes, I suppose he would have been."
"And Emma didn't mean anything by it, you know."
"How do you mean?" Jean asked as she unbuttoned her shirt.
"When she was teasing Mike and Beatrice. She's got that sense of humour. They knew she was joking."
"Okay, if you say so," Jean said.
"I do," Derek said. He came closer towards her. "Let me help you with your shirt."
"I'm fine. I can do it."
He undid the top button, and she took it off. Derek then leaned forward and started kissing her.
Jean recoiled. "I'm tired. It's been a long day."
"I really want you," Derek said.
"I'm not a machine, Derek. I can't just turn on a switch when you want me to work."
"I want to make love to my wife. What’s so bad about that? It's natural."
"I'm not in the mood."
"You never are. Are you?"
“Is that all you care about?”
Derek threw his hands up in the air. “I want to make love to my wife. We did the other night, and you seemed fine then.”
“That was then.”
“What’s changed?”
Jean sat at her dressing table and started brushing her hair. “I found a receipt under the dressing table. You lied to me.”
“About what?”
“You said Emma gave you those aftershaves at the funeral. She brought them for you, I found the receipt. They were brought the day after the funeral.”
“Jean I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I knew you’d say that. But the evidence is there.”
“What evidence?”
“Emma planted that receipt in here so that I would find it.”
“Why would she do that?”
Jean stood up. “I don’t know. I don’t know why she does anything. But it’s all aimed at making me look like a fragile, unstable nut case in front of my friends and family.”
Derek’s expression was tense. “Jean, this all sounds crazy. Emma isn’t doing anything to you. She’s just getting through all this the best way she can. We all are. This isn’t just about you.”
“How do you explain the receipt then?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Jean shook her head, sighing heavily. She went into her wardrobe for her dressing gown, but it had fallen off the hanger onto the pile of bags she’d had at the bottom. When she picked it up, she noticed a shopping bag, belonging to the department store where Emma worked.
“What’s the matter?” Derek asked.
“I don’t understand—” Jean stuttered.
She picked up the bag, and when she looked inside, found two bottles of aftershave, and shaving foam.
“What are those?” Derek enquired.
Jean flew into the bathroom, yanked open the bathroom cabinet, and the aftershaves that Emma had given to Derek were still there.
“Where did these come from?”
Derek took the bag from her and sighed. “You must have brought them.”
“I didn’t.”
“You don’t remember.”
“I didn’t buy them.”
Jean went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. She had heartburn, and her throat felt tight, dry, and restricted.
“It’s okay,” Derek said. “We all make mistakes, not to worry. I’ll go downstairs and make you some tea.”
Derek closed the bedroom door behind him. How had this happened? It was like an awful game. Life had changed so much since Emma arrived in their family. And only Jean could see it.
Chapter 13
"Mike is such a wonderful man," Beatrice said. "You know how hard they are to come by."
Jean had met Beatrice for a coffee the following afternoon. It was a Monday lunchtime, and Beatrice called and told her she wanted her advice. They were sitting inside in an Italian bistro on the busy road near to where Jean lived.
"I agree," Jean said.
"And, of course, I'm not getting any younger. I have to think about the future."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, if he wants to get serious one day—"
"Has he said that? That he wants to get serious?"
"Not in so many words. But, he's hinting at something. He keeps asking me what my plans are for the future. I doubt he's talking about holidays."
Jean sipped her water. "You can't second guess what he wants."
Beatrice nodded. "I know that. But, I don't want to scare him off. Listen to me. Anyone would think I was a teenager."
"You're just worried," Jean said. "Is it because of what Emma said yesterday evening?"
Beatrice looked confused. "Emma? What did she say?"
"When she was going on about how you and Mike should get married. You know, when we went bowling. I think she’d had too much to drink."
"Oh that," Beatrice said. "She was just joking. Wasn't she?"
"I thought it was rather rude and insensitive, but then that's Emma all over."
Beatrice took a sip of her juice. "She has a sarcastic sense of humour. It's not a crime. And Mike seems to like her."
"So does Derek. But what I mean is that she was out of order."
"Are you sure you're not just taking this too seriously?"
Jean stared at the ground, working hard to steady her own breathing.
"I just thought she had embarrassed you."
"No, of course not. She's a lively girl. The drink just got too much for her. That's all."
"But she shouldn't be drinking like that, not when she's supposed to be looking after the boys."
"Jean, really. It's not as bad as all that."
Jean realised she probably sounded neurotic, so she stopped herself from saying anything more about Emma.
"So, what are you going to do about Mike?"
Beatrice shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. But if he wants to get married, then I'll consider it. Maybe Emma did us a favour."
"I doubt that."
"Seriously. I never thought about marriage before. And it's about time I got serious with someone. Look at you and Derek. How many years have the two of you been married?"
"Thirty-Seven."
Jean couldn't believe it as she said it.
"That's a lifetime."
"It feels like it."
"And would you be without him?"
"I suppose not."
"I've never had that," Beatrice said. "You're very lucky."
"But you've got Mike. A passionate love affair. I've never had that."
"We're never happy. Are we?"
"No, we're not."
Jean smiled as she sipped her drink.
"Do you think I should marry Mike?"
"I can't answer that."
"You know me better than most."
"If that's what you want. But marriage isn't all that it's cracked up to be."
"Is everything okay
between you and Derek?"
"Yes, well, we've just buried our son. It's bound to have an effect on our relationship."
"Of course it is. But you've been together for years. There isn't a mountain; you two can't climb together."
"I wish I had your confidence, Beatrice. I really do."
Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Jean thought before she answered, and lied. “Yes. Everything is fine.”
At home, Jean made herself a cup of tea and drank it standing up in the kitchen. Derek was in the garden. At one point she saw and heard him talking to their neighbour next door. She took her tea upstairs to the bedroom, went into the wardrobe, and took out the shopping bag with the aftershaves. What if she took the receipt into the store and asked one of the assistants if they remembered her buying it. There would be cameras everywhere in that shop. Surely if Jean had purchased those aftershaves, she’d a left a trail of evidence. Did she use her credit card? Cash?
The bedroom door opened and Derek entered, drying his hands with a hand towel.
“That garden will be the death of me. What are you doing?”
“I just thought I should call the bank.”
“Why?”
“They’d have a record of this purchase. It will be on my statement. Or I could just look online.”
“Are you still thinking you didn’t buy them?”
Jean stood up. “I don’t think I know.”
“Jean, I told you it doesn’t matter. I’ve got a mate at work. We can give them to him, it’s his birthday. Or donate to charity if you like.”
“I don’t want to give them to charity or to your mate at work. I want to know where they came from. How they ended up here. Why you’re so quick to believe that your wife is going crazy, and can’t actually remember buying her own husband expensive aftershave.”
Jean put the aftershave back into the wardrobe, grabbed her tea, and went back downstairs. Derek followed her.
“Jean, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say. But you won’t listen to me, will you?”
Jean moved into the lounge, turned on the TV, and sat on the couch. Derek switched it off using the remote.
“Jean, we can’t go on like this. You can’t accuse Emma of all sorts, and make out like she’s got some sort of vendetta against you.”
“I’m just stating the facts.”
“They’re not facts. It’s all in your head. The grief is confusing you.”
Jean knew he’d see it like that, which was why she never wanted to say anything.
“Derek, I don’t want to argue about this. I just think something strange is going on. If you don’t want to see it, then there really isn’t any point in us discussing this any further.”
Derek sighed heavily and left the room. She then heard him go out of the back door, and return to the garden. Jean rested her head back on the couch and finished her tea which was now cold. She got up, went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Looking through the kitchen window, she saw Derek on his mobile phone. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, and couldn’t open the window, or he would know she was there, probably listening. But he was throwing his hands up in the air, as though she was exasperated. Moments later, he returned to the kitchen, smiled tensely and then went upstairs. Jean watched him, wondering who he was talking to.
In bed that night, Derek was fast asleep. Jean watched him. She often did that. Nothing could wake Derek when he was asleep. She was the opposite. Getting up gently, she pulled on her dressing gown and saw Derek’s phone on her dressing table. She never checked his phone. Never had any reason to. But he was acting cagey and was so tense ever since that call this afternoon in the garden. He never spoke to Jean about it, which he often did. Maybe it was business, Jean had no idea. But looking at his call history would put her mind at ease. Picking up the mobile, she took it out of the bedroom, and into the spare bedroom. The other bedroom used to belong to Eddie. Jean hadn’t been in there since Eddie’s death. Of course, it didn’t have Eddie’s things in there anymore, but Eddie’s presence had never left it since he moved out. To Jean, it would always be Eddie’s bedroom.
The room she was standing in now was used as a spare for guests, and one side of the room was a little study for Derek. There was a desk, with a lamp, and a tea coaster on it. Jean wheeled the chair from under the desk and sat down. Looking through Derek’s phone made her guilty, suspicious, either of which she wasn’t. His caller history was full of calls from her, work, and his best friends, Luke and Joseph. Then there was the call from that afternoon. Jean recognised the number straight away, as she’d call it herself so many times.
It was Emma’s number.
She was who he talking to in the garden. Of course, there should be nothing suspicious in him talking to his daughter-in-law. But why would he think it necessary to keep it from his wife? Jean got up and went to the window. She pulled the curtain slightly, it was dark, and tips of rain were streaking down the glass. The garden that Derek had been working on all day had been shielded by the darkness, just like Jean’s mind of late. Nothing made any sense, and as a woman who needed order and routine, she could feel herself becoming lost in all the uncertainty.
Grief manifested itself in many ways, was what her therapist told her. We all grieve in our own way. But was this grief? Jean wasn’t sure. Eddie’s death had taken her to a place of sadness that was dark, overwhelming, terrifying. Losing a child was unbearable.
As she made her way back to her bedroom, Derek was still asleep. She put his mobile phone back on the dressing table. Her body was cold as she climbed back into bed. She never slept.
Chapter 14
“What bothers you the most about your daughter-in-law?”
Jean was standing by the window in Sierra’s office. This was her fourth therapy session, and she was beginning to wonder if therapy was a good idea.
“Everything,” Jean replied.
“Can you be more specific?” Sierra asked.
Jean turned around and looked at Sierra, who was sitting on her chair with her legs crossed and a notebook and pen in her hands.
“I’m just worried about my grandchildren?”
“Why?”
“I don’t think she’s the right person to be caring for them.”
“But she was your son’s choice.”
“Eddie was taken in by her. That’s all.”
Jean returned to her chair and moved her hand through her hair. Sierra continued to study her.
“When did these feelings begin?”
“Do we have to talk about Emma?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“I’m the one that’s supposed to be asking the questions.”
“I suppose they started the moment Eddie brought her home.”
Jean had never got over her initial feelings about Emma. She’d never taken to her—despite what everyone was saying about her.
“Was it become you think he’d moved on too quickly?”
“I suppose. Rebecca—his first wife, hadn’t been dead long. I don’t think he was thinking straight.”
“You didn’t think he loved her?”
“I suppose not. Why are still talking about Emma?”
“Because I think she’s an important part of your grieving process.”
“Why?”
“You seem to have deep issues with her. I’m just trying to establish when these issues were formed and how they can be resolved. The last thing you need is to have this on top of grieving for your son.”
Jean stood up again. She started to feel anxious. She didn’t think she had deep issues with Emma. If anything it was the other way around. Emma hadn’t been particularly amiable towards her either.
“I am trying to deal with my issues with her. But it doesn’t subtract away from t
he fact that I think she shouldn’t be looking after my grandsons. She’s not their mother. Rebecca was. And I’m their grandmother.”
“Don’t you respect your son’s wishes?”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
“It’s about me doing right my family. Eddie would have wanted that.”
“I’m sure he would but—”
“I know you think I’m some crazy old woman who’s gone it in for her daughter-in-law because she took her precious son away. But I can assure you you’re wrong. I’m a good person who has always tried to do the right thing.”
“I don’t think that, Jean.”
“Everybody thinks that. Even my husband. He doesn’t believe me either. It’s like she’s poisoned everyone against me.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because nobody listens to me. Nobody ever listens to me.”
“Not even your husband?”
“Especially him. I’m even lying to him now.”
“About what?”
“Emma. The things I know about her.” Jean fetched her handbag from the couch and rooted around for her notebook. She opened it up, vigorously flicking the pages until she landed on the page she wanted.
“I wrote it all down. I was outside her house for two hours yesterday. Watching everything. Two men entered the house at different times. She was very friendly with both of them. I’ve never seen them before. But it’s all here, the times and the dates.”
“You’ve been watching your daughter-in-law’s house?” Sierra asked.
“Technically, it’s my son’s house.”
“But she’s living there.”
“Yes—but that’s not the point. She shouldn’t be entertaining her male friends a week after she’s buried my son. It’s not right.”
Sierra held her hand out for the notebook and read Jean’s notes. She then bit the inside of her lip.
“How many times have you followed Emma?”
“I don’t follow her.”
“That’s what this looks like.”
“I don’t agree. She won’t let me near the boys unless she says so. How else am I supposed to prove that she’s unfit to take care of them?”
“I don’t think this is the way to do it,” Sierra said.
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