‘I do, but not as much as I love you.’
Matthew reached for the remote control and pointed it towards the docking station. Calvin Harris’s ‘Feel So Close’ blared from the speakers.
‘Woohoo! I love this song! It reminds me of when we met. Come on!’ Jessica swooped over and pulled Matthew towards her. ‘Come and dance with Joanna!’
She ran in her heels back to the dock and turned the volume up even louder until the beat hammered against their ribs and the bass made the glasses on the shelf jump. With her hands above her head, Jessica spun and danced to the song, stopping only to swig from her glass and pass it back to her lover. Matthew, as ever, was quickly hypnotised by his gorgeous wife, dancing in her heels and underwear in their kitchen. The Pimm’s disappeared and the song changed beat. The fast dance rhythm was replaced by Adele’s soft and haunting ‘Someone Like You’. Jessica walked slowly over to her man and slipped into his arms as she clasped her hands behind his neck. Matthew held her as they swayed in the middle of the kitchen, fuelled by the Pimm’s. They danced slowly, then progressed to kissing and eventually to falling onto the floor, where Jessica shed her Louboutins and Matthew his inhibitions before making love to his irresistible wife.
Matthew slicked back his hair and shot his cuffs as he sidled into the chair next to his boss. He nodded hello to his assembled colleagues, who appeared to have polished off their first course and were awaiting the next. Jessica kissed Magnus’s wife on both cheeks.
‘So sorry we are late, Magnus, traffic was absolutely horrendous, some kind of problem on the A4. It was completely snarled up.’ He avoided eye contact and concentrated on spreading the napkin on his lap.
‘Oh, you should have called me.’ Magnus paused. ‘We could have picked you up. We came in from Heathrow, practically drove past your house. Whistled in with ease.’
Matthew reached for the water jug and tried to think of something to say.
‘Maybe there are two A4s, eh, Matthew?’ Magnus winked at his young protégé and thankfully chose not to mention the lipstick that sat on his collar and matched a smear on his neck.
7th December, 2012
I was given this little red book a while ago and had quite forgotten about it until I unpacked my bag here on that first, lonely day inside this horrible place. This is a good use for it. It’s nearly the end of my first year in here. I remember when I’d just arrived and the doctor said, ‘It would be a good idea, don’t you think, to write everything down, everything good and everything bad. How does that sound, Jessica? Think you can manage it?’ trying to get me to commit, coaxing like I was a child. I shrugged my agreement. I never wanted this to be a chore, like writing an essay or filling out a form. I decided at the beginning to ramble and see where it takes me, knowing I can always rip the pages out if I don’t like what I’ve put. Anyway, I’ve only written a measly four entries this year – probably not enough to convince anyone that I am ‘coming to terms with it’ as they insist on calling the guilt and fear that gnaws away every day. I was pleased to find this book among all my possessions, though I don’t know who packed it for me. Its crimson cover is a lovely splash of colour in this world of grey and beige. And it has beautiful creamy hand-pressed pages. So perfect I can hardly bear to write on them.
I’ve never written a journal before, not properly. I tried once, not long after Danny died. I sat on my bed with the duvet over my legs, leaning on the wall with a pillow stuffed in the small of my back and a little book perched on my knees. I thought I had something important to say, but I didn’t. Instead, after much consideration, I decided to write about what I’d had for lunch, who I fancied at school and which song I loved. But then one day I came home early from school to find my mum reading it in the kitchen. I couldn’t believe she had stolen my private diary, but some instinct made me duck behind the door instead of shouting. She didn’t see me, but I saw her face crumple with tears as she put the book down on the table. I could imagine her anger: ‘How could you write about stupid things like lunch, music and boys when we have lost Danny! Lost him forever!’ She didn’t say those words, but I heard them anyway. I was convinced they were there under the surface at all times.
After that, I made a few brief entries, things I thought she would want to read: I see the stars and think of my brother. I hate it when Danny’s bedroom door is left open and I see his bed, knowing he will never sleep under his duvet again. These were both true, but so far from what I wanted to write that my diary soon felt like a work of fiction, snippets of someone else’s life. And so I stopped writing it altogether. I left the book on my bedside cabinet, hoping that maybe Mum would see it and realise that I did care about Danny, and that I was a good daughter and a good sister. That part was true: I did care about my brother. But I still knew my diary was meaningless and fake, and that ruined it for me.
This diary will be different. No one will ever see it or read it. I shall destroy it when I have said all that I want to. It isn’t for the benefit of anyone else. This is for me and me alone. I can say what I want, how I want. I shall prove it right now. I shall write three things that I have never, ever told another living soul. Okay, here goes.
Firstly, the car keys didn’t miraculously disappear when we were camping in Devon; I threw them into the river. After I’d done it, I sat on the grass and watched as Mum and Dad argued, then Mum cried and Danny, who hated any kind of conflict, went all withdrawn. I was six. We waited hours for a man to come and change the locks. He charged ‘an arm and a leg!’ The reason I threw away the keys was because I figured if we couldn’t drive the car home, we could stay on holiday forever. Mum wouldn’t have to go back to her shitty job as a dinner lady and every day Dad could nap in the afternoon and drink beer in the evening before we all fell into our beds laughing. But we didn’t stay on holiday forever. Instead, we drove home in frosty silence and Dad kept shaking his head as he had spent the next month’s petrol money on getting the car sorted. I still feel bad about that. Particularly because I spoilt one of Danny’s last holidays. I spoilt it for him and I spoilt the memory for everyone else.
Secondly, I cheated in my Biology GCSE. I copied a diagram from Neil Whittaker’s paper. He was sat to the side of me and by copying him I went up a whole grade. A whole grade! I accepted the hug from the teacher on results day and her words of congratulation stuck like sticks in my craw, I couldn’t swallow.
And thirdly…
And thirdly.
I don’t know how to write this, but here goes. Thirdly, if I think about the terrible thing that I did and if someone offered me the chance to rewind time, would I stop and do something differently, change the outcome? And the answer to that is no, I don’t think I would or could and that frightens me more than I can say.
Five
With fingers quickly numbing in the cold, Jessica twisted the wreath on the door and adjusted the tartan ribbon so it sat just so against the willow-green front door. She gave a little jump, beyond excited. Their first Christmas in their new home and she wanted everything to be perfect.
‘Looks like someone died.’ Mrs Pleasant’s voice drifted from the other side of the low hedge.
In the half-light, Jessica looked over at the woman’s sour expression. She wasn’t going to let anyone or anything take the shine off her planned evening. ‘Not yet, they haven’t, but the night is young!’ She shut the door and skipped up the hallway, pleased by her confidence and audacity.
Kneeling on the kitchen floor, she prodded the side of salmon that had been generously slathered in herbs and lemon, just as the recipe had prescribed. ‘Look at you, my leaping beauty! Admittedly, your leaping days are over, if you ever had any – more likely you bashed your head on the wall every time you tried to turn around in some cramped fish farm and were only allowed to visit your family once a week, looking at them through a green net. Blimey, it’s not much of a life, is it? But on the plus side, you will bring my guests and me a lot of joy and you are still quite beautiful!’ She shoved
it back inside its tinfoil tomb, popped the tray back in the oven and closed the door. She was getting the hang of this cooking lark, but couldn’t resist opening the oven door every few minutes to check on progress.
This was the night of their much anticipated Not-Christmas Dinner. As their best friends were understandably committed to attending family celebrations over the festive season, they thought it would be a good idea to have this pre-Christmas get-together. Jessica had eschewed turkey, figuring that by the time December the twenty-fifth arrived, they would all be sick of the sight of it. She had spent the whole day preparing and yet had still managed to run out of time, forced to rush at the end to catch up.
The work surfaces were wiped down. The peeled veg and spuds were roasting, a posh tiramisu was defrosting on the drainer and the dishwasher was half stacked. She loved the excited flutter in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what the evening might hold, feeling like a proper grown-up with her lovely house and her wonderful husband. There was something great about the prospect of having friends for dinner, not least the opportunity to show Matt how accomplished she was. The kitchen might have only been cleaned in the last half hour and the sofa needed a plump, but the food was on the way to being ready, lamps were on, beer was chilling and the one large glass of plonk that she was entitled to while cooking was beginning to do its job.
Matthew sauntered into the kitchen and looked from left to right, wondering if Jake or Polly had arrived early. ‘Oh! I thought I heard you talking to someone!’
‘I was.’
‘Who?’ Matthew scanned the room a second time.
‘The salmon.’ Jessica smiled.
‘The salmon we are having for supper?’
‘Uh huh.’ She nodded.
‘Did it have anything interesting to reveal?’ Matthew raised his eyebrow at his wife.
‘Not really.’ Jessica sighed. ‘I think it might be a bit shy.’
‘That’ll be it.’ Matthew grabbed her bottom and cupped her denim rump in his hand. ‘That and the fact that you have imprisoned it in a hot oven.’
‘Don’t say that! You make me feel guilty!’
‘Actually, Jess, not sure how to break it to you, but it was already dead.’
‘So that’s why he didn’t answer me!’ She threw the tea towel on the sideboard and slapped her forehead.
‘You know the worrying thing about living with you is how normal your crazy has become to me.’ Matthew cracked open a pistachio and threw it into his mouth.
‘What do you mean?’ Jessica asked from the sink as she filled the ice-cube tray and popped it into the freezer. She remembered how impressed she’d been when Matt’s mother had offered ice when they visited.
‘I dunno, I guess it’s the small things that have become normal. Like not mentioning in front of any appliance that we might be considering getting a new one, for fear of upsetting them.’
Jessica scooted across the floor and placed her finger on her husband’s lips as she closed in and whispered in his ear, ‘You weren’t going to mention the toaster situation, were you?’
Matthew shook his head.
‘Good.’ She exhaled. ‘Because if I was Tiny the toaster and I found out you were thinking of replacing me with Bertha big toaster, I might just think about packing up altogether, or catching fire in protest!’
‘Our toaster is called Tiny?’ Matthew whispered.
‘Yes. Because she is small and can only take two slices.’ Jessica curled her lip and scrunched her nose as though he were stupid. ‘Anyway, naming our things isn’t crazy, it’s normal. You need to give me a better example.’
Matthew rubbed at the one-day stubble on his chin and tried to think of an answer. ‘Okay, well you still make me check under the bed and in the wardrobe every night for monsters and vampires.’
‘It’s not vampires, it’s werewolves,’ she corrected him. ‘Vampires wouldn’t really bother me, not after watching the Twilight series. I can see they have some endearing qualities.’
‘Fine, but that’s not really the point, Jess.’
‘What is, then?’ she asked, looking into the face of her husband.
‘Well, none of them exist!’ He chuckled. ‘Talk about having to state the bloody obvious.’
Jessica stared at her husband wide-eyed. She paused before saying, ‘The thing is, Matthew, I think they do and I’m scared of them, but you are categorically certain that they do not exist and yet it’s you who looks for them every night in the cupboard and under the bed, so doesn’t that make you madder than me?’
‘I’d never thought of it like that.’
‘So why do you look for them? Why don’t you just tell me there is no such thing?’
Matthew put his hands on her waist and pulled her towards him. ‘Because, Jessica Rose, I would go to the ends of the earth to make you happy. I would do anything to bring you a moment of joy and a worry-free sleep.’
Jessica laid her head against his chest. ‘I don’t think anyone else in the whole wide world has ever loved anyone the way I love you and you love me.’
‘I think you are right,’ Matthew concurred. ‘I love you completely.’
‘Even though I talk to the supper?’ she asked.
‘Because you talk to the supper.’ He kissed the back of her neck. ‘The place looks great, by the way.’
She felt her heart swell at the compliment.
The doorbell rang.
Jessica wriggled free and ran down the hallway. Polly and Jake stood side by side, having shared a cab from Clapham, where they lived three streets apart. Both clutched bottles of wine.
‘Polly! Happy Not-Christmas!’ Jessica shouted her happiness as though it had been months not days since she had last seen her best friend.
‘And to you, honey. Now let us in. It’s bloody freezing out here!’ Polly shivered.
Jessica stood aside and swept her arm towards the kitchen. ‘Matthew was just telling me how mad I am.’
‘Well you are, but he knew that before you got married, so he can’t renege now,’ Polly replied, gazing at Matthew through narrowed eyes as she hugged her mate.
‘I wasn’t thinking of reneging, Polly.’ Matthew sometimes found it hard to tolerate the outspoken Polly.
‘If it is all going tits up, mate, then my flatmate is moving out end of the month so you can come and bunk with me. We can reinstate Thursday-night curry and karaoke, back of the net! Boys’d love it, just like old times!’ Jake stood behind the hugging girls, nodding sagely at his friend.
‘What is it with you two? My wife and I are deeply in love and happily married and we will remain so!’ He tutted.
‘Well said, my gorgeous man.’ Jessica turned and jumped onto her husband’s back, hitching a piggyback all the way to the kitchen.
‘Blimey, Jess!’ Polly cast her eye around the place. ‘Cooking supper and a tidy house – you’re turning into your mum!’
‘I like making the place look nice.’ Jessica pouted.
‘You can come and give mine a whizz over if you feel like it,’ Jake suggested.
‘That’s very kind of you, Jake, but I think I’ll pass.’
The skeletal remains of the salmon sat on a large oval plate in the centre of the table. No one mentioned the rather blackened outside or the fact that it had been glued to the base of the dish. The buttered spuds had been polished off and all that remained of supper were a few sprigs of long-stemmed broccoli and the licks of tiramisu stuck to the side of the glass bowl that the spoon hadn’t managed to reach.
‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ Matthew announced. ‘To my wonderful wife, thank you for cooking that incredible supper.’
‘Hear! Hear!’ Jake bashed the table.
‘And may the coming year bring us lots of wonderful things!’ Matthew lifted his glass and sipped.
‘Oh God, this isn’t a clue that we are awaiting the pitter-patter of tiny Louboutins is it?’ Polly shouted.
‘No.’ Jessica waved her hand as she si
pped her wine. ‘Definitely not. We’re still getting used to being married.’
‘And having too much fun,’ Matthew added.
‘Yes,’ Jessica agreed. ‘We have a five-year plan. I shall get pregnant when I am twenty-eight. Matt will have been promoted and I will be earning proper, good money for my illustrations and then we shall have two beautiful babies to make our lives complete. A boy and a girl.’
‘Blimey, sounds like you have it all planned out,’ Jake scoffed.
‘We do.’ Jessica nodded.
‘God, I love my wife!’ Matthew beamed. Polly mimed retching. ‘I appreciate her every day, especially when I look at my neighbour, to whom I’d also like to propose a toast.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Mrs Pleasant, next door!’
‘May she learn how to smile!’ Jessica added.
‘Yes, Mrs Pleasant! Learn to smile!’ Jake shouted very loudly at the kitchen wall.
‘Shhhh!’ The three looked at him and Polly placed her cupped hand over his mouth. All were laughing and cringing, hoping she hadn’t heard.
Jessica coughed. ‘And a toast to me! I handed in my first illustrations today. They are awaiting approval, but the point is, I finished them!’
‘Yay!’ they all chorused. ‘Congratulations!’
The four, now well lubricated by the four bottles of wine they’d drunk during dinner, slumped in their chairs and hacked at a lump of Dolcelatte that they popped onto salty crackers and washed down with glugs of ruby red port.
‘I’ve eaten too much,’ Polly wailed as she reached for the cheese knife and cut a fresh lump.
The other three laughed.
‘Then why are you reaching for more cheese?’ Jake crossed his eyes at Matthew to show he still thought Polly was an idiot as per his first snap decision on her character and despite many meetings since.
‘Because I figure, as I’ve already broken my diet, I may as well really break it – you know, in for a penny and… however that partic… particleear phrase finishes. Plus I’m thinking of getting lipo and I want my money’s worth.’
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