If I Could Say Goodbye

by Emma Cooper

  Nessa drains her coffee and wipes the cookie crumbs from her jeans; they are expensive, ripped in all the right places, faded with expensive dye. Kerry had loved the way Nessa dressed. ‘Dress messily, see the dress, dress beautifully, see the woman.’ I ignore Kerry as she manages to misquote both Coco Chanel and Working Girl in one go.

  The vibration of Nessa’s phone and the face of Erica flashing up from the screen attract our attention. Across Erica’s smiling face are the words ‘Erica’s School’. Nessa’s body folds, her shoulders slump as she reaches for the handset.

  ‘Hello?’

  I try to look like I’m not listening, which is hard when your dead sister is leaning her head towards your companion’s phone.

  ‘It doesn’t sound good,’ she whispers.

  Why are you whispering? She can’t hear you.

  ‘OK. I’ll come and fetch her.’ She hangs up the phone. ‘I have to go, Erica is acting up. She didn’t settle in the school in Glasgow and now she’s bitten another kid. Thanks for the—’

  We both look down to where my phone has begun to ring: the words ‘Kids’ School’ are flashing.

  ‘Mrs Jones? Hello, it’s Highbrook School here. I’m afraid Oscar has had a bit of a tricky afternoon and one of the other children has bitten him. Would you be able to pop in?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jennifer

  I slam the door to my car, our vehicles inches apart. Mine is filled with family detritus: Hailey’s sun hat discarded on the floor; Oscar’s car seat; Ed’s sunglasses; a crumpled-up parking ticket from a daytrip out. As Nessa steps out of her own, I consider this. Is the interior of her car filled with parts of her life with Kerry? A thirst creeps through me, an urgent need to yank open the door, to run my fingers over the passenger seat where Kerry sat, to open the glove compartment and find a lipstick, a dog-eared novel, a sweet wrapper. I try to quench the thirst with a well-meaning smile in Nessa’s direction; I pull my eyes away from where, just inches away from me, is new evidence of my sister, new discoveries to explore, treasures to uncover.

  As I walk by Nessa’s side, the wind winds its way around her; it grabs hold of her scent and slides it towards me: soap, fabric softener, and Nessa. The smell caresses me, strokes my skin with memories of lazy summer nights in the garden, the four of us playing cards, drinking wine. I’ve never noticed Nessa’s smell before; Kerry always wore the same perfume that she’d had since she was fourteen. For weeks she had saved her pocket money, frequented perfume shops, spraying them on her wrists, testing them out. Did they fit? Were they her? It lasted months, Kerry’s quest for the perfect scent, and when she found it, she was never unfaithful, never cheated on it or flirted with another brand. It was a heavy scent, she only needed a small spray, but it followed her everywhere she went. When she started seeing Nessa, I thought that the perfume had changed a little, become fresher, less intense, but as I walk beside my sister’s fiancée, I understand . . . Kerry’s smell had changed, because part of it was Nessa.

  I hover behind her, breathing her in, as she pushes the buzzer. I keep my distance; I try to concentrate on the creases on her white blouse, each line veering off: a map of her movements for the day.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Nessa’s voice startles me and I realise that my nose is pressed towards her armpit.

  Kerry bursts out laughing. ‘Are you smelling my girlfriend?’

  ‘Sorry, there was a bee . . .’ I begin flapping my hand about, clashing against the fabric of her shirt, chasing away the imaginary bumbler. Nessa frowns at me and side-steps away, firing a glance over her shoulder at me as the buzzer sounds and the click of the doors allows us access. Our feet tread along the corridor towards the reception office. The glass pane slides open.

  Nessa clears her throat. ‘Hi, I’m Erica Noble’s mum. Vanessa Hill.’

  It’s strange to think that Nessa was once married to a man, once part of a couple other than ‘Kerry and Nessa’.

  ‘Ah yes . . . Mrs Hill?’

  ‘Miss,’ Nessa corrects.

  ‘If you can sign in. Mrs Park will be with you shortly.’ The receptionist indicates the waiting chairs with a sharp nod of her head.

  I step forward. ‘Hello, I’m Mrs Jones? I had a phone call about my son, Oscar?’

  ‘Ah yes . . . poor little mite.’ She glances towards Nessa with a look of disapproval. ‘He was very upset. I’ll take you through. We thought it best to call as the skin has been broken.’ She lavishes me with small talk, casting another cold stare at Nessa as we walk past.

  I’m led into a small room decorated with stick-on stencils of inspiring words meant to encourage and enlighten young minds: Dr Seuss is the philosopher to whom they seem to subscribe. In the corner, sat on a school chair disguised with a soft blue throw, is my boy. Beneath his eyes and along the tops of his cheekbones are tinged red; it’s almost as though he has been punched. I have seen my son cry, I’ve often been the cause of such tears when I’ve had to have a stern word about his bedtime when all he wants to do is play on his tablet, but I have never seen these angry crescents before and that stirs something in me. A rage that begins at my toes, making them curl: spreading like fire. I rush to his side, gathering him in my arms; he begins to cry again.

  ‘I didn’t do anything wrong, Mummy, I didn’t do anything wrong,’ he repeats, his voice hiccupping. I look to the teaching assistant sitting beside him as she begins to explain.

  ‘Oscar tried to give Erica some of his chocolate bar.’

  ‘Her tummy was rumbling, Mummy, I heard it. I thought my chocolate bar would help stop her tummy from rumbling.’

  I look into his eyes, red and sore. I think about the new little red veins that will scar the surface of the whites of his eyes.

  ‘It’s OK, Oscar,’ I soothe, kissing his head. ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘She said she didn’t want my stinking chocolate. And then she bit me, Mummy, bit me hard, look!’ He stretches out his arm and pulls off the wet blue paper towel.

  Beneath, is a purple bruise and a track of small incisions where her teeth have penetrated my gorgeous boy’s skin. Anger and compassion fight amongst themselves as the emotions flood through me.

  When I found out I was going to be a parent, I thought about all of the wonderful things that were going to happen: I thought about the little booties, the soft blankets, the strange sterilisers and the tiny hand prints captured in plaster to be framed and put in pride of place on the mantelpiece.

  What I never expected was this kind of pain. This overwhelming feeling of disapproval that can pounce on me unchecked. That feeling that bites before my brain has had time to justify my reactions, before I can rationalise that the child who has hurt mine, might not have meant to hurt them, that maybe my child did something first, that maybe, just maybe, it’s not worth making a ‘fuss’ over.

  Oscar’s warm, sticky arms circle my neck and pull me in. ‘I was trying to be kind, Mummy.’ He leans closer to my ear, his warm breath making the hairs on my arms rise. ‘And now my heart hurts.’

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. ‘It’s OK. Mummy will fix that heart right away.’

  Oscar is crying as I try to put on his coat the next morning.

  ‘I don’t want to go to school, Mummy.’ He pulls his arm free and wipes his snot on the sleeve of his jumper.

  Ed interjects.

  ‘If that little bugger—’ Ed corrects himself: ‘If Erica gives you any more trouble, you punch her right in the nose, OK?’

  ‘Ed! I’m not sure that is the best advice,’ I murmur as I manipulate Oscar’s arms into his coat.

  ‘She’s always been spoilt, Jen, she needs bringing down a peg or two. Nessa always gave in too easily, even when Kerry tried to tell her—’

  ‘Yeah, well Kerry’s not here, is she?’ I snap. ‘Cut Nessa some slack, we need to support her, not make things worse.’

  ‘I have a tummy egg.’ Oscar pleads, his lip wobbling and his eyes filling.

  Hailey appears,
coat on, the blue bows at the bottom of her plaits swinging. ‘Can we go now?’

  The walk to school goes better than I expected: Oscar is easily distracted by Hailey playing the Guess Which Disney Character I Am game.

  ‘Do you have black hair?’ Oscar asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you a baddie or a goodie?’

  The questions continue, but as we near the school, it is me who is becoming anxious, it is me that is tightening my grip on his small hand. I kiss Hailey goodbye as she goes to the upper school playground, leaving Oscar and me watching the school doors with trepidation. They are opened by the smiles of the teachers and are flooded with small, eager feet in shiny shoes and swinging lunchboxes, the faces of superheroes and unicorns battling for the spotlight, but Oscar isn’t moving. I crouch down and wipe away a stray tear with my thumb, but my thumb can’t go with him through those doors; my warm arm won’t be wrapped around his body, there to comfort him.

  ‘Please don’t make me go.’ The words explode from his mouth: they are urgent, desperate, their meaning indisputable.

  He catches a glance from a girl in his class whose steps hesitate; the swing of her pink lunchbox changes trajectory, the arc of movement slowing. Oscar inhales a deep breath, trying to stop himself from crying, trying to be a brave soldier, but a tear drops from his lashes. I watch it fall down his perfectly pure skin, over the curve of his cheek, tainting it with a track that shouldn’t be there. The swinging lunchbox gathers momentum and passes us by.

  ‘Please don’t make me go.’

  I don’t want to make him go.

  So I don’t.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ed

  I’m not a complainer. OK, so I know I’ve only just been complaining about the sex stuff so I’m kind of contradicting myself, aren’t I? But do you know how scary it is to have the school on the phone telling you that your children aren’t there? How scary it is when you then can’t get hold of your wife?

  I can understand why she did it, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t like my little lad looking so upset, but the fact of the matter is, well, that’s life, isn’t it? You get knocked down and then you get back up again . . . well, Kerry didn’t, but you know what I mean. Life isn’t easy, is it? Oscar needs to ignore the crap it throws at him, or learn how to deal with it at least. You don’t run away to the river and feed him ice cream, and if you do, you don’t just take him and his sister out of school without at least phoning in with a sicky.

  This little episode has worried me for a few reasons.

  1) Jennifer does things by the rules. She makes cakes for the school fair, she sews name badges into school uniforms, she keeps receipts in alphabetical and date order . . . ‘just in case’. So why has she decided to not just break a small rule but a big whopping one?

  2) She never makes a fuss. Once we went out and she ordered a steak sandwich where the meat was so tough, she was chewing the same piece for about five minutes before she spat it out. When the waiter came over and asked how the meal was, I was all for sending the plate back, but Jen, well she smiled and said it was beautiful. Telling the school when they finally got hold of her that her kids needed a day out, is making quite a big frigging fuss.

  I spent three hours thinking my family were hurt, or dead or abducted, but do you know what was the most worrying about it? It was almost like, deep down, I was expecting it. That deep down I know that something is wrong with Jen.

  Do you know how I found out that my family weren’t dead? Instagram. Thanks to Instagram I have now made an excuse about a ‘family emergency’ and am currently exceeding the speed limit and on my way to Muddy Creek.

  Which brings me to concern number three:

  3) She didn’t even care if people could see that she had blatantly taken the kids out of school. There they were, smiling on a grass bank, eating ice cream.

  An hour later, and I am parking the car next to the small café overlooking the stream. It’s where we always brought them when they were little: toilets, café, tadpoles, all within parking distance.

  Jennifer is drawing a picture in the mud with a stick; Oscar looks like he is scouring the river edge for hidden treasure, his school trousers rolled up to his knees; while Hailey’s plaits hang upside down as she handstands on the grass verge in the background, her school skirt somewhere around her shoulders. I sit and watch them inside the heat of the car, with the hum and soft vibration of the engine.

  I was angry when I drove here. Angry at Jen. But watching them now . . . I’m thinking that maybe she has got it right. Maybe it’s the rest of us that have got it wrong. Laughter catches at the back of my throat as Oscar chases Jen around with something either dead or very much alive; her hair is tangling around her, her cheeks are red as she runs towards a startled-looking Hailey who shrieks and hops along the stepping stones across the stream.

  I open the boot, retrieve the football which had been rolling about in there for weeks, and lock the car; my suit and work shoes carrying me unsteadily to my family. Oscar stops his assault on the girls when he spots me.

  ‘Daddy!’ His bare feet and rolled-up school trousers run through the grass towards me; I pick him up with my free arm, spinning him around before replacing his feet back onto the grass, mud seeping between his toes. ‘Mummy said I didn’t have to go to school today so we came to Muddy Creek instead and look, I found a frog.’ The frog in question is not as impressed by my visit as my son and is hanging limply from his grasp . . . I’m sure it’s just rolled its eyes before giving me a resigned ‘gribbit’. Hailey approaches me; her smile is uneasy and in opposition to her legs, which are skipping. Jen is smiling at me from the water’s edge, her arms outstretched, opening up the scene like a page from a picture book: the sun breaking through the clouds, the small waterfall behind her catching the light and expelling rainbows, her expression saying, look at this . . . isn’t it wonderful?

  ‘Hello, Daddy. Are you cross? Mummy fetched me from class.’

  ‘No, how could I be cross when you’re all having such a lovely time?’ I kiss the top of her head as Jen walks towards me. She is chewing the corner of her mouth, waiting for me to react to her actions. Oscar turns to Hailey, raising the frog and chasing her away; her squeals are half outrage and half horror. Jen stands in front of me, tucking her hands into her back pockets and rocking on her feet.

  ‘Hello.’

  Hello? I raise my eyebrows in disbelief.

  ‘I’m waiting for you to tell me off.’ She runs a finger along the top of her lip, a nervous tic that I’m not even sure she knows she has. Her eyebrows question me.

  There are a hundred angry words hidden in my mouth: I want to tell her that two hours ago I thought she was hurt, two hours ago I thought I might have lost my family, that they could be dead. I smile at Jen; relief sags her shoulders as I pull her towards me and kiss her: two hours ago, this kiss wouldn’t have felt this good. Seeing my kids wouldn’t have felt this good. Life wasn’t this good.

  She wraps her arms around my neck and sinks into me.

  ‘Ugh! Gross!’ Hailey exclaims.

  Oscar has turned his back and is running his own arms up and down, making kissing noises. ‘Mummy and Daddy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’

  The warm spring sun stays out, my jacket and tie are discarded, my trousers are rolled up, and we spend the next few hours trying to catch frogs, eating chips from cones while our feet dangle into the cool water.

  I’m lying on my back; Jen’s head is heavy against my arm. The kids are climbing the oak tree next to us and apart from an elderly couple walking their dog, we have the place to ourselves.

  ‘What would you be doing if you were at work?’ Jen asks, her voice thick with relaxation.

  I look at my watch. ‘I’d be pretending to listen to my boss talking about the best ways to market hand sanitiser.’

  ‘Hailey? What do you do at school at half past two?’ Jen sits up, waiting for an answer.

  ‘Ugh. Asse
mbly with Reverend Coates.’ She giggles and swings herself down from a branch.

  ‘Oscar, no higher OK?’ Jen shouts, turning onto her front and propping her head up on her hand. She leans in a kiss on the top of my nose. ‘I’m sorry I worried you.’

  I look into her eyes. A flippant retort about how she can make it up to me is on the tip of my tongue, but I somehow can’t seem to say it. The panic I felt this morning still smarts.

  ‘Don’t do it again,’ I say.

  She nods her head. Just one short movement.

  ‘Muuuuummmmmy!’ We’re both on our feet, rushing to the base of the tree. ‘I’m stuck!’

  ‘I’ll get him,’ Hailey announces.

  ‘No!’ Jen and I say.

  ‘I’ll go.’ I look down at my bare feet and back at the gnarly bark.

  Jen puts her hand on mine. ‘I’ll go, you’ll ruin your work trousers. Oscar, just stay there, sweetie, I’ll just put my trainers on.’

  I stand at the base of the tree and look up to where Oscar is perched, his face grey with worry. ‘Jen—’

  I’m about to tell her it’s higher than she thinks but she is already running towards me, her eyes bright, her hair being pulled into a ponytail. Jen tips her head back, and nods towards a heavy branch to the right and begins to climb. Hailey slips her hand into mine as we both watch, our necks stretched, and our heads bent backwards. Jen is moving quickly from branch to branch, giving words of comfort to Oscar as she goes. It takes only a few minutes until she is level with him, her feet in a stepping position, her right hand firmly gripping an opposite branch.

  ‘Shuffle your bum towards me, Oscar, that’s right.’

  ‘I’m scared,’ he shouts back, looking down at us.

  ‘There’s no need to be scared,’ she laughs. ‘Look, I’m right here. Mummy won’t let anything happen to you.’ Oscar begins to move, his body getting closer until his arms are clutched around her neck like a monkey. Jen climbs down like that until she can manoeuvre him onto a lower branch, his thin legs finding their footing until he is safely on the ground.