by Emma Cooper
‘Why did you save me, Kerry? Why am I still here?’
I close my eyes, fold my arms on the table and rest my head against them. I’m deep in sleep when my phone rings: red coat, red boots, silver nails, emerald ring. The images begin to fade as I try to order my thoughts, the way I used to before she died. What day is it? It’s Thursday. What time is it? Nessa’s number blinks on the screen beneath the time, which reads 12:45am. I rotate my neck and lock myself into the downstairs toilet, answering in hushed tones.
‘Hello?’
‘Aunty Jen?’ Erica’s voice is quiet and scared.
‘Erica, sweetie? What is it, are you OK?’
‘I . . . I had a nightmare and I tried to wake up Mummy and she won’t wake up.’
Her words are ringing in my ears, its peal drowning out the hammering of my heart. ‘Where is Mummy now?’ I ask.
‘She’s in her bed. She’s snoring.’
‘Try to wake her again, give her a little shake. She must be very tired.’ My explanatory tone camouflages my concern. In the background I hear a groan, the muffled sound of Erica explaining that she is talking to Aunty Jen.
‘She won’t wake up.’
‘Stay with Mummy, Erica, I’m coming over. Can you tell me your new address?’
‘It’s 45 Rosemary Drive, I wrote it in joined up letters on my picture for Daddy.’
‘You are a clever girl. Now when I get there, I will knock on the door three times, so you know it’s only me. Like a secret password, OK?’
‘I can’t open the door, Aunty Jen. Daddy says I must never open the door. I will be in trouble and he won’t give me my pocket money and I’m saving for the new LOL doll. Can’t you use the key?’
‘I don’t have a key, sweetie.’
‘You can use the spare key the gnome has. Mummy hid it, the fishing gnome in the garden has the spare key.’
‘Brilliant. Good thinking, I’ll get the spare key and then I can make Mummy a nice cup of tea and wake her up.’ I’m about to hang up and call for an ambulance when I hear Nessa’s voice in the background. ‘Is Mummy waking up?’ I ask.
‘She wants to speak to you.’ The sounds from the other end of the phone become muffled and I picture it being passed over.
‘What time is it?’ Nessa’s words run into each other and it takes me a moment to decipher them.
‘Almost one in the morning, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. Just had some-wine-that-must-have-been-off. What-time-s-is-it?’ Nessa’s voice asks again. She’s drunk. Very drunk. ‘Why are you up?’
The smudged sounds of conversation blur in the background.
‘I had a bad dream and you wouldn’t wake up. Are you poorly, Mummy?’
‘I’m OK, I’m OK. Come and snuggle with me.’
I stay on the line, listening to Nessa comforting her daughter with slurred words until she realises that I’m still on the other end of the phone.
‘Thanks, Jen, I’ll call you tomorrow.’ And with that the line goes dead.
Sleep is far from my grasp.
My promise to Ed rattles my conscience, so I leave him a note in the kitchen explaining that Nessa is poorly and that I’ve gone to look after Erica. I add that I’ve got my phone so he can ring me if he needs to.
The dark streets are deserted as I follow the tiny lady trapped inside my phone telling me that my destination will be on the right, I turn off the ignition, step out of the car. Perhaps I should just go home, they’re probably sleeping. But losing Kerry has taught me how precious life is. They could both be fast asleep, but then again, something could be wrong.
I lift the rusty latch, releasing the gate, and look at the house, feeling like an intruder. A dog barks further along the street, halting the progress of a black cat along the garden wall which eyes me with suspicion, as well it might. I glance down at my clothes and realise with a snigger that I’m wearing a black-and-white-striped T-shirt and black jeans. I may as well have a bag over my shoulder saying ‘Swag’.
Weeds are knotted around the soles of my grey Converse and the knee-high grass makes my progress tricky, so I tread carefully on tiptoes. This is ridiculous. Honestly. I can practically hear the Pink Panther music as I make my way across the garden, my body halting at every noise, every car engine, every squeaking gate.
I give the door a gentle knock and wait, but there is no answer.
‘Use the spare key.’ The image of Kerry startles me: she has black smudges beneath her eyes, her black-and-white-striped top matching mine, her swag bag clenched in her hands. She had dressed up as a burglar for our Halloween party last year; Nessa was a policewoman.
‘There aren’t any gnomes in this garden,’ I whisper.
None.
A car passes slowly and I find myself forcing my back against the house and standing still. Giggles take over and I have to shove my fist in my mouth to keep myself quiet. Her head leans forward and scans the road, and she then does some weird army movements with her hands which I take to mean we have the all clear. We continue to snoop around the garden when a pair of eyes staring straight at me stop me short. The eyes in question are peering at me from over the fence. They are bespectacled and are resting above a white beard.
‘We’re in the wrong garden!’ Kerry exclaims.
‘Shush!’
I eye the gnome warily and tiptoe back out through the gate and into the adjoining garden. Square green lawn. Pots of flowers. And gnomes. Everywhere. This can’t be Nessa’s house, surely? But then I think about the way that Erica got pretty much whatever she liked: maybe she decided on gnomes for the garden and wouldn’t take no for an answer? They all stare at me as I close the gate, tracking my progress along the path, silently judging me beneath their red cone hats. One gnome in particular catches my eye; he is a grumpy gnome holding a sign that says ‘Go Away’. I swallow hard and tiptoe past him, launching him a challenging glance over my shoulder. Kerry and I continue to search for the whereabouts of the fishing gnome, giving cursory glances at a gnome leaning against a toadstool, the one dismissively smoking a pipe, taking care to step over the happy gnome couple smiling at each other, until I rest my eyes on the back of the gnome who had peered at me from over the fence.
Kerry does her army moves again. I creep over towards it, turn it slowly around to face me; the effect is like something out of The Exorcist.
‘Gnome-or-sist.’ Kerry sniggers.
The key is hanging from the end of the fishing rod, resting inside a clay fisherman’s net. A security light beams from the side of the house. I grab the gnome and crouch behind a rose bush until the light fades, whilst trying not to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation I have found myself in. The gnome is clearly an expert fisherman and it takes me some time to untangle its silvery haul.
As I catch my breath, I take in the immaculate borders around the garden, the pottery squirrels, the oversized butterflies attached to the brick. This can’t be Nessa’s house. I check my phone for the address again, as I slow my breathing and realise that I’m right: Nessa’s is the house that I had originally gone to, the one with the overgrown garden. I dodge the security light’s beam and run through the gate, the gnome watching our retreat with its catch of the day resting firmly in my palm.
I turn the key over and look over to the darkened windows of the house, wondering how to handle this. I can’t just go in; it would scare the child to death. I ring Nessa’s phone, but there is no answer; I swallow down my annoyance as I follow the overgrown path towards the door. A light flicks on inside the lounge, the yellowy haze framing the curtains, letting in uneven arcs of light. The curtain pulls to the side, framing Erica’s face. I wave and smile as if I’m just popping around for a playdate. The key eases into the lock and releases a yellow oblong of light onto the step surrounding Erica’s small body.
I bend down and meet her eyes. Gone is the angry expression and taunting face that I last saw; instead here is a very vulnerable little girl. Instinct guides my ac
tions; it doesn’t need much thought. I bring her frail body into my embrace.
‘It’s OK, I’m here,’ I whisper.
‘Did you bring Oscar?’ she asks, sniffing and wiping her nose along her arm.
‘No, sweetie, he’s in bed.’
‘Oh. Mummy is asleep again and I couldn’t sleep because she is snoring. Really. Loud. Did you find the gnome? Mummy says nobody would think to look there for the spare key.’
‘I did and she’s right. Your mummy is a very clever lady.’
She takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. I try not to notice the half-empty gin bottle without a lid, and the overflowing ash tray that litters the kitchen counter. Tea stains circle sticky patches of sugar which mix with crumbs along the worktop. Erica pulls a chair towards the counter and brings a piece of kitchen towel forward. On top are two Rich Tea biscuits, smeared with watery white icing. Some broken chocolate buttons have been arranged into two wonky, smiling faces.
‘I made this for Oscar. To say sorry for biting him.’
I blink back the tears that are stinging my sleep-deprived eyes.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ I say smiling, noticing as I do the red rims around her eyes, the chocolate smudges around her mouth.
‘Let’s get you a nice drink of milk and you can watch a bit of TV while I go and check on Mummy.’ She nods and wanders into the lounge as I head into the kitchen and pour her a glass of milk.
In the bedroom, air – warm and thick – hangs heavily above Nessa, who is, indeed, snoring loudly. The sour, stale smell of cigarettes cringes ashamedly in the corners of the room but alcohol, alcohol is draping itself over the furniture, its decadence proud and eager for attention.
On top of the sheets, Nessa is sprawled, wearing an old violet-coloured T-shirt of Kerry’s.
‘Nessa?’ I shake her shoulder. ‘Vanessa?’ I raise my voice. She turns towards me, her eyes glassy, confused, and trying to focus.
‘Kerry?’ She smiles. ‘You’re late.’ Her eyelids flicker and close. I sit down next to her and stroke the hair away from her face; there is almost a smile around her mouth. From downstairs, the sounds of cartoons ricochet into this room filled with sadness and debauchery, and a sob tries to escape my mouth.
‘Oh, God,’ she groans, sitting up just as she begins to retch. I try to grab the bin but I’m not there in time and Nessa vomits onto the duvet. ‘Sorry,’ she says. There is a brief pause before she retches again; this time she manages to be sick into the bin.
I wait until she is finished. ‘Better?’
She nods, wiping the back of her mouth with her hand. ‘Shower,’ Nessa instructs, her hand reaching out for the edge of the bed. Her body sways and I link my arm around her waist, guiding the way up.
The shower hangs from the wall and I reach over and turn it on, cool jets of water cascading into the bath as I pour the contents of the bin into the toilet and flush.
Nessa begins to discard her clothes, oblivious to me it seems. Her fingers tear off her T-shirt, but can’t negotiate the clasp of her bra. You would think I would feel awkward unfastening another woman’s bra, but I don’t, it feels like I’m looking after one of my children.
Nessa throws her underwear to the floor and tries to step over the rim of the bath and into the shower, her balance making the movement difficult, and my hand reacts quickly, holding on to her arm as she steps into the water. An unsteady palm lands on the tiles but before long, Nessa is retching again, her stomach empty as she sinks to her knees. Her head is bent, wet hair falling away from her scalp, running over defeated shoulders as she cries. I sit on the side of the bath, stroking the top of her head, watching the droplets of water cascade over the smooth olive skin covering her sharp shoulder blades, drawing trails along her spine.
I open my mouth to offer her some words of comfort, but I find that I don’t have any. Kerry is dead. She’s not coming back, not to Nessa anyway. Instead, I reach for the plug. The bath begins to fill as I open the shampoo and wash her hair, bringing up her chin and tipping her head back as I would with Oscar. I add conditioner and comb it through, the ends of her black hair resting in a neat line along her back, rinsing it while her eyes stare blankly ahead, conversation knowing its place and staying silent.
After some time, I wrap her body in a towel and lead her into the bedroom. I carefully remove the duvet and replace it with a fleecy throw from the bottom of the bed; Nessa slips on a clean pair of pyjamas, and climbs in.
‘Oh, Ness.’ Kerry has wiped away her black camouflage smudges and is wearing pink pyjamas. She climbs into bed and cocoons the curve of Nessa’s back with her body, wrapping her arm around Nessa’s waist and closing her eyes.
I reach for one of Nessa’s notepads from the desk, ignoring the pages screwed up into balls that litter the carpet, and write her a note, letting her know that I have Erica, that I will take her to school and that I will call her later.
Erica is still awake when I return to the lounge, even though the rest of her body looks like it should be beneath a duvet. She looks up and smiles at me.
‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Her voice is caught in a yawn.
‘I have an idea. How would you like to come for a sleepover?’ I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s just after half-two.
‘Yes please! I’ve never been invited to a sleepover before but—’
‘I’ve asked Mummy, she said it’s OK,’ I reassure her.
‘It’s not that . . . will Oscar still be cross with me?’
‘Not once he sees those biscuits, now let’s grab your uniform, shall we?’
By the time I pull up outside my house, gentle snores are coming from the back seat. I turn off the ignition.
‘Can you help her, Jen?’ Kerry is still wearing her pyjamas and is sitting in the passenger seat.
I’ll try my best.
‘Nobody is perfect.’ Kerry quotes the closing line from Some Like it Hot, her voice fading like the credits on the screen.
Chapter Twenty
Jennifer
Ed is wearing a suit and is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his expression folded like origami. His skin, originally relaxed and smooth, has creased into confusion, lines forming around his forehead and wrinkling into a frown; his eyes dart from Erica to me and back to her. The tumble dryer tosses Erica’s clothes while she sits with freshly showered hair next to Oscar, who is blowing bubbles into his Coco Pops with a straw; Hailey is trying not to laugh. One of Oscar’s giant chocolate milk bubbles has just popped all over his face, leaving them all dissolving into laughter.
‘Good morning, Daddy,’ Hailey announces, her mouth full of cereal and her spoon gesturing at Erica. ‘Erica has stayed at our house because her mummy is poorly.’
‘Right. Um, Jen?’ Ed cocks his head towards the hallway. ‘Can I speak to you please?’
I finish putting chocolate spread onto the final piece of toast, pile it on top of the rest of the slices and slide the plate onto the table. Eager hands grab at them before I’ve barely moved away and into the hall.
‘What’s going on?’ A look of panic crosses Ed’s face and I can tell he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. ‘Please tell me you didn’t kidnap Nessa’s daughter.’
I burst out laughing. Ed takes a step backwards and watches me with trepidation. My laughter catches in my throat as I realise he is actually serious.
‘What?’ I ask him. ‘Do you really think—’
The words hang in the air. His expression folds again, and lands somewhere between embarrassment and apology. ‘I . . . no but—’
‘You thought I’d kidnapped a child, Ed?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Not really?’
‘No. Anyway—’ He scratches the back of his head. ‘What happened? And how is it she is in our kitchen playing sword fights with a spoon? Look, Jen, there is chocolate milk getting splattered all over the place.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I wave my hand dismissively.
Ed takes a step back, his hand thrown melodramatically against his chest. ‘It doesn’t matter?’ he repeats, aghast.
‘It’s just chocolate milk.’
‘Mmmmhmmm? Just chocolate milk?’ He leans against the wall and crosses his arms: eyebrows raised, head to one side. ‘Since when has “just chocolate milk” being splattered around our kitchen been “just”?’
I shake my head and pull a ‘what the hell are you going on about’ face. ‘Nessa was drunk, Ed. Like, REALLY drunk. I couldn’t leave Erica there.’
He pulls himself back up straight. ‘And you know this how?’
‘I found the key hidden under a gnome in the garden next door and let myself in.’ Ed’s eyebrows shoot up as he whispers urgently, ‘You can’t just go around messing with other people’s gnomes and letting yourself into houses, Jen!’
‘Shush!’ I poke my head around the kitchen doorway to see Oscar and Erica drinking the rest of their cereal from the edges of their bowls while Hailey watches them with a look of disgust on her face. ‘Everything OK?’ I ask, smiling at Hailey’s nodding head before returning to mine and Ed’s heated debate.
‘We didn’t just let ourselves in, we—’
‘We?’
‘Uh-oh. He’s on to you.’ Kerry takes a bite of toast and crunches closely to Ed’s ear.
‘I. I didn’t just let myself in, Erica rang me and told me where the spare key was.’
‘In the middle of the night?’
‘Yes.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘When you had no idea who could be hanging around outside Nessa’s house? An angry man could have found my incredibly attractive wife messing with his gnomes!’
‘You think I’m incredibly attractive?’
‘Of course I think you’re incredibly attractive, but you’re missing the point.’