If I Could Say Goodbye

by Emma Cooper

  ‘It’s a start.’

  ‘Do you think I’m going mad?’ The word ‘mad’ comes out in a hiccup.

  ‘I think you need help.’ I reach for the phone and replay the video, first focusing on my actions but that’s not what I’m bothered about, well, not all I’m bothered about. I’m terrified of what I’m doing to my child. To my family.

  ‘I need more than help, Ed.’

  ‘I can help you.’ He holds my hands in front of him, pulling them to his mouth, kissing my knuckles and talking into them. ‘We can fix this.’

  I pull my hands free and try to sort through my thoughts, try to find the words to explain to him what it is that I need to do.

  ‘I need to leave,’ I say.

  ‘You don’t need to leave, Jen. I can fix this,’ he repeats.

  ‘No, Ed. No you can’t. I’ll go and stay at Mum and Dad’s.’ I turn and begin to leave the room.

  ‘Jen . . .’

  I hesitate, then face him.

  Kerry slips her hand into his and leans her head against Ed’s shoulder.

  ‘Do you know that right now, I can see my dead sister holding your hand, that she is leaning her head against your shoulder?’

  Ed glances down to where his hands are hanging by his sides.

  ‘That it’s taking everything in me not to look at her face? You saw how scared Hailey was, Ed. I can’t do this to our children, to you.’

  ‘But leaving won’t make it better, Jen.’ He says the words, but I can tell he knows I’m right.

  ‘No, but I need to protect them until I am. Thank you . . . for showing me the video.’

  ‘What will we tell the kids?’ His voice is hoarse, the words strangled.

  ‘We’ll tell them Dad is ill or something. I’ll go and get my things.’

  ‘Wait.’ Ed grabs my hand and pulls me back. ‘Go tomorrow. I’ll take you, let me explain it to them. Let me help you.’

  ‘Tell him everything, Jen, it’s make or break time. After all . . . it’s another day tomorrow.’

  ‘What does Kerry say?’ he asks, looking towards his shoulder.

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘She says I should tell you everything. And then she’s just kind of quoted Scarlett O’Hara.’

  His eyebrows raise in surprise. ‘The one about tomorrow being another day?’ He ponders briefly. ‘Gone with the Wind? It doesn’t sound like one she’d like.’

  I nod. ‘It’s what she does . . . what I do. That’s how I know she’s not really here. She quotes films that I know she never watched.’ I wipe away a tear.

  ‘Well . . . that’s a start. So you don’t—’ a smile crinkles around his eyes, as he quotes from The Sixth Sense.

  Kerry bats him on the arm.

  ‘That’s what Kerry said.’

  ‘Stay the night, Jen. Let’s eat dinner, let’s talk. Then tomorrow—’

  ‘I’ll tell my parents that I can see their dead daughter and that the one they’re left with is going crazy?’

  ‘That the daughter they love needs all of our help.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Ed

  I wait until I know Jen is in a deep sleep, then move myself from beneath her arm and go downstairs.

  I wait for the kettle to boil as Google blinks at me. What did we do without it? Do you remember the days when you would spot an actor and you couldn’t place them? I remember me and Jen arguing over this guy, I was sure it was Malcolm McDowell, but Jen was certain it was Terence Stamp. Jen was right and every time a similar conversation came up, she would say, ‘Don’t make me Terence Stamp you.’ There are no Terence Stamp moments now, are there? A quick swipe of the screen and your answers are right there in front of you. Maybe life would be better without it; pre-Terence Stamp I wouldn’t be about to read stuff that I know, in my gut, I don’t want to know.

  I open the fridge; the remains of the cannelloni sit inside a Tupperware tub. I feel like throwing it across the room. Instead, I reach for the milk and go to make a mug of tea, but my fingers are gripping the plastic handle of the carton . . . what would spilt milk achieve? Even so, my hand is shaking as I take out the tea bag and stir in the milk. The spoon clatters onto the work surface, my fingers grip the edge as my head drops to my chest, tears spill unchecked, my chest begins to heave and I have to force my fist into my mouth to stop the sounds of my sobs escaping into our house.

  For better or worse. In sickness and in health. I picture her face as I lifted her veil away; the absolute trust in her eyes that she was marrying the right man was there for all to see. Was she wrong? Would another man have been able to help her? I want to be able to protect them; I want to be the one they turn to when they are scared. Jen is my other half. The other half of me. And she’s broken. I have to find a way . . . to fix us.

  Google is still blinking at me. It’s like it’s daring me to type the words into the search bar as I sit down.

  I rub my temple and lean on the table. My fingers flex and then I type the letters and stare at them as I take a sip of tea.

  ‘My wife is seeing someone who isn’t there’. I click the mouse.

  The word I don’t want to see is the first word I read: ‘schizophrenia’.

  ‘Ed?’ Jen’s voice startles me. I close the laptop and turn to face her.

  ‘Hi. Sorry, did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep.’

  She gives me an unsure smile. ‘Kerry keeping you up?’ she says, but she’s joking. I think.

  ‘Is she, um, is she here?’

  Jen yawns and shakes her head. ‘No. Come back to bed?’

  I drum my fingers on the top of the laptop. It’s warm and for a moment I picture the word ‘schizophrenia’ burning away beneath my palm. ‘I’m just reading through this proposal for the meeting on Friday. I’ll need to make sure it’s a good one before I ask to reduce my hours for a bit.’

  ‘What will you say to work?’

  That my wife is in pieces, I almost say. ‘The truth. That my wife is ill and needs some recovery time.’

  She exhales loudly. ‘Come to bed. It might be the last time we’ll be together for a while.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll just finish up. Five minutes?’

  She nods, chews her bottom lip as if she wants to say something more. ‘OK.’

  I wait until I hear the click of the bedroom door before I open the laptop. The words blink at me, but I exit the screen. There are going to be plenty of nights alone when I can read through this stuff.

  Jen is still asleep when I call my mother-in-law.

  ‘Sorry to call so early, Judith, but I just wanted to let you know what, um, what has happened. It’s Jen.’

  ‘What’s the matter? Is she hurt?’ Her voice rushes from the phone and I curse myself for not starting the call better.

  ‘No. She’s fine, nothing like that. But. No, well she’s not fine actually. She’s—’

  ‘We’ve noticed she’s been . . . different.’

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. ‘Would she be able to come and stay with you for a while? She needs some space. I’ll explain when we get there.’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’ The line goes quiet for a moment. ‘You’ve not had an affair have you, Ed? Only Brian told me about the sailor hat and the . . .’ she clears her throat, ‘handcuffs, and I wondered if you were trying to spice, uh-hem, things up and I thought that there might be problems with things. It’s not unusual for a man of your age to have problems with getting a—’

  ‘Please stop. For both our sakes. No, I am not having an affair. Jen is ill, Judith, she—’

  Jen’s amused voice interrupts. ‘Is going round the bend?’

  ‘What did she say?’ my mother-in-law asks.

  Jen kisses me on the cheek and takes the phone from my hand. ‘Hi, Mum. I’m going nuts and need to come and stay. I’ll explain later, OK?’

  ‘Nuts?’ I hear Judith’s panicked voice as Jen moves the phone from her ear.

  ‘Mmmhmmm.’ She pauses. ‘Pretty nuts, Mum. Pret
ty nuts. Do you mind if we tell the kids that Dad is poorly? So, if he could pretend to have a bad back or something?’

  Jen is talking to, I was going to say to herself, but it’s not is it? It’s Kerry. I stand in the doorway and watch her as she folds her clothes neatly into her case.

  ‘I know it’s the right thing to do, can you see my white bra?’ She waits for an answer. ‘Thanks,’ she says.

  You would think I would find this creepy or disturbing and I do but I mostly feel sad. Because, at the moment, she still has Kerry. What happens when we fix this? When the doctor gives her whatever medicine she needs, treats her for schizo—whatever this thing is. What then?

  I push the door open. ‘Almost done?’

  She jumps when she sees me and looks over to the wall beside the window where I presume Kerry is standing. ‘Yep!’

  She places her bra on the top of the clothes and runs the zip around the case. She arches her back, leans against the bed with her head down. I walk towards her and rub her back the same way as I did through her contractions. A noise leaves her mouth, a strangled cry in a pitch that I’ve never heard come out her mouth before. I pull her into my arms and try to soothe the sobs that are shaking her body. I don’t know what to say, what to do. I just hold her.

  ‘Mummy?’ Oscar pushes the door open and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Jen tries to smile at him but turns into my chest instead. I free myself and scoop him up, taking him onto the landing.

  ‘Mummy has had some sad news, Grandpa has fallen over and hurt his back.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He . . . he was . . . dancing.’

  ‘Dancing?’ Hailey looks at me sceptically, joining her brother, her hand resting on her hip. ‘Grandpa doesn’t dance.’

  ‘Well, he and Grandma, well they started dance lessons.’

  ‘Like Strickly?’ Oscar asks, pulling his pyjama bottoms from between his bum cheeks.

  ‘Gross,’ Hailey states.

  ‘Did he wear sparkly trousers and have a jacket that is too small for him?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Hailey rolls her eyes but then hesitates. ‘He didn’t, did he Daddy? Grandpa didn’t wear sparkly trousers and a jacket that doesn’t do up?’

  Jen joins us on the landing, blowing her nose noisily.

  ‘Mummy? Does Grandpa wear sparkly trousers when he and Grandma do the dancing?’

  ‘Dancing?’ Jen asks.

  ‘Um, yeah. I was just explaining that Grandpa has hurt his back when he went dancing with Grandma.’ I cringe, but Jen starts to laugh.

  ‘That’s right. Silly Grandpa . . . he . . . slipped on a—’

  ‘Glitterball?’ I question as she nods.

  ‘That’s right.’ She smirks. ‘Grandpa slipped on a glitterball and hurt his back. So I have to stay with them for a while to help Grandma look after him.’

  ‘Oh.’ Hailey looks at me. Her face is confused and understanding all at the same time.

  I clap my hands. ‘Right, I’ll get you two some breakfast and then we’ll take Mummy. Let’s see if you can get to the bottom of the stairs before I count to ten. ‘One, two, three . . .’ I plant a kiss on Jen’s cheek as I pass her.

  ‘Glitterball?’ she asks.

  I shrug my shoulders. ‘Four, five, six . . .!’

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Jennifer

  I’m sitting here watching. Watching as Ed tries to explain to my parents what is going on. Watching the way that Ed’s hands are gesturing in the same way as they do when he’s had a drink. Too much stimulation.

  ‘Adrenaline is what you mean.’ Kerry is sitting on the arm of the chair. She is wearing ripped jeans and a He-Man T-shirt.

  Whatever.

  ‘Pardon, love?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Hmmm?’ I turn towards Dad, who is wearing Hailey and Oscar’s stage make-up. This consists of thick, drawn-on eyebrows, blue eye-shadow and a smudge of cerise lipstick with a splattering of glitter across the top of his cheeks.

  ‘Nothing,’ I reply. Ed opens his palms in a gesture that says ‘see what I mean?’.

  ‘I think I’ll just go and have a lie down.’ I make my excuses and return to the room that I spent my childhood in. There is a Friends poster still on the wall. My bottom creases the lemon duvet as I sit down. The familiarity is comforting and disturbing at the same time. I know there is a small burn mark tucked beneath the bottom corner next to the wall, from a piece of ash that landed on it when Kerry and I had been trying to smoke through the window. I look up to where Kerry is blowing out smoke, a roll-up held tightly between her middle and index finger. She’s humming ‘The Time of My Life’ from Dirty Dancing.

  ‘So what now?’ I ask her. It feels so good to talk to her again, to have her back with me . . . even if I know that she’s a result of, well, I don’t know exactly what she’s a result of. Not yet.

  ‘You already know,’ she replies.

  My door knocks. I turn towards the sound, then back at the empty window and fight the tears.

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘Hey.’ Ed ducks beneath the door frame, carrying my suitcase.

  ‘You don’t need to knock.’ My words come out in a snap.

  ‘I just thought . . .’ His face screws up; the fight that was there just seconds ago disintegrates before my eyes. His shoulders drop as defeat sinks into him, forcing tears to escape. His legs don’t seem to know what to do with his body: he steps back, steps forward, his head shakes from side to side then hangs towards his chest, his eyes lift towards me, seeking refuge. The case drops to the floor, his body surrendering into my arms. He’s hardly making a sound apart from the odd gasp of air. I hold his face in my hands and begin kissing his eyelids, his cheeks, whispering over and over, ‘It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, shhh, it’ll be OK.’

  We lie sandwiched together on the single bed, his head resting on my chest. Beneath us, I can hear the kids playing Snakes and Ladders, hear a lawn mower purring along next door’s garden, and feel the heat of the sun, warm on my skin.

  ‘Do you remember the day your dad caught us at it in here?’ Ed asks, his voice deep and comforting.

  I stroke his hair, laughing softly.

  ‘God, I thought I’d never be let back in the house after that.’

  ‘Me neither. Thank God it was winter and the day the heating had broken down . . . we were still almost fully clothed under the duvet.’

  ‘Do you know what he said to me as I was leaving? He said, “Edward . . .” Ed mimics Dad’s accent, making him sound like a Peaky Blinder, ‘that young girl up there is precious to me. Make sure she’s precious to you too.’

  ‘I never knew that.’

  ‘Kerry was their daughter, but you were their daughter too. No matter what happens. Try not to forget that.’

  ‘Do you fancy an under the cover shuffle before you go? For old times’ sake?’ I whisper.

  The kids’ footsteps bound up the stairs, answering my question for us. The door flies open and they pile into the room.

  ‘Come on, Daddy!’ Oscar shouts. ‘Lego Movie starts in sixty-two hours!’

  ‘Minutes, dummy,’ Hailey corrects from behind him.

  ‘OK, OK . . . let’s give Mummy a big cuddle.’ He pulls himself up, reaching his hand out to pull me up too.

  Oscar jumps onto my knee and hugs me briefly, then whispers into my ear, ‘Daddy said I can have popcorn AND chocolate, but shush. He said I’m not supposed to tell you.’ He propels himself from the bed before turning around, hands on hips, head dipped, serious face and a deep voice announcing, ‘I’m Batman.’

  I open my arms to Hailey, who steps into my embrace, and hold her tightly, kissing her head. When I pull away, she is looking into my eyes; I can see my reflection in her glasses below her eyebrows, which are raised in concern, worry making her lips wobble. I wipe away the tear that is running down her cheek.

  ‘How long will you be staying here helping Grandpa?’

  I look over to Ed who looks away, both of us pr
etending we haven’t noticed the tone of Hailey’s question.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply honestly. ‘As long as it takes for . . . Grandpa to get better.’

  ‘Will the doctors help, um, him?’

  I swallow and nod. ‘They will and then, once Grandpa has had some time to heal, I’ll be able to come home.’

  ‘And will he be fixed? Will he, you know, be normal again?’ Her question pulls my body straight, makes my heart speed up. I start to open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

  ‘Grandpa will be better before we know it. Right, we’d better get going or all the good seats will be gone.’

  Hailey pushes her glasses up her nose and nods at Ed. Her arms link behind my neck and she gives me a nose-to-nose kiss. ‘Bye, Mummy.’

  ‘Bye, pudding.’ I kiss her on the head.

  Oscar is still in his Batman pose by the door. ‘I’m Batman,’ he reiterates, then runs from the room.

  ‘Say bye to Mummy!’ Ed shouts after him.

  ‘Bye!’ His voice chases after him, Hailey following. She gives me a concerned smile and leaves the room. I stand and tuck my hands into my back pockets. Ed rubs the tops of my arms, leaning in and touching his forehead against mine.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow after I drop the kids off. The doctor’s appointment is at ten.’ He pulls me towards his chest, pushes a kiss onto my scalp, and leaves the room.

  When I wake, I’m disorientated. Red coat, red boots, emerald ring and then, this time, Hailey’s face: eyes wide, skin pale.

  I should have died.

  The words inside are deeper. I close my eyes and picture the capital ‘I’: it looks more determined than yesterday, more elaborately looped. The sentence is becoming stronger . . . and more beautiful.

  I sit up and pull my phone towards me. Outside, the clouds have covered the sun and rain has begun to tap against the window. There are messages from Ed, photos on WhatsApp of him and the kids in the cinema and another of him holding a burnt piece of toast with a confused look on his face. I smile and reply that I miss him.

  My parents are in the kitchen. Dad is stirring instant gravy in a glass jug and Mum is setting the table.