by Emma Cooper
I stop this train of thought. I can’t talk about this yet.
‘The tablets, Ed. They make her ill, she’s started waking me at night, she has a fever, Kerry—’
‘Well that’s good.’
‘What?’ she asks sleepily, as though I’m speaking another language entirely.
‘I mean, maybe that means the tablets are working. Maybe this is the start of her—’
‘Dying?’ Her voice is a croak, an echo.
‘Moving on,’ I say softly.
‘How are the kids? I’m sorry I missed bedtime.’
‘They’re good,’ I lie. I lie about Hailey becoming more and more impatient with her brother, I lie about Oscar’s night terrors, I lie about how I forgot that it was non-uniform day and didn’t realise until I picked them up, uniforms amid a flood of jeans. ‘Me and Hales are making a volcano.’
She yawns, her eyes unfocused. ‘A what?’ she asks.
‘Never mind, I’ll tell you Wednesday.’
‘Wednesday?’
‘The doctor’s.’
‘Oh yeah. I’ve got to go,’ she yawns. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
Her hand reaches for the screen and she swipes away my face.
I’m being snippy with the kids and I hate it. I used to love coming home to them, hearing about their day and winding them up before bed. I wish I could feel that way again, that they would look at me when I walk through the door like they used to. Instead, they just look at me the same way as when they see an episode of Go Jetters that’s been on ten times that week already.
‘Can I be excused?’ Hailey asks with a bored tone.
‘Not until you’ve finished your homework. There are four more questions.’
‘Mummy never made me do homework at dinnertime. She let me do it when I came in from school.’
‘Well, when Mummy was here, you were home earlier because you didn’t go to after-school club.’
‘I hate after-school club,’ Oscar sulks. ‘I have to do the afternoon walk and that means three times around the playground. It hurts my throat.’
‘That’s because you’re fat,’ Hailey snaps at him, pulling her book towards her.
‘That’s enough!’ I shout, and both children flinch. I’ve never really been a shouter but lately, I can’t seem to stop myself. ‘Say sorry to your brother.’
Oscar is breathing quickly and his lip is quivering.
Hailey scowls and folds her arms. ‘No. I was only telling the truth. He is fat, Daddy, everyone says so.’
My voice is dangerously low as I respond. ‘You say sorry to your brother right now or—’
‘What? You’ll ground me? Stop me from seeing my friends, tell my MUM?!’ Hailey has tears in her eyes as she stands and pushes her plate away. It slides off the table and crashes onto the floor, peas escaping across the grouting around the floor tiles. Her footsteps reverberate through the staircase as she slams her bedroom door.
‘Take no notice of your sister,’ I say, putting my arms around Oscar’s shoulder and pulling him towards me. ‘You’re just big-boned. It means you’ll be strong when you grow up.’
‘She wasn’t telling the troof, Daddy, they call me chubster and Mr Newton told me that just means that I’m bubbly and happy. Can I have my pudding now? I ate all my fish fingers even though they are yucky and slimy and grey.’
‘Of course, buddy.’ I head over to the fruit bowl. ‘There’s a banana?’ I hold it aloft.
Oscar shakes his head. ‘It’s got brown bits all over the outside.’
‘How about a pear?’
He shakes his head again. ‘Pears feel like sand in your mouth, they’re all stony.’
‘Apple?’ I turn the apple in question and see that a grub has already made a meal out of it. ‘Forget that one.’
‘Can I have a chocolate bar?’
I think of the kids teasing him. ‘No, buddy. Yoghurt?’
‘Does it have bits in?’
‘Bits?’
‘Mummy always gets me ones without bits.’
I search the contents of the fridge and find it lacking. ‘Um . . . cheese slice?’
‘Is cheese slice pudding?’
‘Yeah. And you get to unwrap it just like a chocolate bar.’ I dangle it in front of him like bait.
‘Thanks, Daddy!’ He snatches it. ‘You’re the best.’ He kisses me on the cheek. ‘Except when Mummy’s here. Then she’s the best and you’re just Dad.’
The car is filled with white noise as I drive us to the doctor’s. Jen is looking out of the window; her eyes are bloodshot, her hands twisting and knotting her fingers.
‘So . . .’
‘Hmmm?’
‘What did you and Nessa get up to after your “few drinks”?’
‘What? Oh.’ I notice the glimmer of a smile as I watch her reaction from the corner of my eye.
‘We played rock, paper, scissors.’
My mind flits through my teenage porn collection and tries to link the images in my head with a rock, a paper and some scissors.
‘Ed!’ Jen’s hand reaches for the steering wheel as I almost clip the kerb.
‘She’s really good at it.’
‘At what?’ I indicate and pull onto the main road.
‘Rock, paper, scissors. She plays by different rules.’
I bet she does.
I reach for the radio and flick through several stations before punching off the dial.
‘Ed, is something wrong?’ she asks as I pull onto the doctor’s carpark.
It’s there every time I close my eyes: the curve of her back, her dark wet hair dropping to a point along Nessa’s shoulder blade. I park the car and turn off the engine, turning towards her.
‘I just didn’t sleep very well . . . you?’
‘No.’ The images are back for a split second. ‘Kerry was worse last night. Fevered dreams . . . and I never really sleep well without you at the best of times.’ Her hand reaches for mine, which is resting on the gearstick, but I flinch. I don’t mean to, but then I’m sure she didn’t mean to take her clothes off with another woman. I look away from the hurt on her face and question, as we go into the doctor’s office, why I’m the one who is feeling guilty.
The brain scan is clear; the blood tests are clear. I should be happy but instead, I say this. ‘So how are you going to fix her?’
I sound like a twat. I know that, but I can’t seem to control my twattish behaviour. My leg is bouncing up and down. I need to be at Hailey’s science afternoon in half an hour. We’ve spent most nights this week painting her volcano. She has made tiny trees and a river meanders along the side of the cardboard. The river is made out of paint mixed with PVA glue and glitter; we made a special trip to Hobby Craft for it. I can’t miss it. Hailey tried to tell Jen about the science afternoon at the weekend but, well, Jen was having a bad day. Or Kerry was. Even I’m starting to sound mad. And it’s beginning to piss me off. You see? I’m a twat. I glance at my watch and the psychiatrist, Dr Popescu, leans backwards into his chair when I say and do these things. He’s a good-looking bastard and I’ve no doubt that he also thinks I’m a twat.
Jen looks at me like I’m something stuck to her shoe.
‘It’s not as simple as fixing her, Ed.’ He leans forward. Even his accent is cool: it’s not all full-on romantic like Italian and French; it’s more a kind of ‘hey look at my accent, it’s so sexy but I’m so cool my accent doesn’t have to try as hard as those other accents’. Jen’s always been a sucker for an accent. I glance in her direction and see that she looks flushed.
Damn it. He even smells good. The fact that this man calls me ‘Ed’ annoys me. He makes ‘Ed’ sound sexy; how can he say my name, a name that I have been learning to pronounce since I was a baby, sound better than when I say it? I run my finger around the neck of my shirt.
‘It’s Edward,’ I correct. ‘Look, man.’ Man? When do I ever call a guy man? His chiselled looks and expensive smell are having an ef
fect on me . . . it’s like I’m trying to fit in with the cool kids. ‘Could we just cut to the chase?’ I snap. My leg continues bouncing up and down in agitation. ‘Because I have an important meeting I need to be at.’
‘But we’ve had this appointment date for two weeks, Ed, couldn’t you have asked them to change it?’
Sure. I could ask the school to change their science day to another date because my wife is having conversations with her dead sister and considering batting for the other team. I’m sure it would have been no bother at all.
‘No, Jen, they can’t just change it.’
‘But—’
I ignore her. ‘Can we just get to the part where my wife stops acting like a—’
‘A what, Ed?’ she asks.
‘I didn’t mean . . . I’m just . . . I have to go and we’ve already been here for twenty minutes and all we’ve done is talked about stuff we’ve already told the GP.’
‘Edward, I’m afraid this isn’t going to just be fixed overnight.’ He blinks slowly. Christ, his eyelashes are long . . . I wonder if he has one of those curling things that Jen uses. ‘We have to find the root of the problem.’
I try to calm myself down. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
‘I see that your GP has changed your prescription from olanzapine to risperidone?’
‘Yes, they were making . . . me sick, but these ones . . .’
Jen nods and her eyes track a movement over the corner of Dr Pepper’s shoulder. I sigh. Kerry is here.
‘And how are you finding them? Have they made any differences to your hallucinations?’
Jen focuses back on the doctor.
‘Her dead sister gets ill when she takes them and then Jen feels guilty,’ I butt in, glancing at the clock.
Jen’s head turns to me slowly and she pushes her lips together. ‘It’s more complicated than that, Ed.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. In through the nose, out through the mouth. ‘It’s just that I’ve—’
‘Got a meeting. Yes, you said. I’ll try and be more concise, more cost-effective with my responses. Would that help, Ed?’ Jen’s words sound angry but her eyes are filling.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s the alarm I have set myself so I’m not late. I apologise again and turn the alarm off.
Dr Pepper runs his hands through his hair . . . I bet he conditions. No supermarket shampoo for him. ‘How are they affecting Kerry?’ He glances down at his notes. I try to place his accent. Eastern European, maybe?
‘They’re making her ill. When she was little . . .’ Jen tracks Kerry around the room. I track the thin air that is causing my life to fall apart. ‘She would get tonsillitis, but not, you know, like a bit of a sore throat, she would get these raging temperatures and—’
My alarm buzzes in my pocket. It’s the alarm that I titled ‘Last chance, dickhead’.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.’ Jen is fighting back tears; she opens and closes her mouth, looking towards the thin air with an expression that says is he for real? I know. Ironic, right?
Dr Pepper begins to rise from his chair and stretches out his hand. I shake it hastily, kiss Jen on the cheek and drive as fast as I can to the school.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jennifer
Ed’s slam of the psychiatrist’s door shakes the whole room, myself included. Dr Popescu leans back and points his index fingers together.
‘Ed’s not normally like that,’ I intervene. He doesn’t say anything. ‘It’s tough on him. He’s having to look after the kids in the week, juggle the school run and work. He’s not normally like that,’ I repeat.
‘Why don’t you tell me about Kerry and her tonsillitis?’ he says with a kind smile and so I begin. I tell him how since the day in The Nook I have been trying to take the tablets every day. At first, I thought that because they were making Kerry sick she would start to fade, but she doesn’t. I don’t tell him how scared I am that she might. She’s as real as she ever was but the problem is that now, every time I take a tablet, she wakes me in the night with her fever. In the daytime, she is OK, she just gets cramps every now and then, but the night fevers are stopping me from sleeping and the tablets make me feel tired.
‘Do you feel guilty taking the tablets?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I feel like, like . . .’ I glance over to where she is tracing the diagram of the brain on the wall with her finger. ‘Like I’m killing her. Again.’
‘Let me ask you a question, Jennifer; there is no judgement here, that’s not my job. My job is to listen and to try and find the right type of therapy that will help you. Do you believe that your sister, that Kerry is standing in this room?’ He nods over to the picture of the brain and I realise that I must have given myself away.
‘No.’
‘Then how can you kill her?’ He smiles, rises, fills a small watering can from the tap and tips it into the base of a spider plant. The water that escapes look softer, as though pouring it through the watering can alters it somehow. I think to this morning, when I had tipped water from a cup into the sink. How it had landed with a violent splash, the noise it made like a slap. It’s the same water, the same action, but maybe . . . if it’s broken up into pieces, it will change into something easier to control.
He gently places the can on the draining board and rejoins me.
‘I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to say the first thing that pops into your head.’
I give him a ‘really?’ look.
‘Indulge me,’ he replies and puts out his hands as though he’s carrying a tray.
‘OK.’
‘Ready?’ I roll my eyes good-naturedly. ‘What do you want?’
‘To be happy,’ I reply. ‘Sorry,’ I immediately add. ‘That’s a bit of a rubbish answer, isn’t it?’
‘Not at all. Some people say “thin”, some people say “marriage”. Happiness is something I can help you with, fixing up blind dates isn’t my area of expertise.’ He grins and opens a packet of Rolos, offering me one.
‘Ooh, I wonder if he’s going to save you his last one.’ Kerry is bending over in the crab position and her face is turning red.
He catches me looking at her. ‘What does Kerry think?’
‘She’s wondering if you’re going to give me your last one.’ I gesture to the Rolos with my hand.
‘My last one?’ he asks, confused.
I shake my head dismissively. ‘Never mind.’
‘When was the last time you felt truly happy?’
‘Before Kerry died.’
He shovels another Rolo in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. ‘Give me a specific day.’
I breathe out of my pursed lips; they vibrate against each other like the sound Oscar makes when he’s playing with his toy cars. I close my eyes: memories of birthdays and Christmas mornings, of Ed hitting me with the door in the florist’s, of Hailey being passed into my arms for the first time. Big Red Letter days, I suppose, but then another flashback slides into focus. A week before Kerry died, I came home from the supermarket, my bags filled with snacks for the movie we were going to watch later that night; ‘Shotgun’ by George Ezra was playing on the radio in the kitchen. I landed the bags onto the kitchen floor and followed the sounds of whoops and ‘nooos’ coming from the lounge. Kerry, Ed and the kids were at the table, playing a game of Snakes and Ladders; Ed was clutching the side of his hair, leaving it sticking out like a pair of horns as Hailey gleefully slithered his counter down a snake. Kerry looked over her shoulder at me and winked.
‘Does anyone want a drink?’ I asked and took their orders. I returned to the kitchen, singing to George and feeling like someone; I can’t remember making the drinks or who won the game, but I remember this feeling of happiness.
I open my eyes again and meet Dr Popescu’s, retelling the moment, the way Ed’s hair was sticking up and the sounds of laughter as I walked into the house.
‘I can’t ever imagine feeling that happy again,’ I say quietly once I’ve finished.
He stays silent, turning his focus to the piece of gold foil rolling between his thumb and forefinger.
‘I can’t imagine never feeling guilty for killing her.’
‘Were you driving the car that hit her?’
‘No, but—’
He changes the subject. ‘Do you think it might be your guilt that is making Kerry ill rather than the tablets themselves?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve really looked at it that way.’ My phone vibrates but unlike Ed, I ignore it.
‘Do you think you could be that happy again?’ he asks.
I look over at Kerry, who is perched on the edge of his desk, helping herself to a Rolo. She winks at me, just as she had that day.
And then I know.
I can’t be happy again . . . I won’t kill my sister this time.
Our time is up; I gather my things and head towards the door.
‘Jen?’
I turn just in time to catch the foil missile heading in my direction.
‘Aw . . . he gave you his last Rolo!’ Kerry laughs as I smile, thank him and follow her out into the corridor.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Ed
I’ve shaken my twattishness on the drive over. And as I step inside the school hall, I’m sure they all see School-science-fair Dad. That is who I need to be right now; that is who Hales needs. Parents and children stand with plastic cups filled with weak tea and cheap squash. Desks are pushed up against the walls, displaying science projects of all shapes and sizes: the volcano seems to be a popular choice, but as I push my way through the crowds, I feel a glow of pride that Hailey’s beats these other attempts hands down. I mean. Hands. Down.
I spot her standing awkwardly behind the desk. She is chewing the end of one of her fishtail plaits that I totally rocked this morning. Hailey pulls the plait away from her face, which splits into a wide grin when she sees me. A teacher arrives at the desk at the same time as me and is telling her what a great job she has done. Her cheeks go pink at the praise.
‘Thank you,’ she replies quietly. ‘Daddy helped.’