by Emma Cooper
But today has been different. Today, we’ve been up since half-five; Santa has been and gone; we’re home after our magical trip, tired but happy. The remains of Christmas lunch are lying bloated and tired on the kitchen side – not a sniff of a burnt potato – and we’re all slumped on the sofas, Nat King Cole crooning away on the soundbar as the kids retrieve their presents for us. Kerry would always help them choose something for us; Mum and Dad took them on their shopping trip this year.
‘Do you like it, Mummy?’ My fingers are stroking the calendar. It’s a family planner, the months and days dissected into rows and columns, waiting to be filled with the year’s activities: the after-school clubs, dentist appointments, birthdays, anniversaries . . . appointments that won’t revolve around my sister.
I can’t talk.
The air inside my body has gone; the air around me has evaporated. I grip on to the stem of my glass, wine sloshing over the rim. The indulgent smile on Ed’s face is falling rapidly as he puts down his own drink and rushes to my side. There is no room; the sofa is piled high with clothes, toys and wrapping paper. He moves Hailey’s new keyboard to the floor, sits beside me and rubs my back.
‘Mummy?’ Hailey’s voice is worried.
I force my mouth to open to gulp down the oxygen that must be there; it must be, because look at how my family are still breathing. I drag it in, and release it, I grapple again, again I manage to hold on to it, swallow it, breathe it in.
‘Jen?’
I wave my hand, my muscles obeying my instructions, manipulating my features into a smile and somehow, I manage to speak.
‘Look at how organised we’re all going to be next year!’ I cough a few times, take a long sip of my drink, carefully place it onto the coffee table and peel away the cellophane, revealing a navy-blue cover framed by butterflies and flowers. My fingers stroke it, open the first page and extract the pen that is hiding between the wire spirals. January stands tall and proud; I run my fingers along the days that lie ahead until they land on the eleventh.
‘Hmm . . . something about that date rings a bell.’ I tap my head in mock concentration. ‘I wonder if Daddy can remember why that day is special?’
He shakes his head, looking perplexed. ‘Nope, no idea why that date should ring a bell.’
‘Oh, Daddy, you are silly.’ Hailey rolls her eyes at me. ‘That’s the date you married Mummy, Grandma and Grandpa said it was all smudgy.’
Oscar wrinkles his nose and looks at his sister for an explanation.
‘It’s when snow has melted and looks all dirty.’
‘Sludgy,’ Ed corrects, his fingers twirling the bottom of my hair around his fingers. ‘It could have been raining cats and dogs and I wouldn’t have noticed, because your mummy looked like an angel.’
I shake my head at him, but can already feel that my face is betraying how much I love his words.
‘Did you look like an angel too?’ Oscar asks Ed, who straightens an imaginary tie.
‘No. The bride looks like an angel, the groom looks dapper.’
‘What’s a dapper?’
‘He means that he looked very handsome . . . he would have looked even more handsome if he didn’t have a black eye.’
Hailey’s eyebrows rise towards her fringe. ‘Why did you have a black eye? Robbie in class five had a black eye because Luca in class three punched him. Did you get punched at the church, Daddy? Did the vicar punch you?’
‘The vicar?’ I laugh. ‘No, the vicar didn’t punch Daddy, Daddy fainted on his stag do because he had his ear pierced and hit a cupboard door on the way down. His friend from school convinced Daddy that he could do it there and then with a needle and a bottle of . . . what was it, Ed?’
‘Tequila.’ Ed’s face blanches at the thought.
‘But he still looked very handsome. Right, I’m going to put this up in the kitchen, then shall we open the Quality Street and watch Santa Claus the Movie?’
I take myself into the kitchen, place the calendar onto the counter and grip the edges. I’m still shaky. I put my hand on top of the numbers and feel the days disintegrating beneath. The days I will have without her.
Kerry puts her hand on top of mine. I don’t look up; I just watch the silver thumb ring that I never found rubbing across mine.
‘You OK?’ Ed asks from the doorway.
I look up and wipe away the moisture around my eyes. ‘Yeah, I just . . . it’s been a busy couple of weeks, and I was just thinking about Kerry, about how it’s going to be another year without her.’
He folds me into his chest, his lips kissing the top of my head.
‘But you’re still here,’ he whispers. ‘We’ve still got you.’
‘You’re welcome!’ Kerry kisses Ed on the cheek.
I pull away, unwrap a purple-wrapped chocolate and pop it into his mouth.
‘Daddy! The batteries won’t fit!’
‘Coming!’ he replies, giving me a chocolatey kiss and returning to the lounge.
‘You can do it, Jen.’ Kerry picks up the calendar and smiles. ‘It’s only time . . . it can’t hurt you.’
But I know that it can, it’s hurt me before, the seconds, the minutes, the hours without you.
‘You can do it. Fill that time with them.’ She nods to where laughter is coming from the lounge as the race-car track that Ed insisted the kids would love whirrs into action.
What if I can’t?
‘You have to.’
My reindeer slippers follow Ed back into the lounge, their antlers nodding with every step as my lips form a smile.
She’s right: I have to. Because the alternative will be even harder.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Ed
‘Just give me a hint . . . Where are we going?’ Jen asks.
‘That will ruin the surprise,’ I say. OK, cards on the table, I’m not a romance kind of guy. I mean I’m not completely crap, like I always get roses for her on Valentine’s Day, but I felt like after the year we’ve had that I should step up a bit for our anniversary, you know?
I indicate and pull onto the hotel carpark. We’ve got the night to ourselves; the kids are at Brian and Judith’s.
‘Ooh, posh!’ The hotel is a castle, an actual castle. I’m not one to brag but as far as weekends away go, I think I’ve nailed this one.
‘Don’t worry about the cost,’ I intervene. ‘I got a Groupon deal.’
She laughs. ‘Oh, Ed, ever the romantic.’
‘What? You can be romantic and thrifty. Romance isn’t about how much money you spend.’
‘True. Remember when you gave me your coat when I fell in the sea?’
‘I was being gallant, not romantic.’
‘Aren’t they the same thing?’
‘I don’t know. But my balls have never been the same after that weekend . . . they were the size of raisins when we got back to the chalet.’
‘It was your fault, you suggested we jump over the waves in November.’
‘I was trying to impress you by being spontaneous.’
‘Well it worked. I think I fell in love with you a little bit more every time your lips turned a deeper shade of blue.’
‘I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to love me even more after what I have in store,’ I say, winking.
‘Ooh, sex swing?’
There was a time in our relationship where Jen’s enthusiasm for a sex swing would have been right up there with when Arsenal won the FA Cup.
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ She sighs with a kind of dramatic disappointment. I still can’t quite get used to how our sex life has changed. When we first met, it was all the time . . . we were young, everything was fresh, like when I found the faint birthmark on the back of her leg; I felt special, no, not special, I felt privileged. That doesn’t work either, does it? What I’m trying to say is when I first saw it, it was as if I’d been allowed to see behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz. It’s just a birthmark, he was just a scatty old man, but knowing
the truth somehow made that scatty old man something . . . more. That’s how it is when you’ve been married to someone for years: the rest of the world see something different to the person you are allowed to see. But now, it’s as if she has other birthmarks that I’ve never seen before.
‘Not a sex swing, but I promise there will be champagne. And sex stuff, if you’re lucky,’ I add as the tyres crunch into the gravel of the parking bay.
I carry our bags and we climb the steep steps and into the room. It’s Tudor in style . . . I think.
‘No sex swing but . . .’ I pull open the heavy curtain and we look out over the lighted gardens below, the turrets of the castle lit up by soft floodlights. Below us is the courtyard and beyond that is the sea, flat and laid out like a blanket behind the steep green banks that roll onto tall cliff faces.
Jen leans her head against my shoulder. ‘I love you.’
‘Good, because I’m going out for a bit.’
‘Funny.’
‘No really . . . I’m going out for a bit.’
‘What?’ She turns to me laughing.
‘Have a bath, and, um, don’t look in your case until I tell you.’
‘Mr Jones . . . you have got sex stuff planned!’
‘Not . . . exactly. Do you trust me?’
‘With my life.’ The words snag in her throat and for a moment she seems overwhelmed by the year’s events. But then she starts coughing. I pat her back as the tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to say the word water through her coughing fit. I pass her the bottle, make sure she’s recovered, then grab the bag and leave the room.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Jennifer
My hand runs along the stone walls inside the en suite . . . although that word doesn’t quite fit the small bathroom I’m standing in. My fingers run over the exposed brickwork where the shape of a fireplace remains as the room fills with steam. The bath is claw-footed; a sound escapes my mouth as I sink into the deep water, bubbles shimmering, shifting and nestling against my skin.
I close my eyes, enjoying the luxury. At first, the opulence feels delicate and beautiful as I take in the sensation of my muscles relaxing, of the warmth surrounding me. But the luxury starts to cling to my thoughts, like a cobweb, barely visible until you look closer and see the droplets of morning dew hanging from it like diamonds. The more I begin to enjoy the moment, the more beauty my life begins to fill with, the bigger the web seems to be. I reach out to touch it: the diamonds jangle and chime, the light catching the sun, dazzling in my eyes, hurting my retinas until I have to look away. My fingers are stuck to the web, the diamonds slicing my skin, nipping and cutting as I try to free myself, but I’m caught, I’m trapped by the beauty.
My eyes flash open and I push my body upwards, sloshing some of the water over the edge of the bath.
‘That puts death by drowning out.’
Kerry tries to pass me a towel. I ignore her and wipe away the bath suds with my hands. I pinch my eyelids, snapping myself awake. In the bedroom my phone is vibrating. I climb out of the bath, wrap myself in the white bathrobe, sink onto the bed and answer Ed’s call. I still feel like the cobweb is sticking to me.
‘Hi . . . where are you?’
‘I’ll be back soon. Did you open your case yet?’
‘No, I’ve just had a bath, like you said.’
‘Right, well, open the case and, um put it on.’
‘Put IT on? Oh, Ed, no more celebrity masks, I beg of you.’
His voice is soft and rich when he replies. ‘No celebrity masks, I promise. I’ll be back in about half an hour. Love you.’
‘You too.’
I pass my phone between my hands and look towards where my case is standing by the door. Kerry is lying on the bed, unwrapping the chocolate on the pillow.
‘Well . . . are you going to see what all the fuss is about?’
The web is disintegrating; it falls from my skin as I open the case and unfold the tissue paper sitting on top of the clothes I had packed. So, this is why Ed had insisted on fetching my bag from upstairs. Sitting inside the tissue paper is an emerald green dress. It straightens itself from the paper as I pull it free, standing up: proud, regal. The material cascades from the hanger; its shape is a fishtail by design, edged with delicate lace. I’ve never been one for coveting celebrities and fashion, but I can’t help but let out a little gasp as I run my fingers along the sweetheart neckline. I lay the dress across the bed; it oozes sex appeal and glamour. I glance back to my case and pull back another piece of tissue; a matching cashmere wrap sits on top of an emerald green underwear set and a pair of kitten-heeled sequinned shoes. They wink at me: hello, well aren’t we special? They’re like something a flapper girl would wear.
‘Oh, Ed.’
The underwear fits perfectly: the bra is not designed for sports and the knickers would be no good for a long day doing the school run, but for a night in a hotel with my husband? They couldn’t be more perfect.
I step into the dress, the soft shift gliding over my skin. I face my reflection, turning to the side and following the arc of my waist, the flare of material that smooths over my stomach. Kerry stands next to me smiling, the same pose that we had when I got ready for my first school disco.
‘You look beautiful,’ she smiles.
We both turn towards the knock on the door. The dress hums with each step that I take, the throw warm and comforting around my shoulders. Behind the door stands my husband, dressed in a suit, a darker shade of my dress. He looks shy, uncomfortable but happy. His mouth opens but no sound comes out. Instead, he offers me his arm. ‘Shall we?’
I’m following Ed, keeping my eyes closed as instructed. I hear sounds of automatic doors opening, of Ed thanking a man for a favour; no problem, the man says. Smells that are hard to place follow us, as does Kerry. I can’t see her but I know she’s here; she’s walking next to me, holding my hand.
‘Almost there.’ Ed’s voice is nervous, excited like the day he asked me to marry him. His hands rest on my shoulders. ‘Wait there, just a second.’ I hear him shuffle about and then Nat King Cole’s ‘The Very Thought of You’ begins.
I hear Kerry whisper into my ear, ‘I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you later.’ I feel a ghost of her kiss on my cheeks just as Ed’s warm hands cover my eyes.
‘OK . . . ready?’
‘Yes,’ I giggle.
‘Open your eyes.’
My eyes widen as I take in the scene in front of me. We’re inside a glass tunnel; above us and around us sharks, rays and sea creatures glide.
‘Oh . . . Ed.’ His name falls from my mouth. The blues and greens shimmer from inside the aquarium, reflecting all around us, as though we’re part of it, as though we’re at the bottom of the ocean. Bubbles rise; we are surrounded by warm springs while Nat continues to sing about the mere idea of us. Schools of brightly coloured fish seem to giggle past us in flashes of blues, pinks, purples, yellows as larger fish chase them into order like headmasters on a school trip. I grab hold of Ed’s arm and point to a shark shimmying past, its backend sashaying from side to side, its majesty commanding attention.
I look down at my dress, look into the water that surrounds us, look into my husband’s eyes; he’s practically dancing on the spot with excitement, just like the boy I fell in love with, so pleased at his gallant gesture. He points to a giant ray gliding above us, its smile pleased to see us.
In front of us are a table, two chairs, and a fairy-lighted champagne bucket, a small picnic basket resting next to it. My chest rises and falls, my lungs breathing life in and out.
‘You once said . . .’ he takes my hands in his and faces me, ‘that when you were a little girl you wanted to be a mermaid . . . You’ve made my dreams come true, Jen, I wanted to do the same for you.’
Tears swell, his face blurring through them as they fall over my eyelashes. His thumb wipes one away.
‘I don’t deserve all of this, Ed. Look at what I’ve put you through this yea
r; how on earth have I made your dreams come true?’
‘You came back to me.’
‘May I have this dance?’ I ask him.
‘It would be my honour.’
Chapter Eighty
Ed
I don’t think I have ever been more in love with my wife. Not on the day I first saw her through the doors of that train. Not when she looked up at me and agreed to let me walk her home. Not on our wedding day with her perfect make-up and hair teased into unnatural ringlets around her face. Not when she looked at me and told me she was pregnant, or when she looked down at our new-born daughter. But right now, with the reflection of the artificial blues and greens of the giant fish tank, the bubbles rising behind her head, the stingrays with their goofy smiles passing us by . . . Right now. Her head is thrown back and she is laughing. I take in the gap between the front teeth that I love so much, the smudge of mascara under her eye, the green of her dress, reflecting on her throat like the yellow of the buttercups Hailey thrusts beneath Oscar’s chin. Right now, because she has never looked so alive. That look that has been there since Kerry died has gone. Left. Adios, bye-bye. Gone.
They say you never really know what you have until it’s gone . . . Do people say that or have I just made it up? Or is it a lyric? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know what it felt like to lose her. To see her disappear a little bit more as each day passed. And each day, it was like I lost a little bit of myself too.
‘Well, husband of mine.’ Jen leans forward and kisses me. She tastes of wine and salt. ‘You have outdone yourself.’ Her head leans to the side and she exhales and looks up at a shark swimming over us.
We’re tipsy when we return to our room, kissing outside of the door before I’ve got the key in the lock. The door opens behind us, and we fall through. I manage to kick it closed before my hands begin to explore the new underwear that is hiding beneath the dress. They are not disappointed.