by Emma Cooper
Our lovemaking starts off with giggles and difficult clasps, with awkward positions and earrings caught in hair, but soon the struggles we have overcome seem to be at the forefront of our minds, as though we can make up for every wrong word we’ve said to each other with a kiss, every night spent apart while Jen was ill with a touch. Jen sits on top of me, her hips moving rhythmically, her hair falling forward, her eyes filled with love.
I wake up with a start. A door slam? I reach out for Jen, but the bed is empty. Her side is cold.
‘Jen?’ My voice is hoarse. My hand fumbles around for the light switch and the room fills with it. ‘Jen?’
Chapter Eighty-One
Jennifer
‘Jen?’ I stir and roll over. ‘Jen? Wake up.’ I open my eyes to see Kerry sitting beside me on the bed.
I’m tired. Go back to sleep.
‘Jen-ni-fer . . . I need to show you something.’
Ed is snoring gently beside me. The green dress is draped languorously over the armchair; you aren’t tired, are you, darling? The night is still young, it seems to say. I glance towards my case, to where my jeans and boots are enclosed, but think of the zip and sounds it will make.
‘Just put the dress on, we won’t be long, I promise.’
I step back into it, watching Ed’s back rise and fall, deep in the clutches of sleep, and grab the throw.
Where are we going?
She hops on her foot as she pulls on her boots. ‘I just need some fresh air.’
I slip my fingers into the shoes and leave the room quietly. The hotel is sleeping, the lights are dim, the sounds quieted.
We follow a path down through the gardens to the remains of an outbuilding. The floodlights are low now: dozing. I come to a wall, half-awake, half-asleep. Like me. Peeking over the wall is the sea; it rolls over, tosses and turns, throwing off its cover before pulling it back on. My hands run along the stones of the wall, stopping to watch the turmoil of the water below. I let my fingers follow the grooves around the bricks, the passing of time sewn into each downward pull, each scrape of the trowel.
To the left, there is a path that climbs the steep bank of a cliff, a wooden fence guarding it against the insomniac sea.
‘Come on.’ Kerry pulls at my hand. ‘The view must be immense from up there.’
I pull my throw tighter around my shoulders and follow her, my hands gliding over the smooth wood. I hesitate as the fence banks inwards, away from the edge of the cliff face, keeping spectators safe from harm.
My thoughts are consumed by Ed; how much better he looks now that I’m ‘better’. I hadn’t noticed how much I had taken from him since Kerry’s death until tonight. Until I watched him talking and laughing. I hadn’t realised the emptiness that he’d been hiding from me until I saw how full of life he now is. It’s hard to see the volume inside something, isn’t it? To calculate how much space there is? But if you tried to fill, say, a cavern with water . . . suddenly, you would have a sense of how empty it was before. That is what it’s been like tonight: I could see how full Ed is, full of love for me, for Hailey and Oscar, full of the life we have ahead of us.
As we continue, I notice the fence has a slight wobble, a discrepancy in the integrity of the wood; I stop and look at the spot where I’m standing. The wood has split in several places: tired of its job, lowly paid, long hours. This piece of wood has had enough; it wants to break free, to escape the confines it has been allocated: to feel the power of the water’s grip, to be caressed and played with as it swims to far-off lands, places with a new view, new cliffs to stand sentry. I push the wood a little, hear its groan of relief, hear its back crack, shackles falling to the ground as it leaps from the cliff edge. Free. Falling. No longer trapped by duty.
Kerry holds my hands as we watch it hit the water, the waves welcoming it, embracing it, offering to show it the secrets below.
I know why she has brought me here.
‘It’s time, Jen, it’s time for me to go.’
She turns and steps towards the edge of the cliff and faces the water.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Ed
I’m in that moment you’re in when it takes your brain a few moments to shuffle your thoughts and organise themselves as my hand taps Jen’s side of the bed, my eyes resting on the space beside me. ‘Jen?’
Something doesn’t feel right. Like that feeling when you wake up after a night out and you know you’ve acted like a dick, but you can’t quite remember what it was that you did.
I get up and push open the door to the bathroom, but it’s empty. Even as I call her name again, I know there will be no reply, because Jen isn’t here. I glance over to where her dress had been discarded last night: it’s missing. My heart is beating hard inside my chest as I call her number, but her phone is beside the bed, my face smiling up from the screen like a joke. Pulling back the curtain, I look down into the castle grounds, but I can’t see her down there. Maybe she went to the bar? I’m trying to convince myself that this is a possibility, even though deep down, I know I’m kidding myself. Something in my bones is telling me that this feels wrong.
My clothes are all over the floor and I push my feet into my trouser legs while simultaneously grabbing the room key and reaching for my shirt. Quietly, I descend the steps. The bar is closed; the hotel is so quiet as I make my way out into the grounds.
‘Jen?’ My voice comes out in a whispered shout; it hurts my throat. I continue calling her name, hurrying through the gardens and narrowing my eyes out towards the sea, towards the cliffs. My breath is hot in my throat as I see it: a flash of green high up on the ridge.
She’s there. The image I have tried so hard to fight is back. Jen jumping, lying flat in the water.
Fear courses through my veins, making my feet run, making my voice catch as I call out her name.
I’m breathing hard as I follow the curve of the path. I look up to where I can see her: she’s standing next to the edge, her right hand is stretching out like she’s holding hands with one of the kids, her dress is bright against the backdrop of dawn breaking, the wind pulling her hair.
‘Jen!’ I shout again but she doesn’t hear me. I’m too far away. I’m too far away to stop her stepping forward.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Jennifer
‘Stop!’ I take her hand in mine. I look down at the dark water; fear is burning my chest. I didn’t think I would be scared. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
Kerry turns to face me. She is wearing her red boots, red coat, her emerald ring, and is smiling out to where dawn is breaking over the horizon.
‘When I was little, if I had a bad dream, I used to sneak into your bed. Do you remember?’
I nod. ‘Your feet were always cold.’ A tear stings my skin as it rolls down my cheek.
‘I always felt safe when I was with you.’
‘You were my little sister. It was my job to keep you safe.’
‘No, Jen. It wasn’t.’ She wipes one of my tears away and smiles. ‘Me dying wasn’t your fault, Jen. It was just an accident.’
I shake my head, fighting her words. ‘It was my fault.’
I take a small step forward, closer to her, closer to the edge. The sea is hungry, snapping its jaws together beneath me. My legs are shaking, my throat tight; the fear of death has a hand on my shoulder and it is trying to pull me back to safety.
‘I’m scared.’ The words tumble from my mouth as I try to hold on to her hand tightly.
‘I wish I could take you with me.’ She smiles sadly. ‘But—’ Kerry puts on a croaky voice telling me she’ll be right here, pointing to my heart, quoting from ET, the film we would always watch if we were sick. Her plait is hanging over her chest in the same position as it was the day she died. ‘I have to do this,’ she says.
I nod.
‘It’s the best thing for you . . . for them.’
I swallow hard and peer over the edge again. I close my eyes and try to control the shaking in my legs; I breathe in slowly
as my foot takes another step.
Kerry is smiling out towards the ocean, the sunrise catching the glint of green in her ring as she wipes a tear away. She turns her back on the sunrise and squeezes my hands. Her voice is steady and earnest. ‘I’m sorry, Jen. I’m sorry for putting you through this. I’m sorry for leaving you alone . . . but you have to go on living, Jen. It’s time for me to go.’ Her eyebrows raise as she rests her hands on my shoulders. ‘You don’t need me any more, Jen.’
‘I know.’ The words are caught, they come out as a breath. Kerry takes a step back.
‘Wait!’ Panic stretches my hand out towards her.
The Accidental Death of Jennifer Jones
If a person were asked to describe Jennifer Jones, they would say that she is happy with her life. They would say that she’s happily married to Edward, the third man she slept with, who was neither the best nor the worst of her conquests. She is happy with the way her children have turned out, a perfect pair – one of each, Oscar, six and Hailey, nine – who are both well behaved, polite and intelligent. If that person could see her now, they would see a woman dressed in a green dress which whispers with each step she takes, which glimmers in the early morning glow. The wind is playing with her dark hair; it twists and turns in the wind; her blue eyes are bright as she looks down into the water below. She replays the evening, watches herself and her husband laughing beneath a tunnel of ocean, the peace and majesty of the fish as they swam, the light in his eyes as he talked about their children and the year ahead. About old times, about her sister. Jennifer Jones knows that her sister will no longer be there with her. Her hands rest on a fence, high up along a cliff face. The fence has stood here for many years, keeping tourists safe, tolerating the sticky hands of children, as their parents hover closely behind them: not too close now, hold on to my hand, look you can see for miles. But this fence is becoming tired; it no longer has the strength to keep the children safe, to keep their loved ones from harm’s way. Jennifer Jones pushes her hand onto the wood until it snaps, cracks and falls. The woman in green leans gently forward and watches it plummet, a sad smile playing on her mouth.
Jennifer Jones knows this is the right thing to do, to say goodbye to her sister, but as Kerry steps towards the edge of the cliff, Jennifer is filled with panic. She doesn’t want to let her go. She can’t watch her sister die again.
Kerry turns towards the sea. She is ready, at peace, but as Kerry begins to take a step, Jennifer reaches out a hand to stop her. Jennifer knows her husband will come looking for her; she knows he will see the path; he will see the broken fence, he will know at once what has happened. He will ignore the little nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that tells him that he believed this would happen all along. He will picture how happy his wife has been recently, he will remember the snow and her arm around his neck, the laughter in her throat. He will picture their lovemaking: slow and intense, how blessed he had felt because he could see how much his wife loved him. That nagging in his stomach will be filled with despair at this tragedy; this accident that took away his wife from their children.
The tragic accident that caused the death of Jennifer Jones.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Ed
I’ve lost sight of Jen as I sprint as fast as I can around the bend of the path. Everything seems harder: it’s harder to breathe, it’s harder to run, harder to see. I’m repeating her name over and over and over as I picture her body hitting the waves, her body weightlessly sinking beneath the surface, dress floating around her, bubbles escaping her mouth.
But I did everything right, right? She was better, I did everything Wiki told me, everything Google told me, everything Dr Pepper told me. What if I didn’t fix her, what if . . . I can’t think of the what ifs. Why aren’t I fitter? Faster? I push myself; I run faster than I have in years, Jen’s name circling my thoughts of her, my beautiful wife.
Chapter Eighty-Five
Jennifer
‘Jesus, Jen!’ Kerry grabs hold of my shoulder and shakes me. ‘Come on, Jen, enough is enough.’ I look down to where parts of the cliff have begun to tumble into the sea. My feet are dangerously close to the edge.
I blink.
Like a sharp click of fingers in front of me, I picture my family. Ed as he opens his eyes first in the morning, the lazy half focus as he sees my face; Oscar’s face looming in front of me as he jumps on top of us, warm and smelling of sleep; Hailey pushing her glasses up her nose and smiling at me as I peer around the corner of her bedroom, telling her just one more page before she sleeps. The images come faster and faster: Oscar sneezing his cereal all over the kitchen table, Hailey bouncing on the trampoline, me and Ed sneaking Christmas presents down from the attic, stifling giggles in case we wake up the kids, the feel of Oscar’s hands around my neck as I carry him to bed, the excitement on Hailey’s face as she places her tooth beneath the pillow. Faster and faster the images come, Oscar peddling his tricycle – tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration – Hailey sliding down a slide – knickers showing as her dress billows around her, Ed fixing a flat tyre – oil smudged across his cheek, Hailey with flushed cheeks, 1st prize sticker on her chest at sports day, Ed shivering and putting his coat around my shoulders, the three of them holding hands while they jump over waves, Oscar chasing Hailey with a frog . . . More and more memories come, until my eyes flash open. My chest is rising and falling heavily, the smile on my face, the hunger to see them making my feet step backwards from the edge.
‘You have to let me go.’
I nod.
The love and joy I felt moments ago battles with the loss to come. A flicker of fear runs through me, fear of the visceral pain of grief and guilt that haunted me in the months after she died, that has been burning away inside me for over a year, but with a hiss, the flicker of fear is extinguished: wet fingers pinching a flame. My grief isn’t going to start again, this isn’t a new death . . . this is just my chance to say goodbye, to start living, for my life to begin again.
‘Goodbye, Jen.’ She kisses the inside of my palm, my hand dropping back towards my side as she takes another step back. ‘Tell squirt that adding a blob of PVA glue to his bubble mixture will make it magic, tell Hailey to add a quarter of a Bazooka bubble gum . . . that got me a twenty-five . . . but shush . . .’ She winks. ‘Don’t tell Mum.’ She steps back a little further. ‘And Jen? Be nice to Nessa’s new girlfriend . . . she’ll want your approval.’ My sister opens her arms and grins at me. ‘And . . . give Ed a kiss from me!’
She winks, and before I can stop her, before I can grab her hand, her body is flying backwards. Her eyes – bright and determined – stay focused on me. Her feet and arms are in front of her, as though she is just trying to touch her toes: red coat, red boots and a flash of green.
The ocean lies beneath her; it throws back the cool, green cover and welcomes her into its embrace.
‘Goodbye, Kerry,’ I whisper.
I stare at the water below, picturing her body slowly descending, her hair pulled around her like a halo, as she sinks past the blues and greens, the sunrise flickering light through the seaweed, until finally sinking into the dark, her face peaceful and calm.
The sun is coming up; the wind is cold and fresh against the tears on my skin. I take a deep breath – the smell of the sea and the peat of the earth is rich: I feel alive. My skin is covered in goose bumps, my skin tinged purple beneath them, but I’m smiling.
I turn my back on the sea and the cliff, on the grief and guilt that I’ve been drowning in, and break into a run: my life is about to begin again.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Ed
The path leans around a corner, my calves are burning, why am I even noticing this? I look towards the bend but someone crashes into me, full force. It takes a second to register that it’s Jen, that she’s in my arms as we slip, our bodies a flash of green and denim as we half roll, half slide down the path.
Jen is on top of me, both of u
s startled, both of us rubbing our heads . . . and she is laughing. She sits up, kissing every part of my face, as I try to talk, my words swallowed by her lips.
‘I thought—’ I begin.
‘I love you.’
‘I thought—’ I try again.
‘So much—’
‘Why were you—’
But the sentence is taken from my mouth with hers, the fear I felt being dismissed by the warmth of her, by the ‘aliveness’ of her. Is that even a word? Eventually, her kisses stop and I manage to speak as we stand, both of us shivering, both of us dazed.
I pull her towards me and hold her face in my hands. ‘What were you thinking?’ I ask, searching her face for answers.
‘I . . .’ She shivers again, and I pull off my jacket and put it around her shoulders. ‘I wanted to see the sunrise.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I needed to say goodbye. I needed to say goodbye to Kerry. Properly.’
‘Is she back?’ I ask; I almost look around.
She shakes her head with a sad smile. ‘No . . . she’s gone.’ Her voice is solid; it doesn’t waver, despite her shivers. ‘But I’m not.’ She leans forward and says this to me as if it’s a revelation, her tone the same as it was when she said ‘I’m pregnant’, when she said ‘Yes’, when she said ‘I do’. An answer beyond dispute, her voice certain and sure.
‘I thought you’d, that you were going to—’
She stops, holds my hands in hers, kisses my knuckles and then stares into my eyes. ‘I know I haven’t been myself; I know I’ve put you through hell, Ed. But I’m getting better, I’m almost there. I can see why now, why I’m still here: Kerry gave me a gift when she died, she gave me the gift of life, and I’m the luckiest woman alive because I get to spend it with you.’ She grimaces. ‘Christ, that was a cheesy line.’