Page 36 of If I Could Say Goodbye
I return my focus to the onions.
‘Jen?’ Ed’s hand is covering mine, pulling the knife from my hand. He turns me around and runs his thumb under my eyes, wiping away the tears.
I give Ed a watery smile and return to my onions.
But the memory won’t go. It takes the breath from my lungs: I feel like I’m suffocating.
‘I need to go,’ I say to Ed, untying my apron.
‘What? Now? What’s the matter?’
My fingers are fumbling over the knot, it feels like I’m being trapped, I need to get it off, I need to get this apron off before I’m stuck in it for ever. Ed takes my shaking hands gently away and undoes the strings. I try not to let him see the panic that is tearing away inside me. The strings drop to my sides and I yank the apron over my head, dropping it to the floor.
My fingers grab the car keys from the bowl in the hall. I walk past Ed’s concerned face, walk past Hailey as she comes out of the lounge, slam the door behind me, open the car door and reverse out of the drive.
‘Where are we going?’Kerry slots her seat belt into the socket.
‘Nowhere.’
I put my foot on the accelerator and open the windows so that the car fills with air. ‘I can’t breathe.’
‘Snap!’Kerry laughs and puts a chewing gum into her mouth.
I follow the road until I join the motorway. The sun is setting and I force myself to appreciate the colours, but it’s not enough. I indicate and move into the right-hand lane, applying more pressure to the accelerator. The road is fairly quiet; it’s after rush hour and a weekday so there are hardly any day trippers.
The needle of the speedometer extends its finger ambitiously, pointing to the numbers saved for emergencies. Normally I hate driving fast; I’m a fifty-mile-an-hour driver, never seeing the point of going beyond that. I sometimes think about the people on the roads who drive over the speed limit, endangering their lives and the lives of others, and what for? If they drive at eighty miles an hour instead of forty, what do they do with that oh-so-important extra time that they have created? Find a cure for cancer? Or do they just turn on the TV, and watchEastEnders?
But today is different. As the needle fills with excitement, daring to hit numbers that have previously been forbidden, I feel like I can breathe; the car is filled with air, my heart beating hard inside my ribcage, the suffocation I felt earlier lifting, and I feel the same kind of joy that I had when I stepped off Lovers’ Leap . . . but it’s not quite there yet. The speedometer continues to rise; with every notch on the dial I feel more alive.
‘That’s enough, Jen.’
‘No . . . it’s not. You want me to feel alive, don’t you? You want me to live? Well this is living!’
I reach forward and turn on the stereo. Aretha sings out telling me to have a little respect. I risk a glance in Kerry’s direction, but she isn’t singing along; her eyes are fixed ahead at the road in front, her expression taut.
The playlist continues as the needle ventures forward, my body drinking in this feeling.
I’m alive.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ed
I don’t know what has just happened. One minute we were laughing about our quickie in the cupboard, and the next? The next minute it was like someone had possessed her. Her hands were gripping the knife, the blade was going up and down, up and down, but she wasn’t looking at it, chop bloody chop while she was staring into space.
If I hadn’t been there, do you know what? If I hadn’t been there, I’m not sure that the blade would have stopped moving. I don’t even think she would have noticed if the ends of her fingers had been caught by the steel.
And then. Then it was like she was being trapped by her apron strings. I know, right? The connotations of that little episode are not lost on me, I can tell you. I was trying to help her get out, but my fingers were fumbling over the knot, I felt so useless, I mean, I couldn’t even undo the damn knot and then, before I knew it, she was gone. Grabbed the car keys, slammed the door and left.
And do you know what is more upsetting? Hailey saw the whole thing. Saw her mum losing the plot and walking out of the house and me standing there, helpless. I mean What. The. Hell. Is going on with my wife? Why can’t I help her?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jennifer
My foot wants to push harder on the pedal, my eyes want to see the needle on the speedometer increase, but I know I need to slow down. As the slip road comes into view, the car reduces its speed and the weight of life pushes down on me. I continue to slow as I approach a roundabout; Aretha’s words, that had felt so euphoric moments ago, are now becoming too loud, too intrusive; I reach for the dial – turning it off.
Sense taps me on the shoulder: remember me? I change lanes, sensibly; I check my mirrors, sensibly; I begin to return home along the dual carriageway with tears polluting my vision. Indicators tock as I pull into the hard shoulder and turn off the engine. My whole body racks with pain, my sobbing loud, my muscles contorting, my bones grinding as I try to expel this feeling of worthlessness that has started to take over. Behind my bruised eyelids, words begin to flutter.
