Page 40 of If I Could Say Goodbye
Every time this phrase enters my head, it seems to get stronger. At first it was just a flutter, the words a faint, soft, slate-grey pencil mark, looping handwriting that I could barely see, almost transparent: a blur; a thought that could be missed, written on a scrap of paper that could be discarded without a second glance. But that faint grey pencil has been sharpened, and these words are finding more definition.
‘I know it should have been me, it was me that rang her and suggested we go to the jeweller’s that day, it was my decision to stop and look at my phone screen. I should be dead.’ The words are like chocolates in my mouth: they melt and soothe; each one has a different taste. I devour them, pass them to Nessa to try. ‘Do you picture me dying? Pretend that it was me, not her?’
She hesitates, then nods.
‘How do I die?’ I ask her, these words exploding like popping candy.
‘You get hit, not her.’
I lean forward, eager for more. ‘I think about death all the time. I picture how I’m going to die.’
‘Me too.’ Nessa drains her coffee.
‘What am I wearing? When I picture dying, I’m always wearing green.’
She puts the cup on the kitchen table in front of her and turns to meet my eyes. ‘You’re wearing jeans, your leather jacket and those grey Converse that you’re always wearing. I see one of them lying beside the road.’
I grin at this, at this little detail. I’m not going mad. Everyone pictures death one way or another.
‘And?’ I ask, eager for more.
‘Kerry and I come and see you in the chapel of rest and she tells you we’re getting married. She looks beautiful when she’s in mourning. She wears dark blue, not black, and the sapphire earrings you bought her for Christmas.’ Her face collapses inwards when she says this. ‘I threw them out of the window!’ Her chair scrapes back and she rushes outside.
Nessa shields her eyes from the sun, stepping uncertainly into the garden, muttering ‘Jesus Christ’ as she bends down and picks up a pair of Kerry’s sunglasses.
‘They were my bloody favourite, Ness!’Kerry stands next to Nessa with her hands on her hips.
‘They were her favourite,’ I say.
‘I know. I always thought they covered up too much of her face,’ Nessa replies.
‘Uh-oh.’Kerry pulls her heel backwards, as though she’s stretching before a race.
‘I’ll clear this up.’ I ignore Kerry. ‘Why don’t you get some rest?’
Nessa looks like it’s taking all her concentration to keep upright. She gives me a grateful nod and goes back inside.
I begin to retrieve the items of clothing that hang from the bushes and trees like fairy lights at Christmas, apologising to the gnome for his disappointing catch.
‘You don’t have to look so pleased about picking up my undies, you know.’Kerry is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the lawn, peeling grass into strips. I reach down at the sapphire glinting in the summer sun. I picture Kerry wearing them, wearing blue, telling my coffin that she is about to get married, and smile.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ed
Jen isn’t here.
‘Mummy! We’re home.’
Even as Oscar shouts the words, I know that Jen isn’t here. I throw down my backpack and carry the shopping into the kitchen as the kids put their shoes in the correct shoe boxes, put their sun hats on the pegs in the porch. They’re tidy kids, much tidier than I was as a child. I suppose that’s Jen’s influence on them.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ Hailey asks quietly. ‘There isn’t any apple juice and something smells in the fridge.’
‘I bought orange juice,’ I reply, pulling it out of the bag.
‘But I don’t like orange juice.’ Her eyebrows furrow.
‘She’s probably gone to the shop to get more apple juice.’ I smile. My lies are becoming easier; I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I have no idea where Jen is. ‘How about blackcurrant squash instead?’
