Page 72 of If I Could Say Goodbye
‘I was on the phone!’ I exclaim, louder than I had intended, making the woman recoil from me. Her head is pulling back, not unlike a horse in the face of an inconsiderate car horn. She alights her machine, ignoring my protests and apologies as she makes her way to the other side of the gym.
Kerry snorts with laughter and then starts choking on her gum. I would pat her on the back, but she’s already dead, so what would be the point?
‘It’s not that funny,’ I say as Ed pulls into the cinema carpark for our date night. Mum and Dad are at our house watching TV and having a takeaway while the kids sleep so that Ed and I can have some time together.
‘If you say so. So what did she say to you?’
‘Nothing . . . she just sort of glowered.’
His laughter is infectious, and I find that by the time we have bought our tickets, I’m laughing again too. He finally controls himself enough to tell me that my arse is nothing like a cantaloupe as we order our snack and take our seats.
‘Well that’s good to know.’
I haven’t told him that Kerry has come on our date too; I didn’t think that mentioning my dead sister tagging along on date night would strike the right tone. We’re sitting in the middle of the auditorium; there is a space next to me which Kerry hunkers down in along with her tray of nachos. I have a tub of popcorn – salted and buttered – and Ed is hoovering a foot-long hotdog into his mouth; the lights dim and the trailers begin.
A calm settles over me as we begin to watch. It’s almost as if everything is normal, as if this is just any other Friday night. On the screen, two lovers are discovering that they can never be together; the heroine is packing her bags while, unaware, the hot Irish male lead sleeps in the room above. I lean my head against Ed’s shoulder as the music builds and an accident befalls the hero. This is the type of film I would watch when Ed was away with work. Ed prefers action films or psychological thrillers. I look up to him, to where he is frowning slightly at the screen. This is the type of film that Ed and Kerry would pull apart, the type of film that right now I’m sure he is ripping open plot holes in and inwardly scoffing at the way the hero and heroine keepalmostgetting together but then something gets in their way. My hand flies to my mouth as the hero is told he is going blind and yet he decides to keep the news to himself.
‘Oh please!’ Kerry interrupts the tears forming in my eyes. ‘As if he wouldn’t just phone her.’ I turn my head to look at her, noisily slurping her drink and scowling at the screen. Ed crunches on his ice cube as I tell Kerry to shush from the corner of my mouth.
‘Oh come on, Jen, it’s stupid!’ She chomps on a nacho and shouts at the screen. ‘Just call the girl!’
‘You’re stupid,’ I smirk, and throw a handful of popcorn in her direction, a piece of which she catches and throws into her open mouth.
‘You OK?’ Ed asks.
‘Yes . . . You?’ I whisper back. He meets my eyes, the flashes of blue from the sky on the screen flickering as the shot pans to an aeroplane descending, the noise as it touches down on the runway pulling his attention back to the screen.
Kerry sighs as the story moves on from the hero to the heroine opening the door to an old cottage somewhere in the hills. The blonde actress on screen reaches for the phone but decides not to use it.
‘Oh for God’s sake! Now she won’t ring him!’
Beside me, Ed unwraps his sweet noisily as I quickly whisper back, my response hidden by the crinkling of his wrapper.
‘If she called him, there would be no story. Stop being a grumpy git.’ I throw another piece of popcorn.
This is exactly how things used to be and I find myself smiling as I accept one of Ed’s packets of sweets, the wrapping crinkling noisily as I tear it open with my teeth.
‘Shush!’ a man sitting behind us implores.
‘Sorry!’ Ed throws over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at me as he turns back to the screen.
The film continues, Kerry becoming so keen on her negative dialogue that I have to put my finger in my ear.
A few moments later, a torch beam bounces along the aisle and is pointed at Ed and me. Next to the attendant is a woman with large hair and wild hand gestures. The beam dips as the attendant consults the woman, who is gesturing and pointing maniacally at us. I gulp as she picks out a kernel of popcorn from her hair and glares at me.
‘Um . . . Ed?’
‘Hmm?’ His gaze slides from the screen to the bouncing beam of light and the popcorn-kernelled woman. His eyes widen amongst the flashes from the screen; I’m not sure if it’s the colour from the screen or Ed’s pallor that has changed to grey.
I look sheepishly up at Kerry, who is standing next to the petite woman. She has her arms arched over the lady’s head and is now pointing enthusiastically to the popcorn kernels ensnared within the backcomb and hairspray. I chew the inside of my lip as Kerry starts counting them loudly, laughing as she does.
‘Oh Jen! Jen! Look at that one! It’s buried right in there!’ Once she reaches six, Kerry bends over, her laughter so consuming that she has started snorting. In contrast, Ed’s face looks anxious. He leans in, speaking into my ear, but I can’t hear him, I can only hear the sound of the dramatic music from the screen and Kerry’s laughter. I glance up to where my sister – sniggering and looking more and more like she’s going to wet herself – narrows her eyes triumphantly as she spots another piece of buttered and salted.
I blink.
Kerry has disappeared.
‘Jen?’ Ed repeats my name.
