Page 87 of If I Could Say Goodbye
‘Mummy always gets me ones without bits.’
I search the contents of the fridge and find it lacking. ‘Um . . . cheese slice?’
‘Is cheese slice pudding?’
‘Yeah. And you get to unwrap it just like a chocolate bar.’ I dangle it in front of him like bait.
‘Thanks, Daddy!’ He snatches it. ‘You’re the best.’ He kisses me on the cheek. ‘Except when Mummy’s here. Then she’s the best and you’re just Dad.’
The car is filled with white noise as I drive us to the doctor’s. Jen is looking out of the window; her eyes are bloodshot, her hands twisting and knotting her fingers.
‘So . . .’
‘Hmmm?’
‘What did you and Nessa get up to after your “few drinks”?’
‘What? Oh.’ I notice the glimmer of a smile as I watch her reaction from the corner of my eye.
‘We played rock, paper, scissors.’
My mind flits through my teenage porn collection and tries to link the images in my head with a rock, a paper and some scissors.
‘Ed!’ Jen’s hand reaches for the steering wheel as I almost clip the kerb.
‘She’s really good at it.’
‘At what?’ I indicate and pull onto the main road.
‘Rock, paper, scissors. She plays by different rules.’
I bet she does.
I reach for the radio and flick through several stations before punching off the dial.
‘Ed, is something wrong?’ she asks as I pull onto the doctor’s carpark.
It’s there every time I close my eyes: the curve of her back, her dark wet hair dropping to a point along Nessa’s shoulder blade. I park the car and turn off the engine, turning towards her.
‘I just didn’t sleep very well . . . you?’
‘No.’ The images are back for a split second. ‘Kerry was worse last night. Fevered dreams . . . and I never really sleep well without you at the best of times.’ Her hand reaches for mine, which is resting on the gearstick, but I flinch. I don’t mean to, but then I’m sure she didn’t mean to take her clothes off with another woman. I look away from the hurt on her face and question, as we go into the doctor’s office, why I’m the one who is feeling guilty.
The brain scan is clear; the blood tests are clear. I should be happy but instead, I say this. ‘So how are you going to fix her?’
I sound like a twat. I know that, but I can’t seem to control my twattish behaviour. My leg is bouncing up and down. I need to be at Hailey’s science afternoon in half an hour. We’ve spent most nights this week painting her volcano. She has made tiny trees and a river meanders along the side of the cardboard. The river is made out of paint mixed with PVA glue and glitter; we made a special trip to Hobby Craft for it. I can’t miss it. Hailey tried to tell Jen about the science afternoon at the weekend but, well, Jen was having a bad day. Or Kerry was. Even I’m starting to sound mad. And it’s beginning to piss me off. You see? I’m a twat. I glance at my watch and the psychiatrist, Dr Popescu, leans backwards into his chair when I say and do these things. He’s a good-looking bastard and I’ve no doubt that he also thinks I’m a twat.
Jen looks at me like I’m something stuck to her shoe.
‘It’s not as simple as fixing her, Ed.’ He leans forward. Even his accent is cool: it’s not all full-on romantic like Italian and French; it’s more a kind of ‘hey look at my accent, it’s so sexy but I’m so cool my accent doesn’t have to try as hard as those other accents’. Jen’s always been a sucker for an accent. I glance in her direction and see that she looks flushed.
Damn it. He even smells good. The fact that this man calls me ‘Ed’ annoys me. He makes ‘Ed’ sound sexy; how can he say my name, a name that I have been learning to pronounce since I was a baby, sound better than when I say it? I run my finger around the neck of my shirt.
‘It’s Edward,’ I correct. ‘Look, man.’ Man? When do I ever call a guy man? His chiselled looks and expensive smell are having an effect on me . . . it’s like I’m trying to fit in with the cool kids. ‘Could we just cut to the chase?’ I snap. My leg continues bouncing up and down in agitation. ‘Because I have an important meeting I need to be at.’
‘But we’ve had this appointment date for two weeks, Ed, couldn’t you have asked them to change it?’
Sure. I could ask the school to change their science day to another date because my wife is having conversations with her dead sister and considering batting for the other team. I’m sure it would have been no bother at all.
