Page 39 of If I Could Say Goodbye
‘Mr Newton . . . Oscar’s teacher?’
She nods again. ‘Don’t tell Mummy I told you, OK? I didn’t mean to break the promise.’
‘It’s not really breaking a promise if you tell your daddy, we’re a promise-free zone,’ I say, plastering a fake smile on my face. ‘Now, go and see if you can get Oscar to pull himself the right way up, he’s starting to look like a blueberry.’
She begins to run off but stops, turns and runs back to me, throwing her arms around my neck. ‘Thank you, Daddy, my heart feels a bit less broken now.’
I swallow the lump in my throat as she kisses my cheek, her skinny legs poking out of her denim shorts, ears sticking out and pigtails swinging unevenly.
What I didn’t think I would be is Haven’t-a-clue-what-is-going-on-with my-kids Dad.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jennifer
Ed has taken the kids out for the day; the house feels empty and cold despite the sun blazing through the windows.
Kerry is pointing the controller at the TV and flicking through the channels.Friendsappears. ‘Ooh, it’s “The One Where Jen Sees Ghosts”.’
I blink.
The screen returns to black, the red stand-by lights glinting in the bottom right corner. Nessa’s number flashes on my phone.
‘Hello?’
She sniffs. ‘It’s me. Can you, can you come round? I’ve done something stupid.’
‘What kind of stupid?’ My voice sounds urgent and abrupt.
‘It’s her things, Kerry’sthings, they’re just everywhere! Can you just, I can’t—’ She is crying as I grab my keys.
‘It’s OK, I’ll be there in a minute, just sit tight, I’m coming.’
I turn off the engine and look towards the house where strewn across the front lawn are clothes – Kerry’s clothes. As I step out of the car, I avoid one of Kerry’s boots, a handbag and a black belt with silver studs on which I remember being part of her eighties fancy-dress outfit. It looks like a tornado has hit.
‘Doesn’t look like we’re in Kansas no more.’Kerry is holding up the black dress she wore to one of the film premieres they went to last year. It was off-the-shoulder with a long split up the thigh.
The gnome, who continues to peek at me from over the fence, is looking undecided about his feelings towards the pink bra that hangs limply from his fishing rod. Kerry’s red dressing gown is hunched in the middle of the lawn. The curtain next door twitches, quickly followed by an anxious-looking lady – the gnome collector, I presume.
Nessa’s body is crouching down against the front door, her body wracked with sobs.
‘Oh, Nessa,’ I say. ‘Come on, up we get.’
I hold on to her elbow tightly and guide her towards the house, where the front door hangs open.
‘One step after the other, that’s it,’ I say under my breath, ignoring the footsteps along the path behind where I can hear the gossip being launched behind mouths covered with appalled hands.
My sister’s widow follows me into the kitchen and folds herself into a chair, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them as I make a coffee. Ed is ringing my phone; I ignore it, turning the phone to silent. The coffee swirls as I add the sugar and pass it towards Nessa’s shaking hands.
‘I thought I could handle it, sorting out her things. I can’t afford to keep them in storage, so . . .’ Nessa looks into her cup as she talks. ‘But when I started going through her stuff, I just felt so angry with her. She shouldn’t be dead.’
‘I should be,’ I say.
‘God, Jen, no, I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s OK. It feels good to be able to say it. I should have died, Ness, it should have been me.’
I should have died.
