Page 65 of If I Could Say Goodbye
‘You don’t need to leave, Jen. I can fix this,’ he repeats.
‘No, Ed. No you can’t. I’ll go and stay at Mum and Dad’s.’ I turn and begin to leave the room.
‘Jen . . .’
I hesitate, then face him.
Kerry slips her hand into his and leans her head against Ed’s shoulder.
‘Do you know that right now, I can see my dead sister holding your hand, that she is leaning her head against your shoulder?’
Ed glances down to where his hands are hanging by his sides.
‘That it’s taking everything in me not to look at her face? You saw how scared Hailey was, Ed. I can’t do this to our children, to you.’
‘But leaving won’t make it better, Jen.’ He says the words, but I can tell he knows I’m right.
‘No, but I need to protect them until I am. Thank you . . . for showing me the video.’
‘What will we tell the kids?’ His voice is hoarse, the words strangled.
‘We’ll tell them Dad is ill or something. I’ll go and get my things.’
‘Wait.’ Ed grabs my hand and pulls me back. ‘Go tomorrow. I’ll take you, let me explain it to them. Let me help you.’
‘Tell him everything, Jen, it’s make or break time. After all . . . it’s another day tomorrow.’
‘What does Kerry say?’ he asks, looking towards his shoulder.
I take a deep breath.
‘She says I should tell you everything. And then she’s justkind ofquoted Scarlett O’Hara.’
His eyebrows raise in surprise. ‘The one about tomorrow being another day?’ He ponders briefly. ‘Gone with the Wind? It doesn’t sound like one she’d like.’
I nod. ‘It’s what she does . . . what I do. That’s how I know she’s not really here. She quotes films that I know she never watched.’ I wipe away a tear.
‘Well . . . that’s a start. So you don’t—’ a smile crinkles around his eyes, as he quotes fromThe Sixth Sense.
Kerry bats him on the arm.
‘That’s what Kerry said.’
‘Stay the night, Jen. Let’s eat dinner, let’s talk. Then tomorrow—’
‘I’ll tell my parents that I can see their dead daughter and that the one they’re left with is going crazy?’
‘That the daughter they love needs all of our help.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Ed
I wait until I know Jen is in a deep sleep, then move myself from beneath her arm and go downstairs.
I wait for the kettle to boil as Google blinks at me. What did we do without it? Do you remember the days when you would spot an actor and you couldn’t place them? I remember me and Jen arguing over this guy, I was sure it was Malcolm McDowell, but Jen was certain it was Terence Stamp. Jen was right and every time a similar conversation came up, she would say, ‘Don’t make me Terence Stamp you.’ There are no Terence Stamp moments now, are there? A quick swipe of the screen and your answers are right there in front of you. Maybe life would be better without it; pre-Terence Stamp I wouldn’t be about to read stuff that I know, in my gut, I don’t want to know.
I open the fridge; the remains of the cannelloni sit inside a Tupperware tub. I feel like throwing it across the room. Instead, I reach for the milk and go to make a mug of tea, but my fingers are gripping the plastic handle of the carton . . . what would spilt milk achieve? Even so, my hand is shaking as I take out the tea bag and stir in the milk. The spoon clatters onto the work surface, my fingers grip the edge as my head drops to my chest, tears spill unchecked, my chest begins to heave and I have to force my fist into my mouth to stop the sounds of my sobs escaping into our house.
