Page 90 of If I Could Say Goodbye
‘Do you think you could be that happy again?’ he asks.
I look over at Kerry, who is perched on the edge of his desk, helping herself to a Rolo. She winks at me, just as she had that day.
And then I know.
I can’t be happy again . . . I won’t kill my sister this time.
Our time is up; I gather my things and head towards the door.
‘Jen?’
I turn just in time to catch the foil missile heading in my direction.
‘Aw . . . he gave you his last Rolo!’ Kerry laughs as I smile, thank him and follow her out into the corridor.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Ed
I’ve shaken my twattishness on the drive over. And as I step inside the school hall, I’m sure they all see School-science-fair Dad. That is who I need to be right now; that is who Hales needs. Parents and children stand with plastic cups filled with weak tea and cheap squash. Desks are pushed up against the walls, displaying science projects of all shapes and sizes: the volcano seems to be a popular choice, but as I push my way through the crowds, I feel a glow of pride that Hailey’s beats these other attempts hands down. I mean. Hands. Down.
I spot her standing awkwardly behind the desk. She is chewing the end of one of her fishtail plaits that I totally rocked this morning. Hailey pulls the plait away from her face, which splits into a wide grin when she sees me. A teacher arrives at the desk at the same time as me and is telling her what a great job she has done. Her cheeks go pink at the praise.
‘Thank you,’ she replies quietly. ‘Daddy helped.’
The teacher turns to me. ‘Well you’ve done a brilliant job, both of you!’ He claps me on the back, sips from the plastic cup and goes on to the next table, where what looks like a giant penis is perched precariously. I feel smug that there is no longer even a hint of the phallic about ours.
‘Yours looks awesome, Hales . . . way better than the rest.’ I look towards where another volcano is belching something that looks like wallpaper paste onto pieces of newspaper; other miscellaneous pieces of debris are sticking to it as it puddles beneath the desk amongst a flurry of teaching staff brandishing blue paper towels.
She giggles and covers her mouth. ‘When are you going to set it off?’
The little plastic vial containing vinegar sits neatly inside a papier-mâché rock, waiting for its big moment. ‘I was going to wait until Mr Newton comes over.’
She leans forward and whispers, ‘I heard that he gives out big chocolate bars to the ones he thinks are the best.’
We fist bump and the room hushes as the headteacher taps the microphone and announces that it’s time for the budding scientists to leave their own stations and go and see their fellow scientists’ work. Hailey skips from behind her desk and leads me around the room. I notice as we do that her voice is much quieter than at home. Each time a teacher or an adult asks her a question, her shoulders fold inwards, like she’s trying to make herself smaller than she already is; her replies are barely audible above the din.
‘Holy cow!’ I say as we approach a working model of the water cycle. It looks professionally made, stainless steel cogs turning and moving a cloud across a Perspex background. There is no way a kid has made that. ‘Whose model is that?’ I ask, leaning forward, peering over the mechanics that are moving the river around. There are even sound effects: birds calling, a stream gurgling.
‘Oh, that’s Rachel Rodriguez’s.’ Hailey bites the skin around her thumb and gestures towards the pretty Spanish girl across the other side of the room. The other girls are hanging off her like expensive handbags.
‘Well, the teachers won’t be fooled. It’s clear that the kid had no input whatsoever.’
The teachers won’t be fooled, right? A knot forms in my stomach. I know I’m being competitive – I can see it in the amused smile Hailey is looking up at me with – but my daughter has spent hours on this project, and right now she needs a win. Just. One. Win.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Jennifer
My hand is shaking as I fasten my seat belt. I look down at the phone and reread the school text message that I had ignored, alerting me to Hailey’s science fair. It rattles around my head, clattering around my thoughts like stones in a sieve. How could I have missed this?
I give the address of the school to the driver. The thought of Hailey not having a parent there makes my heart ache. I have always made sure that there has been someone at all of my children’s special days. If Ed or I couldn’t make it, it would be Mum or Dad. But I know Ed wouldn’t have thought of that. It’s not his fault; I always organised that side of things and he’s got so much on his plate. As the car banks around a cyclist, I give myself an internal shake. I’ll get a diary, a hand-held one like I always used to. I think of the diary that I always had in my handbag, shopping list at the ready, doctor’s appointments, hairdressers, play dates, all written down . . . it used to be so easy. As we pull up outside the school and I open my bag, I notice that not only is there no diary, there is no packet of tissues, no mini first-aid kit, no hand sanitiser and travel pack of baby wipes, no power bank in case of emergencies . . . there is just my purse and some Juicy Fruit chewing gum.
Outside the school there are pushchairs parked in cluttered lines; the deputy head is standing by the door like a bouncer. I garble something about science, and he ushers me through to the hall. I scan the crowd but can’t see Hailey, so I follow the cage of displays housing frothing experiments and folded up pieces of cardboard scripted with the names of the children, followed with the letters ‘PhD’. All the children are wearing white lab coats and safety goggles hang around their necks.
I spot Hailey’s name and feel a lump of pride warm in my chest. It must have taken her ages to make it. My finger traces the grooves running down from the vent, the paintbrush marks where the crater circles the edges of a plastic bottle filled with – if memory serves – bicarbonate of soda.
‘This is so cool! Look at all the detail!’ Kerry fingers a small tree trunk with gravel circling its base. ‘Look inside the boulder!’
