Page 65 of The Art of Loving You

I studied the pages. A woman – the woman I’d seen at the ultrasound department at the hospital – smiled out at me holding a bowl of fruit, Owen behind her.

A wholesome couple you’d think, if you didn’t know him.

‘Owen’s a health freak?’

‘Yes. He’s been helping me with food plans. He was checking out my wrist to see if it looked any different.’

‘Wait? What? Checking if it looked different? So this wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him.’

‘No. But …’ she began, falteringly. ‘We … we’renotfriends. Really. I was shocked when he came into The Happy Bean touting his goods a few weeks ago. I gave him a flat no, but Leanne was there that day and she called him back. She asked me why, when we’d already talked about finding a local supplier who could offer gluten- and dairy-free cakes, I had turned him down. My face gave me away because she said if I was letting my personal life influence my business decisions then perhaps she’d been hasty in promoting me to supervisor. I was so stressed I began scratching my wrists and Leanne said … she said my skin was unsightly and could put the customers off their food and Owen said he thought he could help. Hehashelped.’ She hadn’t broken eye contact once.

Instinctively I knew she was telling the truth. I tried to form an apology in my head but my words were inadequate, diminutive, not enough. Instead I sat down next to her and leaned in; our fingers found each other, our noses were almost touching.

There was a beat or two before I asked softly, helplessly, ‘Alice. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘If it had been before … Jack, I probably would have done but … I don’t know. I didn’t think, in the great scheme of things, it needed addressing. I am sorry you were upset though.’

‘You can’t … you can’t treat me as if I’m made of glass forever because of Jack.’ My eyes meet Mum’s over Alice’s shoulder. ‘Both of you.’

Mum stepped forward and wrapped her arms around both of us and I felt both an adult and a child, happy and sad, and loved.

I felt loved.

Later, we drank coffee and ate beans on toast. Alice drenched her plate with tomato ketchup and Mum told her off for using too much sauce, spoiling the taste of the food.

‘You’ve been telling her that for over twenty years,’ I said. ‘And it doesn’t make any difference.’

‘That’s because ketchup enhances the flavour ofeverything,’ Alice said.

We shared a smile. Some things never changed.

‘I know we only talked about it yesterday but have you had any more thoughts about the renovations?’ Mum asked.

‘That’s why I went to the café, to do some research online but …’ I trailed off. I didn’t want to tell them about Liam, not only to protect him, but to protect Jack. Liam was Jack’s mentee and I didn’t want them to think his trust was misplaced. Besides, they’d only want me to tell the police and I hadn’t yet decided what to do.

‘Don’t give up,’ Mum said. ‘You can do it.’

‘That’s what Jack said earlier.’ I realised my mistake when I saw the horrified expression on Mum’s face.

‘Jacksaid?’ Mum and Alice exchanged a glance.

‘You know …’ Miserably I mashed beans with my fork. ‘Like you said yesterday you’d felt Grandad was with you after he died, I just feel Jack’s encouraging me. That’s all.’

‘But you know he’s not here? That you’re not really hearing him?’ Again Mum and Alice swapped a look.

‘Yes. I know that.’ I gave them the answer they wanted to hear because the truth was that I did believe I’d heard Jack, but that was impossible, wasn’t it?

After Mum and Alice had left I carried a mug of tea to bed, the remnants of a hangover still poking behind my eyes. On my iPad I searched for an explanation for the feelings I had felt, the things I had heard – the sense of Jack’s lingering presence. I discovered a man called Dr Louis LaGrand. He’d spent over twenty-five years researching what he termed ‘extraordinary experiences’ and found over seventy million mourners who had experienced a similar thing to me.

I read on, feeling a sense of kinship, of hope. Apparently there were fourteen categories of extraordinary experiences ranging from feeling, hearing or seeing the loved one to having vivid dreams about them. I scrolled through multiple accounts from people who were convinced a loved one had visited them in their dreams. There were also categories for feeling you’d been touched, kissed, or embraced by the person. My face creased with pain. That was what I wanted, more than anything, to feel Jack’s touch. His kiss.

I willed Jack to visit me tonight and I was certain it would happen because I wanted it so much.

I slipped into sleep, convinced he’d be waiting for me with open arms.

Chapter Twenty-Three

My sleep had been deep and uneventful. I woke at dawn, lay listlessly in bed, gazing out the window at the pink and orange streaked sky. Why hadn’t I dreamed of Jack? I’d wanted itsomuch.

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