Page 85 of The Art of Loving You

He was here.

With me.

But for how long? I wanted time to slow down and speed up all at once. I longed for him to stay but I needed to know what came next.

‘Libby?’ His voice lifted me from my thoughts. ‘Say something, please.’

‘Do you rememberRed Dwarf?’

‘Ha! Rimmer.’ Jack pointed at his forehead. ‘I don’t have an H there, do I?’

I laughed but then my sobs choked me once more. Everything was closing in on me, the walls, the ceiling. I grappled for air.

‘You’re okay, Libby. Just breathe.’

‘I … can’t.’ I dropped my head between my knees, trying to calm down. After a few moments I could talk but my words were not slow and measured, they were fast and hysterical.

‘This doesn’t make sense. You can’t be here, not really. And yet …’ My confused heart was breaking.

‘Somehow I am,’ he said quietly.

‘This is crazy.’

‘It is.’

‘Are you a ghost? A figment of my imagination?’ My head just couldn’t make sense of the impossible.

‘I’m … Jack,’ he said simply.

‘But you’re …’ I was overcome with the enormity that he might not remember what had happened to him. ‘You do know that …’

‘That I’m dead?’ His face creased with pain and I felt my own expression mirror his.

‘Did it hurt? Do you hurt?’ My eyes scanned his body. He was wearing his white T-shirt and navy joggers. There was no telltale sign of blood around his middle where his wound was. Could he even bleed any more?

‘I don’t feel … I don’t want to say anything because here’ – he covered his chest with his hand – ‘I feel everything. My love for you is still there. But physically, I can’t feel the stab wound any more. But my body is … I can’t walk through walls, before you ask.’

It was all too much. I was shaking with shock. My teeth clattering together. It was summer but I was washed with cold.

‘Light a fire,’ Jack said.

My hands were trembling as I struck a match, once, twice, three times before it lit and I dropped it into the grate. Poking at the logs until flames flickered. All the while I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Jack, not wanting him to vanish.

He sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. I curled up on the opposite end.

This cannot be real.

But Socks leaped into the space between us. Gazed up at Jack, purring adoringly.

‘Did you … make him?’ I asked, remembering how he came to me. When he came to me.

‘I haven’t suddenly gained superpowers. I can’t make cats.’

‘What can you do? I mean, where do you go when you’re not here?’ I raised my eyes to the ceiling, half expecting to see a fluffy white cloud waiting for Jack to climb back on.

‘I don’t know, Libby,’ he said. ‘Truthfully, it’s all been a bit hazy. There have been snatches when I’m here and then nothing but blackness in between. If there’s a God, I certainly haven’t met them yet.’

I wrapped my arms around myself, not for warmth – the fire was throwing out heat – but because I was breaking apart.

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