My husband is not the type of man to abandon his wife. But he is the type of man who will protect his family. No matter what. That is why, when he is explaining why he never told me about the science fair, I know he is telling the truth.
We are sitting in our lounge. The wallpaper is made of stripes: beige, grey, silver, beige, grey, silver. I stare at the repeating lines: so straight and neat, so tidy and organised. Just like my life was when we chose them. The list of wallpapers that had been narrowed down into a shortlist, my handwriting clear and precise. Lists used to give me pleasure – even my day to day routine was written down in a list – but I don’t think I would be capable of even finding a notepad right now.
‘Do you understand, Jen? It’s just until you get better . . . the kids are seeing too much. We’re going to fight this, you and I, but the kids need to be protected.’
He reaches into the backpack that he seems to carry around with him wherever he goes and opens a packet of tissues, handing me one. I will my fingers to reach for them, but they don’t move. He leans forward and starts to wipe my face like I’m a child. The texture of the tissue feels rough on my face, like sandpaper. I wish for a moment that it was, that he could rub away this broken layer and reveal smooth new skin, skin that’s not warped and brittle.
‘I’ll tell the kids that you’re going on holiday with your parents. I’ll tell them they can’t go because you have to help with Grandpa’s back and I have to work. They’ll understand.’
I want to reply but my mouth remains closed.
‘I’ll come and visit you every day, I’ll take you to the doctor’s, I’ll help you. You’re not going to do this alone.’
My hand twitches and reaches for the open packet of tissues on the sofa. And I begin wiping away his tears. I’m not sure he knows that they are running along the curve of his cheeks, that they are glistening on his lips. The room is silent; we stare at each other, trying to wipe away the layer of guilt that is covering us.
‘Are we really going to do this, Ed?’ I ask. I can see how much this is hurting him; his words are trying to be controlled but instead they come out in a rush.
‘We-don’t-have-a-choice.’
I glance up at Kerry, who mouths the words, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat.
Ed opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak but instead pulls me into his chest, where I can feel him shuddering with the sobs he’s trying not to let me hear.
I don’t know how long we’ve been walking but Kerry and I are sitting on top of Hayworth Hill.
‘You have to do it, Jen,’ Kerry says again, but no matter how many times she says it, I still don’t know how I can. ‘You have to let me go.’
‘I don’t think I’m strong enough,’ I reply.
‘You’re stronger than you think.’
‘Really? Do I need to remind you of the state of my life right now? Losing you once has cost my family, my sanity . . . my life.’
‘You still have a life; you know you do. You have to let me go. Think about that day, the last day you were happy. You think you can’t be that happy again because I won’t be there? Right?’
I nod.
‘But imagine that day without them, Jen. They’re here, they’re alive, they need you . . . they need you more than I ever have.’
I close my eyes: the volcano erupts; Hailey and Ed look at me. A sob catches in my chest.
‘Will you help me? I can’t do it on my own.’
‘Yes, you can. It’s going to be tough at first, Jen . . . but you can do it. I know you can. Get stronger tablets in case Dr Popescu is wrong and this isn’t just complicated grief.’
‘But they make you so ill.’
‘I can take it. You can do this, Jen,’ she repeats. ‘You have to do this.’
‘I know.’
Chapter Sixty-Two
Jennifer
I pull the duvet over my shivering shoulders; the tears won’t stop today. I can’t stop them. I’ve lost count of the days I’ve been here, since I’ve seen my children. I remember Mum mentioning it was August . . . August used to be my favourite time