‘Definitely not.’ I give Ed a sheepish look and the doctor chuckles.
‘That all sounds good. So back to the insomnia, have you ever suffered from it before?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘So, explain to me, if you can, about how it feels when you try to sleep.’
‘I start thinking about the accident, and just lately, well, I keep having these thoughts . . . questions really, you know, why I’m here, and my sister isn’t, you know that kind of stuff, but that’s normal after you’ve lost someone close, isn’t it?’
‘Lost? I’m not lost . . . Hellooo? Earth to Jen.’ She waves her hands above her head.
I don’t let my gaze flicker to Kerry. ‘And it’s normal to be thinking about them, to be thinking about old memories?’
She pauses, sensing that I haven’t finished talking.
‘It’s just that—’ I clear my throat. ‘I think about Kerry a lot and I often find myself . . . daydreaming? Replaying good times with her, that kind of thing.’
‘Yes, that’s all perfectly normal,’ the doctor replies. ‘I think anyone who has lost someone so close will have those types of questions.’
‘Jen has also been . . . acting a little out of character,’ Ed butts in, and I try my very best not to scowl at him. I was just being told how normal I am, she was all smiley, and now look, her neat little eyebrows have gone all ‘concerned’.
‘In what way?’
‘Well . . . she’s been, um trying new things . . .’
I feel myself redden, thinking about the new position I had insisted we try last night; Ed almost broke his back.
‘Like going to theme parks and jumping off cliffs and—’
‘It was only a little jump,’ I reassure the doctor with a smile. ‘It was a place called Lovers’ Leap . . . have you ever been?’
‘No, no I don’t think I have.’
‘Oh, you should go, it’s beautiful isn’t it, Ed?’
He nods, his mouth opening to continue, but I jump in.
‘And Ed enjoyed it just as much as me, didn’t you?’
‘Um, yes, it was great. But then Jen went to the higher ledge and cut herself and—’
‘It was just a scratch. He worries too much, that’s all.’
‘And then she went roller-booting recently . . .’
‘I see.’ She smiles indulgently at Ed. ‘So, these changes are not dramatic?’
‘No, but she often stares into space and . . .’ His voice trails off as he turns to me, his eyes pleading with me to help him explain things better.
‘Right, I think the best thing we can do is to get your insomnia sorted first. It might well be that Jen’s moments of lost concentration are a side effect from lack of sleep. I’ll prescribe some sleeping tablets and then let’s book you in for another appointment in a month to see how you’re doing. Does that sound OK? And in the meantime, I’ll print off the NHS notes on bereavement for you both to look through. I think that it’ll reassure you both that what you are going through is very common. Talking about it and being open is key.’ She smiles at us both, hands us the print-out and prescription. ‘But, in the meantime, if you have any concerns, please book an earlier appointment.’
We spend that afternoon at Mum and Dad’s. Dad at the barbecue, Mum making virgin cocktails for the kids and positively pornographic ones for us.
Kerry and her notebooks are out again; she’s judging the kids’ efforts with a pen in one hand, notebook in the other. The kids have been making mud pies, marking them out of ten, adding some of Kerry’s scribbled-down suggestions: plain flour (not bad but gloopy), shampoo (looks good but a little sloppy), sugar (total disaster, too many wasps), until they found the winner, which was glitter and sand.
Hailey and Oscar soon tire of the fun and games and return to the kids’ channels. The sun is packed away by clouds that look like a slate roof, each swollen grey cloud slotting on top of another, while dirty-golden light tries to shine through the gaps, trying to get through, but the darkness is keeping it out. My parents and Ed head into the kitchen to wash up, so I go and sit on the tyre swing that Kerry has just vacated; the edges dig into the back of my thighs as I step backwards on tiptoes, before letting my body swing forward. I feel Kerry’s hands push my back, pushing me higher into the air.