‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, and then, conjuring up as much joviality as I could muster, ‘Coffee anyone?’
After admiring the fact we had a French press rather than a jar of instant, Ben and Lucy gulped down their coffees and made their excuses. They had a party to go to, and if they left it any later, everyone else would be too off their faces for it to be fun.
We waved them off after pressing a spare bottle of wine and a bag of real coffee onto them, and then trudged into the kitchen to start clearing away the damage.
‘Can you imagine going to a party at this time?’ Christopher wondered as he scraped a half-eaten bowl of mousse into the trash.
I glanced at the clock: it was ten to midnight. ‘I guess that’s youth for you,’ I said, slinging back the dregs of someone’s glass of red. ‘They seem so happy,’ I said quietly.
Christopher nodded. ‘They really do.’
We worked in silence, stacking the dishwasher and cleaning the pots and wiping down the table and placing the good wine glasses back in the cabinet.
Christopher was hanging the dishtowel back on the oven handle when he said it. ‘I can’t do this. I’m sorry.’ He said it so quietly the first time that I thought I’d misheard him, so I asked him to say it again. I heard it loud and clear the second.
I could have pretended I didn’t understand. I could have asked if he was referring to putting away the dishes, or decanting the leftovers into the Tupperware containers on the counter, but life was too short and we’d already wasted enough time.
‘Me neither,’ I said. His back was towards me, and I watched his shoulders rise and fall. That back of his, that strong, gorgeous back. Every part of me wanted to walk across the room and wrap my arms around him, press his body into mine, feel the warmth of him, the solidity. But I knew I couldn’t. ‘I’ll move out,’ I said, and he nodded.
‘Take your time,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll help if you need money for a deposit …’
‘I have money,’ I said, a little too sharply. I didn’t though. Not enough for a deposit. I flushed with humiliation. ‘Thanks, though. I might have to take you up on that.’
‘All you have to do is ask.’ He turned around at last, and the look on his face was one of such aching sadness that I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. ‘They’re so in love,’ he said, his voice full of wonder.
I nodded. ‘They are.’
‘It just made me think …’ He trailed off, shaking his head.
‘I know,’ I said quietly. ‘Me too. You deserve that. I want you to feel that.’
He raised his eyes to mine, and I was surprised to see they were rimmed with tears. ‘So do you.’
We stared at each other for a minute, our eyes locked onto one another, and it was as though both of us were watching the film of our life together run across an invisible screen. The cab in New York. All the late-night phone calls and transatlantic flights. The Sunday morning walks in the park, both of us still tingling from sex, our cheeks pinked from the breeze. All of the nights we’d spent curled into one another. I watched our hearts break at the same moment.
‘We had a good run, didn’t we?’ he said finally, after the credits rolled.
I smiled and tasted tears. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. ‘We sure did.’
‘I love you, you know.’
‘I love you, too,’ I said.
I knew we both meant it. We would always love each other, in that way you always love your childhood best friend, even if you haven’t spoken for twenty years. But that love was a ghost of what we’d once had, and both of us deserved to have something with blood still pulsing through its veins.
I’d been living in a world of ghosts for years. All of those items to be ticked off some arbitrary list I’d made as a kid … the absurdity of it struck me as I stood there. How much time had I wasted trying to live the life I thought I should be living, rather than letting life happen to me?
I thought back to Mr Bryant’s words. ‘It’s not grief that makes you do crazy things, it’s love.’ All these years, I thought I was dodging my mother’s fate, and really I’d fallen straight into it. It was a bright and clean and orderly sort of crazy, sure, but it was crazy nonetheless.
It was time to throw the list away.
The rest of the weekend was surprisingly bearable, considering it was spent with my now-ex-fiancé. Now that everything was out in the open, it was as if both of us had taken a deep breath of fresh air and relaxed. We called Deborah on Sunday and canceled Tillbury Manor – I’m pretty sure she was more upset about our break-up than we were, bless her – and I contacted the other Jenny and asked if I could sell her the dress back at half-price. She gave me a full refund. The wedding invitations went in the recycling, and Christopher phoned his parents to give them the news. I called my dad and my aunt, both of whom were great about it. And just like that, the wedding – the whole life – I’d thought about for so long, ceased to exist. You pull one thread and the whole skein unravels.
On Monday morning, I got to work early. Ben wasn’t in yet – presumably still basking in the refracted glow of Lucy’s love as he showered in his mouldy bathroom – so I had the office to myself. I got myself a cup of coffee, opened my emails, scrolled through the news. And then, finally, I took a deep breath and opened my desk drawer.
The envelope was where I’d left it. The edges were bent and furred from being shoved into the back of the drawer, and an uncapped pen had left an inky smudge on the front. I slit it open with my finger and inched the papers onto my desk.
The form was surprisingly simple. Just a couple of pages with some legal language declaring the marriage null and void – initial here, sign and date there. Jackson’s signature was already there, his handwriting blocky and bold. I ran my finger over it, felt the impression his pen had made on the paper. And then I uncapped my pen and added my signature next to his.
That was it. We were divorced.
I breathed out a long sigh. I felt tired – deep, down to the bone tired – but relieved, too. Now I really could have a fresh start.
I was tucking the papers back into the envelope when I found it. There, at the bottom of the envelope, was a photograph. I reached in and pulled it out. I didn’t recognize it at first. It was a close-up of my face tilted upwards. The camera had zoomed in on my eyes, their green obscured by the kaleidoscope of color dancing in them. The lights around Westminster from that night. He’d taken a picture of me looking at them without me noticing. I stared at it. I looked so happy, so filled with wonder. And he’d seen that and captured it for ever.
My heart swelled.
Ben burst into the cube trailing a cloud of shower gel, the ends of his hair still damp. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he called as he tossed his bag down on the floor. ‘Thanks again for dinner on Saturday – it was really great. Lucy and I couldn’t stop talking about how nice your flat is. Even if it is in Tossers’ Park.’ He threw me a cheeky smile, but I sat there, immobile. He saw the look on my face and faltered. ‘Only joking. Lucy and I are seriously thinking about making a move over there. How much do you think the average rent is there for a one-bed?’
‘No idea,’ I mumbled.
‘Oh, right – I forgot Christopher owns. Lucky bastard. I can’t even think how much that place is worth now. Has he had it valued recently? Christ, Lucy and I are never going to be able to afford a flat. Not unless one of our relatives dies and we inherit some serious cash. Not that I want that to happen or anything,’ he added hurriedly. He sat down heavily in his chair and stared at me. ‘You all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Old Jeremy hasn’t been in here giving you hell, has he?’
I shook my head.
‘Good. Anyway, tell Christopher I said thanks for the tip about that trainers shop in Covent Garden. Lucy and I popped down there yesterday after we had lunch with some of her mates and he’s right, they have an incredible selection. I got a pair of limited edition Adidas that I swear were sold out eve
rywhere.’
‘Christopher and I broke up.’
Ben’s head snapped so hard I worried for his neck in later years. ‘What?’
I nodded. ‘After you left on Saturday night.’
‘Holy shit. But … why? You guys seemed great when we left. Did you get in a fight or something? Has he been cheating on you? That bastard. I swear to God, if he’s been cheating, I’ll shove my limited edition Adidas so far up his arse—’
‘We didn’t fight. He isn’t cheating. It just …’ I shrugged. ‘It wasn’t working.’
‘But the wedding – you guys just booked that place in Somerset …’
‘Canceled.’
‘Fuck.’ He looked genuinely devastated, and I was touched by how much he cared. ‘What can I do?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m fine, honestly. It was a mutual decision, and it’s one hundred per cent for the best.’ He looked so dubious that I had to laugh. ‘Honest! It’s a good thing. I promise.’
He eyed me warily. ‘Okay, but if you want to, like, cry or whatever, I’m cool with it. I’ll put my headphones in.’
‘I don’t want to cry.’
‘Okaaaaaaay …’
‘I don’t! But there is something you could do for me.’
He nodded. ‘Whatever you need.’
‘Can you cover my cases for a little while?’
He tilted his head to the side. ‘You going on holiday?’
‘Sort of.’ I hadn’t realized I was until I’d said it, but now that I had, I was desperate to go.
‘That’s great. A bit of time off will be good for you. When do you leave?’
‘Soon, actually.’ My mind whirred. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Christ, that is soon. Have you told Jeremy?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m sure he won’t mind,’ Ben said, trying and failing to look reassuring. ‘You never ask for time off, and he still loves you because of the Bryant case. And I’ll handle your cases, no problem. How long will you be gone? A week? Two?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, and admitting the uncertainty felt like clearing a great swathe of space in my head. My shoulders actually sagged with relief.
Ben shot me a strange look. ‘Jeremy might have an issue with that.’
‘I know,’ I said. I glanced down at the photograph on my desk. The eye stared up at me, full of color. ‘I’ll risk it.’
18
Dallas is enormous – a never-ending sprawl of tract houses spreading out from the gouge of skyscrapers at its center. As the plane circled for landing, I peered out of the window and down at the city spread out beneath us. Its size was dizzying, humbling, and beyond its craggy, uncertain edges, a patchwork of golden fields stretched to the horizon, where it met with the biggest and bluest sky I’d ever seen.
‘Flight attendants, take your seats for landing.’
It was only then that the nerves bubbled up inside me. It had all come together so quickly, I hadn’t had the chance to consider what I was doing. When I asked Jeremy for the time off, he’d practically shoved me out of the office. ‘Hey, after the way you put the screws on old man Bryant, the least I can do is let you get a break from the rat race.’ I thanked him and backed out of his office slowly.
I didn’t tell Christopher where I was going, only that I’d be gone for a while and that I’d hopefully have a place lined up by the time I got back. He told me that there was no rush, that I could stay in the flat for as long as I wanted, but I could see the relief in his eyes.
Isla thought I was crazy, but in a good way. ‘Thank the Lord!’ she’d howled when I told her that Christopher and I had broken up. ‘Not that I didn’t like the guy,’ she added quickly, but I’d known what she meant. I was relieved, too. The more time passed, the more sure I was that it had been the right thing. When I told her what I planned to do next, she wished me luck and made me promise to swing by New York afterwards. ‘I’m going to take you out for the biggest drink of your life!’ she declared, before remembering what had happened the last time she had done that. ‘No secret weddings, though,’ she warned, ‘unless I’m there as a witness.’
I bought the plane ticket with the refunded wedding dress money, threw a few things in a bag, and away I went.
The plane made a bumpy landing, my stomach flipping with every hop. We pulled up to the gate and my fellow passengers commenced unbuckling their seat belts and stretching their legs, and checking their phones, and nearly braining each other when pulling their unfeasibly large carry-on luggage out of the overhead compartments. I stayed put.
I was here. I was about to do what I’d come here to do.
I was terrified.
‘Excuse me, miss.’ I looked up to see the brassy-haired woman who’d been my loud-snacking seatmate for the flight staring pointedly at the still-gridlocked aisle. ‘I need to get my case.’
I dutifully got up and did the standard half-stand/half-crouch in my seat until the passengers in front of us had shuffled off the plane. I grabbed my bag, checked that I had my passport, my phone, and the Manila envelope I’d tucked in the front pocket, and made my way to passport control.
It was true what they said about Texans: love them or hate them, they are unfailingly polite. By the time I was handed the keys to my rental car, I’d been ma’amed so many times I’d almost forgotten my real name.
I’d asked for the smallest car in the lot, but it was only with a modicum of surprise that I found myself in the driver’s seat of a medium-sized tank. ‘It’s an SUV-hybrid, ma’am,’ the man at the desk explained when I returned to ask if he had anything smaller.
‘Don’t you have a compact?’ I’d asked pleadingly.
He shook his head. ‘Ma’am, that is our compact.’
And so I set off in the SUV-hybrid, carefully edging my way out of the parking lot and onto the vast highway system that threaded through Dallas, feeling like I should be wearing a trooper helmet and peering out of a periscope rather than a windshield.
The route, according to the minuscule map on my phone, was a straight shot on US-82. Once I was clear of the airport and out on the road, I felt myself relax into the drive. In five hours, I’d have my answer. But for now, all I could do was point the car along the straight, sure line of the road and hit the gas.
It had been a long time since I’d driven in America, and I’d never driven through anywhere like this. The sheer vastness of it was overwhelming. I drove and drove, but the horizon stayed a fixed point in the distance. Occasionally I passed through a small town, with its diner and post office and red-brick school, but mostly it was just land. Every once in a while, I’d see a herd of cows milling around near a thin wire fence, their faces impassive as their mouths worked their cud, or a tall barn standing proudly at the edge of a field, but mainly it was just nothing. An endless stretch of nothing.
It was so beautiful, it made my heart ache.
I pulled into New Deal at around dinnertime. The street lights were on, but it was still light outside, and their pale beams were no match for the sun. I pulled the car over. There was a general store up ahead, the sign a shingle hanging above the door, which was propped open to let the air circulate. I went inside and walked up to the counter. A man in a blue button-down was sitting behind the register rolling change.
‘Excuse me,’ I said quietly, ‘I was wondering if you could help me.’
He looked up at me and smiled. ‘I sure hope so, sweetheart. What can I do for you?’
‘I’m looking for a man,’ I stuttered. ‘He – I’m pretty sure he lives here.’ The address listed on the divorce papers had just been a PO Box. I had no idea what street he lived on, or the house number. I’d turned up like Blanche Dubois, hoping to rely on the kindness of strangers. Ridiculous, really.
‘Well, if he does, I’d know about it. New Deal is a small place. What’s his name?’
‘Jackson. Jackson Gaines.’
‘Of course I know Jackson!’ he crowed. ‘I went to school with his daddy.’
Relief coursed th
rough me, tinged with something else. Fear. ‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘Sure do, though I’m not sure if I should be going around telling strangers.’ He sized me up. ‘Though I’m guessing Jackson wouldn’t mind me telling a pretty lady like yourself. He’s over on Monroe. Number 19, I believe. It’s got a swing on the front porch, though I guess they all do. If you can’t find it, come on back here and I’ll take you over there myself.’
‘Thank you!’ I beamed. I hurried out to my car and threw it in reverse. I’d passed Monroe half a block back.
Jackson’s house was small but perfectly formed. Weathered white clapboard with a generous front porch, with, as promised, a swing bench swaying gently next to the door. I walked up the flagstone path, Manila envelope crushed against my chest. I could feel the sweat pooling underneath my cotton T-shirt. I’d swiped on some lipstick in the rear-view mirror, but between the nine-hour flight and the five-hour drive and the now-almost-unbearable anxiety, it hadn’t made much of an improvement. My nerve faltered, and I stopped in my tracks. What was I doing here? Had I lost my mind? But it was too late now. I was here, on his front porch. I could only keep going.
I knocked gently at first, and then took a polite step back from the door, as though I were a census-taker, or a Jehovah’s Witness. No answer. I approached again and knocked harder this time. Waited. Still no answer.
I’d come all this way and I hadn’t even checked if he’d be home. Embarrassment flooded through me. What had I been thinking? I knew he traveled all the time. I knew he was almost never home. What on earth had possessed me …
‘If you’re looking for Jackson, you won’t find him here.’
I turned, startled, to see an old man sticking his head out of the upstairs window of the house next door.
Jenny Sparrow Knows the Future Page 28
