The Gift

by Louise Jensen

  We sit in silence. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say, and I wonder whether I should just go home. Tom and Amanda will come to terms with everything eventually, and Nathan’s still grieving. My detective work doesn’t seem to be getting me anywhere.

  I clear my throat, and Nathan twists to look at me.

  ‘Sorry. This wasn’t how I planned the day. Talking about my ex, but I feel comfortable with you, Jenna, in a way I don’t usually feel with people,’ he says and I wonder if he feels it too; this invisible thread that binds us together.

  ‘It’s OK. Really.’

  ‘No it isn’t. Hungry? I can make it up to you with food.’ He stands and reaches out both hands and pulls me to my feet. ‘There’s a great pub and it’s not too far.’

  Conversation flows easily over dinner. I feel I’ve known Nathan for ever and I suppose, in a way, I have. Each time I mention Callie or Sophie, Nathan changes the subject, and after a while it’s a relief to talk about the mundane: TV, music. I’m surprised to find I’m enjoying myself, and I wonder if he is too.

  There’s a change in the atmosphere as our plates are cleared, and as we both reach for the bill our hands brush and there’s a spark. Nathan asks if I’d like to go back to his for coffee. I feel a pang of longing and I tell myself it’s only because I am feeling Callie’s feelings. I try to think of Sam, but as we leave the pub I can’t feel anything except the heat of Nathan’s hand through my jacket as it rests on the small of my back. I can’t help wishing he were touching my skin.

  At Nathan’s I sit on the end of the sofa with my feet tucked under me, feeling completely at home.

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘Not for me thanks.’ The warm flush of alcohol would settle my nerves but it’s strictly off limits after my transplant. ‘It gives me migraines,’ I lie. Telling people I never drink always causes them to eye me suspiciously, and leads to a multitude of questions.

  ‘That must be rough. A girl at my office gets migraines. I’ve never had one, thankfully. I’ll make some tea.’

  Alone, I try to recall why Tom said Nathan had left the wedding. Wasn’t that a migraine? Or did he feel sick. I scrunch up my eyes but the memory dances just beyond my fingertips and I can’t quite reach it.

  When Nathan sits back down he’s so close our thighs press together, and I’m hot and cold and excited and terrified and everything but thirsty, but that’s OK, my hand’s shaking too much to pick up my drink anyway.

  ‘Can I ask you something personal, Jenna?’

  My hand instinctively flutters to my chest, making sure my scar is covered. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you still in love with Sam?’

  The question hits me like a punch in the gut and I open my mouth to say no, but the word sticks to my tongue like peanut butter and I can’t spit it out. Instead I shake my head but I don’t know if I’ve convinced Nathan any more than I’ve convinced myself.

  Nathan crosses the room, bends and fiddles with the silver iPod that rests on a Sonos Dock. Laid-back folk music fills the air, and my feet begin to tap a rhythm as though they’ve heard the song before.

  ‘Do you get lonely?’ Nathan asks, picking up the conversation where he’d left it.

  I think of the times I’ve lain on the bathroom floor feeling as though I might die. The nights I’ve woken up, pressing my hands against my chest, checking my heart’s still beating, terrified it will stop. The dark and chilly evenings curled on the sofa alone.

  ‘I’m OK on my own,’ I say but my eyes fill with tears and my voice breaks, and I hate myself for feeling so vulnerable.

  Nathan stretches his arm around me and strokes the back of my neck until my skin feels so hot I think it must surely be burning his fingers. I’m stiff at first. Awkward. But I allow myself to lean into him. He’s not Sam but there’s a familiarity about him that makes my body ache. It’s been so long since I have been touched. We sit still at first. Silent.

  ‘Jenna,’ he whispers, and I twist my head to look at him.

  I’m scared and excited, and as he leans in to kiss me I pull back not sure this is what I want. I touch his face. He leans in again; his lips brush mine, and I am lost. He pushes me back until I’m lying on the sofa; my hands twist in his hair, and his tongue thrusts into my mouth. His hands are everywhere and my body is screaming out for this but as he tugs at the button of my jeans my ecstasy plunges into terror. Is my heart strong enough? Will I die? I bat his hand away and try to sit up but he kisses me again and begins to unbutton my blouse. I can’t let him see my scar, and I slap my own hand over my buttons to block him but I can’t stop kissing him. Can’t seem to tell him it’s too much. Too soon. I’m not ready. I was never meant to like him but I want this so badly my hips rock up. I tug his shirt from his jeans, feel the warmth of his skin. I count the beats of my heart as Nathan rolls my nipples between his thumb and forefinger; I stop counting as he trails kisses down my neck and by the time his hand snakes his way inside my jeans my initial whimpers of fear morph into cries of passion, and I no longer care that my heart is galloping. I gasp and part my legs and feel myself falling, falling, falling over a cliff.

  It is late as I sit at my kitchen table, moonlight flooding through the window, a half-empty mug of chamomile tea in front of me. I close my eyes and run two fingers over my chest trying to feel what Nathan felt. Did he notice my scar? The skin feels thinner to me. Puckered. But I know it’s there. My thoughts are so chaotic. I can’t imagine how I’ll sleep tonight.

  ‘Stay,’ Nathan had begged.

  ‘I can’t.’ I had wriggled out of his grasp and called a taxi. Nathan had offered to drive but I insisted on a cab. I didn’t want the awkwardness of feeling obliged to invite him in.

  ‘It’s not like you’ve got anyone to rush home to, is it?’ He had frowned.

  ‘No.’ I had nipped the soft flesh of my bottom lip between my teeth. I hadn’t known what to say. I hadn’t wanted the awkwardness of getting undressed. Questions about my scar, and besides it’s Callie’s birthday tomorrow and I need to leave my flat early to get to Tom and Amanda’s.

  ‘I’ve got a day off on Monday?’ I said. ‘Are you owed any more hours?’

  ‘Yes, Monday’s good but what about this weekend too?’

  ‘I’ve got plans. Sorry,’ I added as his face fell.

  The taxi honked its arrival and Nathan had walked me to the car, and kissed me long and hard.

  ‘Any chance of you getting in today, luv?’ The driver had called and I climbed into the back of the car.

  Now, as I rinse my cup at the sink I glance out of the window. Across the road, out of the blackness, a shadow moves. A figure. I stand motionless. My light is off so they shouldn’t be able to see in but the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. They lean against the wall, staring up at my window. I can’t properly see them in the darkness, and it’s difficult to tell whether it’s a man or a woman. My chest feels tight. Who is it? Can they see me? I force myself to look away. But my eyes are drawn back to the window. They’re still there. I tell myself they’ve probably stepped out for a cigarette but I can’t see a tell-tale red glow. My body is rigid. Muscles ache. But I remain standing, watching them, watching me until I blink and they’re gone and I wonder if they were ever there at all. Vanessa said there is nothing to be scared of, but my heart races all the same.

  30

  It’s draughty and the breeze lifts the hem of my skirt and I place my palms flat against the silk, smoothing it down. Marilyn Monroe may have carried off the effortlessly sexy windswept look but I don’t want to expose my knickers to the whole of Paris, even if they are brand new red silk – ooh la la. This is the second time we’ve been up the tower. We had stood in this exact spot earlier, freezing fingers wrapped around mugs brimming with thick hot chocolates bought at the café, marvelling at the people scurrying past below us like ants, never glancing up. How long do you have to live in a city before you become immune to its beauty? If I lived here I’d never take it for granted
, I’m sure. This is stunning though, even if I am cold. The lights splayed out before me; the moon casting a creamy glow on the river. It’s even clear enough to see the stars. This is the singular most romantic evening of my life.

  A boat glides along the water. Camera flashes pepper the sky like miniature fireworks and I wonder what time the last trip is and whether there’s a bar on board. I shiver and you drape your suit jacket across my shoulders. You stand close behind me and wrap your arms tightly around my waist, and I try to memorise every tiny detail. There’s such a buzz. The women so elegant with their tiny waists and pixie cuts. I finger the ends of my hair. It’s been long for ages. There’s a hairdressers in our hotel and I think tomorrow I’ll have it cut short and perhaps dyed too.

  I rest my head back against your chest. You clear your throat behind me and your body stiffens. I’m suddenly cold as you let me go, and I turn to ask if you’re OK.

  I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing at first. You’re in front of a spotlight, nothing but a giant shadow and I think you might be hurt as you drop to one knee, but then I see it. The diamond sparkles brighter than Parisian evenings and I can’t take my eyes off the box you’re clutching in your hand.

  ‘Marry me, baby?’

  It is so unexpected I can’t speak, and the other people who are up here with us fade away even though I can still hear them whispering. Waiting for an answer. The world seems to swirl around me, as though I’ve got vertigo, even though I’m not afraid of heights, and I feel I’m falling. You stretch out a hand and I take it, feeling safe once more. There’s a click of a camera, a flash and black dots dance in front of my eyes. I can’t see but I can feel. I can feel what’s in my heart, and it’s you. It’s always been you.

  ‘Yes,’ I say and I can hardly believe how lucky I am to have you.

  I’d trust you with my life.

  31

  It’s silly, I know, but I pull a black and white striped top out of the wardrobe this morning. Dreaming about Paris last night has made me long for the effortless chic the Parisian women all seem to pull off, and if I feel good on the outside maybe I’ll feel better on the inside. Ignoring my usual perfume, I spray Chanel Nº 5 onto my wrists but the floral scent makes my stomach roll. I am so nervous about seeing Tom and Amanda today. How must they be feeling on the first of Callie’s birthdays without her here?

  As I apply my mascara there’s a knock on the front door making me jump, and the wand slips, streaking my cheek with black that matches the shadows under my eyes. Last night I’d tossed and turned in bed for hours and every time I came close to dropping off anxiety nudged me awake, sending me skittering to the front door to check it was locked. That if there was anyone watching me they couldn’t get in.

  The knocking comes again and I hesitate before I answer but if I’m ever going to get over this Secondary Traumatic Stress I have to start somewhere, and it seems unimaginable that anything bad could happen with the sun streaming so brightly through the windows. I pull the door open as I rub at my cheek.

  ‘Nathan!’

  ‘Sorry.’ He doesn’t smile. ‘I know I shouldn’t just turn up unannounced and we weren’t supposed to meet until Monday.’ He stares at his feet.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a minute? I’m going out in half an hour but…’

  ‘Where did you say you were going today?’ He steps over the threshold and I am uncomfortable at him standing in the hallway, in the place Sam once stood. I am not sure how I feel about him in the cold light of day. I don’t know what’s me and what’s Callie any more.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I study him, avoiding his question. ‘You look shattered.’ He hasn’t shaved and the whites of his eyes are streaked red.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  He can’t quite look at me, and after a beat I ask: ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Last night.’ He clears his throat. ‘I hadn’t planned on that happening. It felt right though. To me. But today…well, today is a difficult day. It would have been Callie’s birthday, and I can’t help wondering if I’m a terrible person. I’d hate for her to think I was forgetting her. I like you, Jenna, I really do, but I feel so bloody guilty.’ His shoulders begin to shake, and I step forward and pull him into a hug and we remain standing, arms wrapped around each other, hearts beating together, for the longest time. When we eventually pull apart he asks: ‘Can I have a glass of water?’

  ‘Of course.’ I swivel and head towards the kitchen, Nathan trailing me, but as I approach the door I see Callie’s face smiling down from my walls, the mind map on my fridge, and I stop so suddenly Nathan crashes into me. I turn, trying to block his view but he is frowning and I don’t know if it’s too late. What has he seen?

  ‘Why don’t you wait in the lounge. It’s a mess in here.’ I point down the hallway.

  ‘Washing up everywhere is there? It’s OK. We’ve all got bad habits, haven’t we?’ He sidesteps, trying to get past me and I block him, take a step forward, forcing him to step back.

  ‘Please,’ I say putting my hands on his chest, and his eyes narrow as he looks over my shoulder, and I push him backwards.

  Nathan is sitting on the sofa in silence when I hand him his water, and I hope he doesn’t notice how much my hand is trembling.

  We don’t speak, each of us lost to our own thoughts but as he leaves the kiss he gives me on my cheek feels forced, or is it just my imagination?

  ‘Come on in, Jenna,’ Tom says but his smile is fleeting, quickly replaced with an expression of unhappiness he can’t hide. The lounge is stuffier than normal and it feels as though there is something tight squeezing my lungs as I cross the room to greet Joe and kiss Amanda hello.

  ‘How did you get on at the cemetery?’ I ask

  ‘There were silk flowers on Callie’s grave,’ Amanda says. ‘She would have loved them. Nathan must have put them there. I’m so glad he hasn’t forgotten her.’

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ Tom says.

  ‘Why don’t we go out? Have a bit of a walk?’ I suggest, longing to escape the trapped, stale air.

  ‘Out? Again?’’ Amanda looks stricken at the thought, and I squeeze her hand.

  ‘We could go to the park?’ Tom says. ‘Callie would have liked that.’

  ‘OK,’ she says.

  ‘It’s really warming up outside. You might want to change out of your jumper,’ I say, and Tom takes her upstairs to get ready.

  When they leave the room, I turn to Joe. ‘Have you heard from Sophie today?’

  ‘No,’ he says.

  And it’s the way his face sags that makes me blurt out: ‘I’ve been trying to find her.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  The question throws me and I fall silent but he leans towards me and I know I have to explain. I speak, tentatively at first, explaining how much I want to help but I feel as though I’ve strayed on to shifting sands, watching his expression, gauging his reaction. Without meaning to I tell him about the pub, the police; the words falling from my lips as I stumble over sentences in a rush to get it all out before Tom and Amanda return. When I’ve finished, he leans back in his chair and rubs his hand across his face.

  ‘I know you mean well,’ he says. ‘But that pub doesn’t seem like the sort of place you should go. I’m surprised Sophie did quite frankly. Neil sounds as though he could be quite dangerous. And this Sara at the dentist? She was sure that’s where Sophie went? The one on Green Street? There’s a Prince of Wales in West Creaton too. That one is nice and it would have been nearer for Sophie.’

  I hesitate. Had I got the wrong pub?

  ‘Look I’ll go and check it out myself but…’

  But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Tom sticks his head around the door and tells us they are ready to leave.

  At the park Amanda is on edge, her eyes darting around. I can’t imagine how overwhelming it must be to step out into the world after being cooped inside for months. The brightness. The noise. I wonder if it’s too much for her. T
om raises his face to the sun. It’s a glorious day. Multicoloured kites float against a backdrop of brilliant blue sky, their tails flapping in the breeze. The squeals of happy children blend with birdsong and the smell of freshly cut grass. Tom sneezes.

  ‘Hay fever,’ he says blowing his nose. ‘Sophie was the same. Always sniffing.’

  ‘Callie would have loved it here wouldn’t she, Thomas?’ Amanda says.

  ‘She would. She loved the outdoors,’ Tom tells me. ‘She always covered up though in long sleeves and skirts; she thought she was fat. I don’t know why. She had a lovely figure. Sophie practically lived in a bikini in the summer. A beanpole that one. Do you like the sun, Jenna?’

  ‘Yes, although I have to be careful of my skin with the medication I’m on. I’m using plenty of sun cream.’

  ‘Remember the birthday picnics we had with the girls?’ says Joe. ‘We always finished with a 99. I’ll go and get us some.’

  Tom and Joe head up the hill towards the pink van, giant ice cream cone on its roof, and Amanda and I sit on a wrought iron bench overlooking the pond.

  ‘It is warm, isn’t it?’ Amanda fans her hand in front of her face. ‘I wish I’d asked for a drink instead of an ice cream.’

  ‘Do you want some water?’

  ‘Yes. Please.’

  I trudge towards Tom and Joe. They are engrossed in conversation at the back of a queue that snakes around a huge oak tree and I slip behind them, grateful for the shade. I am about to ask them about the water when I realise they are arguing. Tom snaps: ‘Stop it, Joe. We’re brothers. You can’t change the past… Jenna!’ His voice softens to his usual tone as he notices me. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Amanda would like a bottle of water,’ I say.