We move towards the lounge like we’re tied together with rope, trying to remove our clothes as we go, but my hoody gets stuck on my head and Jake nearly trips over the trousers he’s attempting to kick off. Giggling, we finally manage to get naked and I push Jake on to the sofa and climb on top of him. The rest is a blur, but unlike the other day, there’s no pausing, no reserve, there’s no way I’m going to do or say anything that puts a stop to it. I never want it to end.
When it does, and I’m lying on Jake’s chest while he massages my shoulder, our sweat sticking us to the leather sofa, it feels like I’m floating, levitating. And it hits me that I’m in love with him. There’s no hiding from it any more.
‘That was amazing,’ he says, running his hand over my scalp. ‘I didn’t expect any of this. To feel like this.’
I want to tell him that I didn’t expect it either, that I feel it too, but something locks up inside me even though I don’t want it to, and I sit up and kiss him quickly on the lips. ‘Right, I suppose we better get dressed.’
He looks a little affronted but he follows me into my bedroom and helps me to pick out something to wear. In the end, I go for black jeans but with a bright jumper. Nan wouldn’t want me looking all morose.
At the church, we sit in a pew near the back and Jake takes my hand in his. In a way I find it comforting, but part of me wishes I’d come alone. I’m not sure I’m ready to share something like this with him, which seems crazy considering we just had sex, but somehow this feels more intimate.
It’s a reasonable turnout. Not tons of people but enough for the church not to feel empty. I look around at some of the faces and wonder which ones are distantly related to me. Not that it matters. The only person that I would class as family is the one in the box at the front.
Nan’s best friend from the retirement flats, Mary, reads the eulogy. She starts off with the key facts: date and place of birth, school attended. I find out a few things about Nan I didn’t know, like she used to swim for the county and that she worked for a while as a veterinary assistant. It’s funny to learn things about someone when they’re no longer here. To listen to a person’s life summarized in the space of a few minutes. It makes everything feel so futile.
‘She was a loving mother to her only child, Justin. He had his troubles, bless his soul, but she loved him with all her heart. She always talked about him. How she wished he’d taken a different path in life, but how she was proud of his kindness, his good heart. And she was so grateful to him for giving her her granddaughter.’ Mary looks directly at me. ‘She loved you so much, Emily. You brought her so much joy. I think if she hadn’t met you, she never would’ve survived losing your dad.’
I force a smile, then, unable to cope with any more eye contact, I look at the floor. It feels weird to be the important person in someone’s life. I still remember the eulogy at Tina’s funeral as if it were yesterday. Her three children huddled at the pulpit, her eldest daughter doing the speaking. I wasn’t even mentioned by name, just lumped under the umbrella of ‘her many foster children’. I’ve never hated my mum as much as I did at that moment. One time, when Tina and I were having a heart-to-heart, she told me she would’ve adopted me if Mum hadn’t come back. I can’t think about it too much, how different life would’ve been.
Mary brings a handkerchief to her eyes and dabs underneath them. ‘She was a wonderful woman and a true friend. Rest in peace, Edith. The world will be that bit darker without you in it.’
Then she climbs down from the pulpit and returns to her seat. When the coffin is wheeled through the curtain, I release my hand from Jake’s. I can feel him looking at me questioningly, but I continue to stare straight ahead. I can’t stay connected to him for this bit.
Afterwards, we wander through the churchyard until we reach my dad’s grave. I want to keep walking but something makes me stop.
‘Give me a minute.’
‘Sure.’
Jake takes a seat on a nearby bench and I walk over. I’ve never understood why people talk aloud to a grave. It’s not like anyone’s listening. But I want to stand here. Just for a moment. Before I leave, I run my hand across Dad’s headstone, as cold and dead as he is, and then walk back to Jake.
‘You OK?’
I nod. ‘Can we go and get Alfie, please?’
‘Of course.’
We head back to the car in silence. Once we’re both inside, I lean over and kiss him on the cheek, a meagre attempt to show him my gratitude.
‘Thank you. If you weren’t here, I’d probably be lying in a ditch somewhere, off my tits.’
Jake grips my hand, lifts it to his mouth and kisses it. ‘Any time.’
Jake
Emily and I sit on the hard plastic chairs and I feel more nervous than if I had a life-changing job interview. We’re about five rows back. We’ve watched the Christmas show. Alfie was a roast potato. Luckily, he doesn’t seem aware that’s a terrible part. I mean, seriously, how much more insignificant does it get? Of course George had the leading role. The perfect kid with the dickhead dad I nearly beat the shit out of in the playground. I had to resist the urge to heckle when he got one of his lines wrong.
Mr Frampton gets up on stage and starts thanking all the children – those with ‘proper’ parts he thanks individually – then he praises the teachers and support staff, and my heart sinks. Alfie’s convinced they’re going to show his stop-motion film but it seems like they’re wrapping things up.
But then Alfie’s teacher gets up on stage. ‘And this year we’ve got something a little different. A very special film made by a very talented boy in my class, Alfie Edwards.’
I catch a glimpse of Alfie, hidden between rows of other children, and can see that he is grinning from ear to ear.
‘So here it is. I’m sure you’ll all enjoy it. It’s called Superhero Christmas.’
‘Superhero Lego Christmas,’ Alfie shouts out and the audience laughs.
‘Sorry, I stand corrected. Superhero Lego Christmas. Tom, can you press play?’
A prepubescent kid sitting at the laptop fiddles around for a few seconds and then Alfie’s film is playing on the big projector at the front of the hall. It looks terrible. Hands keep flashing into view, the timing of the sound effects is just off, the transition between each photo is jerky and it’s hard to follow what’s happening. For a moment, I feel embarrassed, but then I look at Alfie, staring up at the screen in wonder, and I can’t help but feel proud. I turn to Emily – her eyes watering like she’s standing face-first into the wind.
The film finishes and it’s silent for what feels like ages and then a stilted and very gentle applause fills the room. Emily surveys the audience as if she can’t believe what she is seeing and then, suddenly, she stands up, holds her hands above her head and claps them ferociously.
‘Woo hoo!’
I pull on the hem of her top to get her to sit down, but she just looks at me and laughs, cheering more loudly. The whole room turns to look at her, including Alfie, who has never looked happier. I stand up so he can see me too and he sticks both thumbs in the air.
Mr Frampton looks over at us with an awkward expression and we sit down, giggling.
‘Well, thank you, Alfie. That was wonderful. And thanks again to all of Key Stage One for a fabulous Nativity.’
The audience erupts in rapturous applause. The sort of applause they should’ve given my son and his terrible, barely watchable, wonderful film.
As we walk home, Alfie’s full of it. ‘Did you hear them clapping, Daddy? Everybody loved it. I told you they were going to show my film, didn’t I?’
‘You did, little man. It was brilliant.’
‘Everybody cheered, didn’t they? That means it was really good, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, Alfie, it does.’
‘I was a good roast potato too, wasn’t I? Did you see when George ate me?’
‘You were amazing,’ Emily says. ‘We loved every minute.’
I look over a
t her and smile, hoping to tell her with my eyes that I’m so glad we met her, and hoping to read in hers exactly what it is she’s feeling about me, but she just smiles back and looks away. In true Emily fashion, she’s been keeping her cards pretty close to her chest. So many times I’ve been tempted to ask her to define what’s happening between us but, as much as I’d love to know where her head’s at, I’m scared it’ll push her away, or that I’ll discover that she’s not feeling what I’m feeling.
When we arrive home, I reach into my pocket for my house keys. ‘Right, who wants hot chocolate?’
‘Me,’ Emily and Alfie say in unison and then they both laugh.
‘Come on, then.’
I put the key in the lock and open the door.
My heart flips as Jemma emerges from the lounge. She locks eyes with me and I feel stuck to the spot, and then she turns her attention to Alfie.
‘Hey, baby, come and give Mummy a cuddle.’ She bends down and holds out her arms.
Alfie doesn’t move straight away, but then he ambles into Jemma’s arms. ‘Mummy, you’re back. They just showed my Christmas film at the school show like I told you they would. Everyone clapped.’
Jemma’s eyes are dewy. ‘Sounds amazing, baby. I’m sorry I missed it.’ Then she looks Emily up and down before standing and holding out her hand in a strangely formal gesture. ‘You must be Emily?’
Emily shakes Jemma’s hand, her eyes lowered like a child who’s been sent to the head teacher. ‘I’ll leave you guys to it. Welcome home, Jemma.’
I know that I should tell her that she doesn’t have to rush off, but I’m so shocked I can’t find the words to say anything.
‘But what about hot chocolate?’ Alfie says.
‘It’s OK, buddy. You enjoy yours. I’ll see you soon.’
When Alfie rushes towards Emily and clings on to her thigh, Jemma looks like she’s been slapped; she turns to me for reassurance, but I have none to give her.
Emily hugs Alfie back, but only loosely, as if she’s trying to present a professional front, then she turns and walks out the door.
* * *
Once Alfie is asleep, I pour Jemma a glass of wine and she downs it as if it’s water and she’s just been for a run. It’s unusual for her. She rarely drinks and, on the odd occasion she does, one glass usually lasts her the night. But she seems nervous, on edge, her hand shaking slightly against her glass. I open a beer and sit beside her at the breakfast bar. We’ve not really said anything to each other yet, other than in conversation with Alfie, and I feel strangely anxious being alone with her, like there’s a huge can of worms in front of us just waiting to burst open if either of us says the wrong thing.
‘Alfie seems very fond of Emily. She seemed OK, a bit awkward and offhand, but OK. I was a bit surprised by the skinhead.’
I allow her this dig. It pisses me off, but I can imagine it would’ve really hurt to see the way Alfie ran to Emily and held her.
‘Yeah, she takes a while to warm up, but she’s good with Alfie.’ And me. She’s good with me. ‘So what are you doing here, Jem?’
‘I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d be happy to see me. I guess I was wrong.’
The truth is I don’t know how I feel about seeing her. She looks as beautiful as ever. A little weary perhaps, but still beautiful. But I immediately feel irritated by her. Not by anything in particular that she does or says. It’s more like she’s walked into the house, a house that was starting to feel happy, and brought back all the old tension and resentment. Sitting here with her in the kitchen feels like a step backwards.
‘That’s not really fair. You can’t expect to turn up at the door and for me to jump up and down with joy. I mean, is it a visit? Are you back for good?’
Jemma reaches out and grabs my hand. It feels odd, foreign – the temperature, the texture of her skin – it’s different to Emily’s. ‘I want to come home. If you’ll have me?’
I pull my hand away. It feels like she’s been gone for so long, so much has happened and I haven’t the first idea how to explain to her everything she’s missed.
‘I’m sorry, Jake,’ Jemma continues. ‘I know I’ve hurt you. But I just needed some headspace.’
How nice it must have been to have that luxury. What I wouldn’t give for the time to make sense of everything.
‘And now?’
‘Now I want to be with you and Alfie. To be a family again.’
She makes it sound so simple, and yet it feels anything but.
‘And what makes you think it’s going to be any different this time? We weren’t exactly happy, were we?’
Jemma pulls a hairband off her wrist and ties her hair into a ponytail. ‘I know that. But I had time to think while I was away. I did some soul-searching, as they say. And I wonder if I had a form of postnatal depression that never went away. I just didn’t feel like me. I felt permanently sad, and guilty, and resentful. And I thought it was your fault. Or even Alfie’s.’ As she says his name, her voice cracks. ‘I still feel terrible for thinking like that, but I’m starting to accept it was beyond my control. I’m so sorry that I left you, but in a way I’m glad I did, because I think that’s what it took to shift it. To see things more clearly.’
My anger is suddenly replaced by guilt. I hate the thought that she was struggling so badly and I didn’t spot it. I didn’t help her, I just made it worse.
‘I wish you could’ve told me. I just felt like you didn’t want to be around us. That you’d rather be at work, doing exciting projects, socializing with your colleagues … anything but being with us.’
Jemma runs her finger around the top of her wine glass, her eyes following the movement. ‘Work was the only place I didn’t feel like a failure.’
I nod, understanding exactly how she felt, and it’s a while before I manage to speak. ‘But I didn’t have anywhere, Jem. I always felt like a failure. Every single day.’
Jemma shuffles her chair towards me and pushes my hair off my forehead in an act that, oddly, makes me long for my mum. The intensely comforting feeling of being unconditionally loved.
‘I’m so sorry, Jake. You’re a wonderful dad. I should’ve told you that more. I was just bitter because you were so close to Alfie and I know that wasn’t fair because I chose to work full-time. I don’t regret that. I love my job. But I still hated missing out on so much. His first steps, his first words … I was jealous that you got to experience all that with him and I missed it all.’
I know how hard it must be for her to admit all of this. If only we’d had this conversation months ago, years ago, even. Instead of tearing each other apart, we could’ve helped to build each other up. But I can’t help feeling that it’s too late, that the scar tissue has already formed, that we can never go back to how we were.
Jemma grasps my hands in her own. ‘Look, Jake, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work. I’ve spoken to Adam and he’s agreed for me to reduce my hours and do some work from home so I can take Alfie to school and pick him up. It’ll mean less money, but if you’re working as well, that should easily make up for it. We’ll start taking more holidays again. And my parents have said they’ll have Alfie once a month so we can go out for dinner, have some “us” time.’
‘Seriously? Your parents looking after Alfie?’
When she sees I’m joking, her whole body seems to relax, muscle by muscle, and I know she thinks it’s that straightforward. That she’s won me back.
‘I love you, Jake. I know we’re still going to argue sometimes and I know things with Alfie are never going to be easy, but we’ll find a way to be happy again.’
She stands up, wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. The familiar taste of her lemon lip salve hurtles me back through the years of our marriage. The way we slowly merged into each other before we started to repel. At first, I don’t kiss her back, but then I allow myself to relax into it, because a huge part of me wants to believe her, a huge part of me wants to believe we can start again
, like covering the stains and cracks on a wall with a fresh coat of paint. And as I’m kissing her, somehow it feels simultaneously totally wrong and like coming home. But afterwards, as she rests her head on my chest and my hands fall on to the small of her back, it’s like they no longer fit, I can’t get comfortable, and my stomach’s churned up with guilt, the horrible feeling that I’m cheating on Emily, even though I’m not sure if she actually wants a commitment from me. I’m glad when Jemma releases me.
Then there’s this surreal moment when she starts putting away the glasses on the draining board and I stack the dishwasher and it’s like she never left, except she doesn’t tell me I’ve put the bowls in the wrong place even though I know she notices, because her eyes linger on me doing it for a split second before she looks away.
‘So what shall we do now?’ Jemma says, laughing awkwardly. ‘Do you want to watch a film?’
It’s like a first date, both of us frantically trying to work out what the other one is thinking so we know the right move to make.
‘OK. I’ll be in in a minute.’
As I grab myself another beer, a photograph on the noticeboard catches my eye. It’s the one from the ride at Legoland, with all of us looking like we’ve had facelifts. I unpin it, find my workbag and slip it in there. It’d break Jemma’s heart to see it and, right now, it’s too confusing for me to look at too.
When I go through to the lounge, Jemma has found a film we’d been intending to watch before she left. She doesn’t seem to get that it’s weird, that it only serves to highlight the fact she went away.
‘Is this one OK?’
‘Sure, it’s fine.’
I sit at the other end of the sofa but, once the film starts, Jemma gradually moves towards me until her head is resting on my shoulder and her hand is on my leg. I feel stuck, like any movement might give her the impression that all is now mended between us. As her thumb moves up and down on my thigh, I long for the film to end.
Saturdays at Noon Page 27
