‘I know I should probably know this, but did I do something wrong? ‘Cause I’m getting the vibe that I did?’
I ignored him, grinding my teeth as I busied myself with pulling random cans out of the cupboard. Anything but look in his direction, into those eyes of his. Because then I knew there’d be no holding it together anymore.
‘Or maybe it’s just something youthinkI did?’
I closed my eyes slowly, grip tightening around a can of baked beans.
‘No, it was definitely me,’ Joe backtracked quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘I did it. I was wrong. It was a stupid, awful, terrible thing to do; please don’t make me sleep in the bathtub again.’
He walked towards me, head cocked as he tried to get my attention with that lopsided smile of his. The one that made my insides melt like ice cream on a summer’s day. But I was too focused on trying to decipher the sell-by date on a can of minestrone soup to notice. The fact it was faded to the point that I was struggling to read it was probably all the information I needed to know, but I continued to squint at the numbers all the same.
‘Come on, Jenny, I’m sorry. With all my heart. I shouldn’t have done it. Thought it? Said it?’ He was down on his knees now, hands clasped dramatically against his heart. I could feel my palms starting to sweat, my heart beating too fast behind my ribcage as my chest heaved up and down with the effort. Was that a one or a seven? Surely that didn’t say 2013?! Although 2073 seemed even more worrisome somehow. Taking my chances, I shoved it back in the cupboard, slowly twisting the can until the label faced outwards.
‘Jenny, babe, help me out here,’ Joe pleaded with a chuckle, performing a series of fake dodges either side as he battled to get in my line of vision. ‘I can’t apologise if I don’t know what I did wrong. If I evendiddo anything wrong, that is, I mean seriously, what could be so bad that .?.?.’
‘You died, Joe!’
The words echoed around the walls of the kitchen again and again, each time more painful than the last. It was the first time I’d said them out loud, heavy and unwilling as they finally broke free. I sank to the floor, my knees no longer strong enough to hold me up – the weight of the world, of my world, simply too great to bear. A dent appeared between Joe’s eyebrows and he opened his mouth as though to say something, but then shut it again. What was there to say? Instead, he fiddled awkwardly with a loose thread at the hem of his fisherman’s jumper. The same jumper he’d been wearing for the past 162 days. The same navy jumper, the same overly loved Chelsea boots with the left heel that was almost completely worn down, the same pair of jeans. His favourite ones that hung low and loose around his hips. The denim so worn that they were soft to the touch. The same outfit he’d been wearing that day. The day of the accident. The day my whole world fell apart.
It was also the day thatthisJoe first appeared. He was there, waiting for me in his usual spot on the sofa, when I eventuallymade my way home from the hospital. Broken and alone.
‘Hey you,’ he’d smiled, that dimple-topped, crooked smile that warmed me to my very core. ‘Did you pick up some of those chocolate Hobnobs?’
I’d blinked. Hard. Several times. But every time, Joe was there. Sat in his dented spot on the sofa, his left leg jiggling up and down in that way that used to drive me crazy.
‘Jenny?’
‘Hmm?’
‘The Hobnobs?’ Joe had repeated, looking right at me this time. Those eyes, those perfect-colour-of-raindrops eyes. ‘Oh God, you didn’t get Garibaldis again, did you? Look, we might have to seriously rethink this whole marriage thing if you’ve come back with those abominations again.’
A bubble of laughter had escaped my lips. It sounded so foreign as it echoed around the living room, almost as though it belonged to someone else. Someone I used to know. I didn’t question it. In fact, I don’t think I even hesitated before walking over and taking my place beside him. Questioning required careful, rational thought and careful, rational thought would most likely cause this walking, talking, leg-twitching version of Joe to disappear. And that simply wasn’t an option. Perhaps it was a dream. A hallucination. A sign that I’d finally gone completely bonkers. I didn’t care. As long as I didn’t have to live in a world without Joe.
And for 162 days, I hadn’t. Which is how I came to be sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by canned goods, talking to my dead fiancé. We were as close as two human beings could be without touching, if I just tilted my head a fraction to the right it could rest on his shoulder—
My head snapped upwards when it met nothing but air, as though jolting awake from a dream. A sob exploded out of me, tears streaming down my face as I felt the deep, gaping hole thathad ripped its way through my heart five months ago tear a little bit wider. Something was digging into the fabric of my trousers and while I welcomed the discomfort – anything to distract from the crippling heartache that was threatening to tear me in two – I reached down and pulled a now-very-squashed packet of Garibaldis out from under me. I turned it over in my hands, watching my tears land with a plop on the plastic packaging, right next to the sell-by date.
February 2024. They, like Joe, had also expired.
5
‘Well, I think this is going to be great,’ Alice announced brightly, puffing her fringe away from where it had stuck to her forehead as she dropped the final box to the floor.
‘How exactly is this great?’ I croaked, my voice hoarse.
They were the first words I’d spoken all day. I’d said nothing when Alice and Jacob had arrived at my front door thirty minutes after receiving the latest in a long stream of incomprehensible voice notes, arms filled with packing supplies and freshly baked cinnamon rolls from Drew’s. Not a word as I curled into a ball on the sofa, watching silently as they packed mine and Joe’s things into boxes, dismantling what was left of our life together piece by piece. I really needed Joe today. But I knew he wouldn’t show. He never did whenever people that knew him were around. Another fact that I tried my best not to question as I highly doubted I’d like the answer.
‘Is it the fact that I’m 30 years old and still haven’t managed to get on the housing ladder? Heck, I don’t even own a bloody ladder! Or that I’ve no choice but to move back in with my mum? Or that mine and Joe’s life together has been reduced to nothing more than a few stupid boxes?’ I kicked the nearest box for good measure. It was a lot sturdier than it looked and I bit my cheek to keep from crying out in pain.
‘It’s a new chapter,’ Alice rephrased carefully, taking a seat next to me on the bed. The springs creaked in protest, the child-sized single bed also voicing how unhappy it was about this situation.
‘I don’t want to start a new chapter. I liked the old one,’ I mumbled childishly. An awkward silence descended over the room, the kind that comes after talking about something difficult where no one wants to be the first to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing.
‘Personally, it’s the Peter Andre poster that’s doing it for me,’ Jacob finally said from where he was stood in the doorway, pointing up at the faded ‘Mysterious Girl’ poster above my bed where a shirtless, soaking-wet Peter Andre was giving us the blue steels. Jacob erupted into song, belting out the lyrics to ‘Mysterious Girl’ at the top of his voice as he performed some form of stomach-rolling/hip-thrusting move towards us. A reluctant smile progressed into a grin as he hoisted one foot on the bed, the other on the floor as he straddled both Alice and me, gyrating like a seasonedMagic Mikeperformer.
‘Ewww, get your crotch out of my face!’ Alice squealed, disgusted, swatting him away like a fly.
‘Surprisingly, not the first time someone’s said that to me,’ Jacob snickered, collapsing on what little unoccupied space remained on the paper-thin duvet. The bed groaned.
