Before You Go Page 14

  ‘Do what?’ I hated the high pitch of my voice but it didn’t seem to want to work properly. My heart hammered against my chest and I prayed he wouldn’t say the words I knew he was going to say.

  ‘This. Me and you. I think—’ He paused, licked his lips, looked at the ceiling, the window, the door, anywhere but at me. ‘I think we need some time apart, to decide whether this is what we really want.’

  His words were like bullets in my chest and I felt winded. I stayed crouched by the washing machine, not knowing what to do, what to say.

  ‘I – I don’t want some time apart. Surely – surely we can talk about it, sort this out?’

  Ed nodded, briefly. ‘Maybe. But I think we need to be apart for a bit, get our thoughts in order. You made it clear, when we were in Paris, that nothing but marriage will make you happy, and I – I haven’t worked out yet whether I can do it. Even for you. I need some time to think.’

  He’d seemed so cool, detached. I felt the world tilt on its axis, as though everything I’d thought was real, solid, was about to slip away, out of reach. I couldn’t let this happen.

  ‘But – I can live without it, Ed. I can. I just want to be with you. Please. Please don’t do this.’ I stood and stepped over the piles of clothes towards him. As I reached him he stiffened and I hesitated.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zo. I love you, but I’ve got to get my head sorted. I’ll – I’ll go and stay with Rob for a bit, maybe go to Mum’s.’

  I stared at him, feeling as though my heart was going to snap in two. There was nothing I could say. He’d made up his mind.

  And so I’d let him go. Those weeks without him had been terrible, as though there was a hole in my life that couldn’t be plugged. It had filled me with terror, the thought of not having Ed in my life. It would be like living a half-life. When he eventually came back, it was such a relief that we just sort of reached a silent agreement not to talk about it, to move on.

  But now, remembering it, I realize I’d felt the same terror since he’d died, too – and this time there was no way back. Life had stretched out before me like a blank, featureless desert; but then I’d been given these ‘second chance’ days, these days to be with Ed again, to maybe change something, and it had been like seeing an oasis and realizing it was real.

  My mind snaps back to the present. Nothing that has happened so far could explain why I am in this house. Could it be that what I did in Paris has actually changed things? And if so, what? I frown. I’m clearly here alone; there’s no sign of anyone else staying here. So what on earth can this be about?

  Grabbing my cup, I stand and march back up the stairs. I run the shower until it’s scalding and jump in, trying to dispel the chill that’s descended over me, into my bones. The room fills with steam and afterwards I stand, dripping wet, in front of the mirror, waiting for it to clear. Impatient, I rub a smudgy circle in it and lean in and peer at myself. I look exhausted; dark circles ring my eyes, the skin tight and drawn across my face. I frown, and the small crease that appears is deeper than it’s been before.

  I get dressed and dry my hair, apply some make-up. It feels pointless, getting ready for the day when I have no idea what it’s going to bring. But I feel the need to be prepared.

  Downstairs I pull on boots and my coat and head out of the door. I need to do something, get out of the house, find out where I am. I march along the seafront towards the pier, my hands shoved in my pockets. It’s started to rain now: fine, drizzly rain that fills my eyes, my face, so it feels as though I’m breathing underwater. I reach the deserted pier and walk to the edge, leaning over the barrier to watch the water swirl a few feet beneath me. I walk on until I reach a shop. A sign outside reveals where I am: Lowestoft. I frown. I’ve never been here before; why would I be here now?

  I duck inside and buy a paper, then head back to the house along the seafront, past the rows of half-empty guesthouses. There are a few people around now, walking dogs, and some nod at me as I walk past, my hood pulled tight round my face. I nod back. I let myself into the house and close the door behind me, immediately aware of the silence that presses down around me. I’m totally alone.

  I pass the next hour or so reading the paper, then use it to get the fire started. I poke around, trying to stop the flame from going out, and place some more wood on it from the pile in the corner. A warmth begins to seep into the room and I sit down and switch on the TV, desperate for some company.

  I must have fallen asleep, because I wake to the sound of banging. Someone’s knocking on the door, insistently. Jumping up, I head to the window and peer around. And when I see who’s there I gasp.

  It’s Susan. Ed’s mum is here.

  I hurry to open the door and a whoosh of cold air comes in with her. As soon as she’s inside she opens up her arms and throws them round me, holding me tightly against her damp coat. I breathe in the familiar smell of her perfume. Then she pulls away and grips the tops of my arms, holding my gaze. Her eyes are the same deep blue as Ed’s and I struggle not to look away.

  ‘Zoe, what on earth is going on?’

  I squirm uncomfortably, not sure what to tell her. How can I explain what’s happening when I have no idea myself? I hope she’ll elaborate.

  ‘Can we go and sit down?’

  I nod as she shrugs out of her coat and I hang it on the peg by the door and lead her to the kitchen.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I’d love a coffee, please.’

  I busy myself making coffee as I wait for her to speak, but she stays quiet. Finally, drinks made, I sit down at the table opposite her.

  ‘So . . . ?’ I trail off, unsure what to say.

  ‘Oh Zoe, I’m so sorry. Firstly I’m sorry about stalking you – nobody knew where you were but I made Jane tell me. I needed to speak to you. Mostly, though, I’m sorry about Ed, and I – need to be able to help fix this because – well, I feel responsible.’

  ‘Responsible? For what?’

  ‘For this – mess.’ She drums her neat nails on the table. A frown lines her face. ‘Listen, Ed’s told me what’s been going on. That you want to get married and that he – well, he just doesn’t want to.’

  Ah. So I was right. I nod, trying to keep my face blank, unreadable.

  She leans forward as though to tell me a secret. ‘The thing is, Zoe, it’s not about you. Ed adores you, anyone can see that. He’d do anything for you. It’s his bloody father that’s caused all this.’

  ‘His father?’

  She nods briskly. ‘Yes. It seems that my son is worried he might turn into his feckless father if he agrees to get married, mad as that sounds.’

  ‘But he’s not his father – and from what he’s told me he’s nothing like him, is he?’

  Susan holds my gaze, then looks down at her hands, shakes her head. ‘No, he absolutely isn’t anything like him, thank God. Listen. Henry was a total bastard, always had been, and always was until the day he died. I knew he was a cheat when I married him, but I loved him. Pathetic, I know, but I thought I could change him; I thought getting him down the aisle would turn him into the perfect husband. But of course it didn’t. If anything, he got worse. Always sneaking off, ‘working late’ – shagging his secretary, more like. It was all such a sordid bloody cliché, and I let it happen. But Ed is absolutely nothing like him, and I’ve told him that.’ She looks up and I hold her gaze. ‘I’ve told him. If he doesn’t marry you, and he loses you, he’ll be a bloody idiot.’

  For a moment we sit, letting her words settle round us like confetti. I’m shocked. I’d always known how Ed felt about his dad – the dad he rarely saw, who was always out, who left his mum fighting back tears every time he did bother to come home. But I’d never heard Susan speak about him like this.

  ‘What did he say, when you told him that?’

  She shrugged. ‘He said he knew. He loves you so much, you know, Zoe. I think you two need to talk.’

  ‘I think so too.’ I pause, my voice barely more than
a whisper. ‘But there’s still one thing I don’t understand.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Ed’s desperate for a baby.’ I flush, feeling embarrassed talking about this in front of his mum. But it’s too late for that now; she already seems to know everything. ‘I’ve told him I don’t think I want children, that I love my job and I don’t think it’s for me, but he seems to have this vision of a house full of kids running around. How can he be so scared of commitment, if he wants all that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not the family thing he’s scared of. To Ed, having a huge family is the sign of a perfect life – well, it would prove that he’s not like his father, wouldn’t it, because we only had him, as you know. It’s not commitment he’s afraid of, Zoe, it’s just the idea of marriage. He’s got it into his head that it might turn you two into a carbon copy of me and his father.’

  I nod, starting to understand. ‘Do you – do you know where he is, now? Is he at your house?’

  Susan’s face flushes and she looks embarrassed. ‘Well, actually, he’s here.’

  ‘Here?’ I look around stupidly, expecting him to jump out like a jack-in-the-box.

  ‘He’s gone for a walk; he’s waiting for me to ring him. I’m sorry, Zoe, I just thought if I could make you two talk you might be able to sort things out rather than you staying here alone in this – cottage in the middle of nowhere and him moping about my flat with a face like a wet weekend.’ She smiles, hopefully. ‘So, will you talk to him?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’ll talk to him. As long as he’ll listen.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll listen, don’t you worry about that. Otherwise he’ll have me to answer to.’ She grins. ‘So, can I ring him? Or do you want to?’

  ‘I will. And, Susan?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thank you so much. For everything. For telling me everything.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I thought it was about time someone started talking around here, what with you two being so stubborn.’

  I dig my mobile from my bag and dial Ed’s number with shaking hands. There’s so much at stake here – our future, our lives together – that I have to get this right.

  It stops before it gets to the end of the first ring.

  ‘Zoe?’

  ‘Ed.’

  A pause. A silence heavy with expectation.

  ‘So. Can I come and see you?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  I tell him the address and Susan makes herself scarce. As I wait for him I feel like a silly little girl, waiting for the boy she fancies to ring her. My stomach hurts and my shoulders are tight. I sit, I stand, I pace, I wipe imaginary dust from the mantelpiece with my finger.

  And finally there’s a knock at the door and when I open it I see my Ed standing there, his face serious, his wet hair plastered across his face. I walk forward and throw my arms around him and I feel the tension fall from me as we stand there, holding each other as though we never want to let go.

  Eventually we have to, though, and I lead him by the hand into the kitchen. I don’t bother with pleasantries like drinks and chat about the weather. Instead we sit and I say: ‘So. Your mum says we need to talk. I think she’s right, don’t you?’

  ‘She is. And we do.’

  ‘OK. So you start.’

  ‘Right.’ He wipes his hand down his face, pushes his hair out of his eyes, leans his arms on the table, drops of water falling onto the surface like tiny rivers. ‘I’ve talked to Mum. We’ve talked a lot, about Dad, about how he behaved. It probably sounds stupid but somewhere inside me was this feeling that, if I allowed myself to get married, to settle down with someone I loved, that I’d turn into him, become a cheat, a liar. Someone I never wanted to be. And so I thought it was easier to shut myself off, tell myself – and you – that I didn’t want to get married, that I didn’t need it. That I was happy as we were.’

  ‘And we are happy.’

  He nods. ‘We were. But look at us now, Zo. We’re falling apart, and all because I’m being a stubborn git.’

  ‘You had your reasons. I do understand them Ed, I do. I understand, now, that it wasn’t about me. But it always felt like it. I felt like you didn’t want to marry me because you weren’t sure I was the one, and you were waiting, making sure there was no one better waiting in the wings. It felt like a rejection.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’d ever think that.’

  I shrug. ‘What else could I think?’

  ‘I don’t know, but definitely not that I was waiting for someone better.’ He pauses, looks down at his hands cupped on the table in front of him. His voice comes out quiet and I have to strain to hear his next words. ‘There is no one better, Zoe. It’s always been you. Always.’

  My heart explodes with happiness. ‘Oh Ed, I feel the same. I just love you so much.’ Tears are falling down my face as he stands and comes to envelop me in his arms, but I don’t care. We stand there for what could have been a minute but could have been days, and all the tension of the last few weeks, months, seeps away.

  Finally, spent, we pull away and sit back down again.

  ‘So, does this mean you want to get married, then?’

  He takes a deep breath.

  ‘Yes, I think so. This is a big thing for me. Anyway, you can’t ask me that, not like this. I want to do it properly, not just agree it in a conversation. You know, the grand gesture, the big proposal. A proper, traditional proposal. This – ’ he gestures between us – ‘this isn’t a proposal. This is a conversation.’

  ‘You big softy.’

  ‘Well, you know, if you’re going to do something, you may as well do it right. It’s what you always tell me.’ He grins and I can’t help smiling back.

  ‘You’re right, I do.’

  The muffled ring of a phone breaks the moment and Ed rummages in his pocket to find it before it stops. He glances at the screen before answering.

  ‘Hi, Mum . . . Yes, all OK . . . Yes, it’s safe to come back . . . I will, I’ll do it now. See you soon.’

  He hangs up. ‘Sorry, Mum’s getting cold, wondered whether it was safe to come back yet. And she wants me to put the kettle on.’

  ‘I think we can manage that.’

  A few minutes later Susan is back. The tension has lifted and laughter fills the room as we make dinner together then sit and eat it from our laps in front of the fire in the living room. I’m so grateful to her I want to hug her. But finally, she stands. ‘So, I suppose I’d better be going.’ She yawns dramatically and looks at Ed pointedly. ‘I’m assuming you’re staying here tonight?’

  He nods sheepishly, looks at me. ‘If it’s OK?’

  ‘Of course it’s OK.’ I soften. ‘More than OK.’

  ‘Right, well I’ll be off, then.’ Susan gathers up her coat and bag and we see her to her car. The rain has eased and we stand and wave her off, holding hands, until she disappears round the corner. And then we go back inside.

  The day has ended where it began: in the bed in a room I don’t recognize. Only this time, as I lie on my side, Ed’s body is wrapped around mine, his chest pressed into my back, his legs following the contours of mine, his arm draped across my waist. I can feel his warm breath on my neck and it makes me shiver. I’m trying to commit the feel of his body to memory, to hold this in my mind forever, so that if I don’t get to see him again, at least I’ll always have this. I can’t imagine ever forgetting it, but I know I will, eventually.

  We’re lying still but my mind is busy, trying to lend some order to what’s happened today. Something has changed, shifted; today was a totally new day. Last time we’d been through this I’d stayed in the flat, alone; I’d gone to the office and worked late, worked like a maniac, trying to avoid going home to an empty flat. A flat without Ed in it. This time, I’d come to this house, in this town I don’t know, and Susan had come to see me, helped us sort things out. I don’t know what this means, but I can only hope it means that, if I’ve changed something small like this, then maybe I might have changed s
omething bigger; maybe I’ve already tweaked things enough for Ed not to die. After all, it would only be a matter of a few seconds’ difference in timing, that terrible day. Who’s to say it couldn’t work?

  ‘You OK, Zo?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Thinking.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Just how happy I am.’

  ‘Me too. Really happy.’ His arm tightens round me.

  We lie like that a while longer and I listen as Ed’s breathing slows.

  ‘I love you, Ed. Promise me you’ll never leave me. Promise me you won’t die.’

  But there’s no answer; he hasn’t heard me, and the steady sound of his breathing is my only reply. And so I drift off too, hoping that this won’t be the last memory with him I’m able to create, hoping I’ll have at least one more day . . .

  10

  13 December 2002

  Pink’s ‘Let’s Get the Party Started’ is thumping from the stereo, the bassline pulsing through my body. I’m standing in the corner of a room sipping a glass of wine, watching the party in full swing. I can’t see Ed but the room’s full of people, and Jane’s standing by the Christmas tree talking to a vaguely familiar man with a strange goatee beard who I feel certain she ends up snogging the face off. She seems animated, young.

  I smile. We’re at a party at Rob’s flat in Tooting; I remember it well. He’d held a party a couple of weeks before Christmas 2002 and we’d all got wildly drunk, not even making it home until the next morning. It was one of the last big blowouts I can remember before we got all sensible and grown-up. I glance at my watch. 10 p.m. Still early.

  ‘You look thoughtful.’ There’s a voice at my elbow and I jump and whip round. Simon’s there, a beer in his hand, a crooked smile on his lips.

  ‘Hello, stranger, how are you?’

  He smiles sheepishly, shrugs. ‘You know, not bad. Pretty busy, but—’ He looks round the room.