So often, in the space where Audrey’s third daughter should have been, was an imagined scene of how life might have been unfolding if Zoe were still alive.
‘Mum, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you: this fantasy reconciliation of yours is never going to happen. Why can’t you leave it alone? Why can’t you just be happy with the relationships you’ve got?’
The exasperation in Jess’s voice was sharp, piercing. Audrey glanced between Lily and Jess, wondering whether there was anything she could have done to put an end to this sooner. ‘I love you both. You know I do. And I can’t bear to see you estranged like this. Can you imagine what it’s like when the two people you love most in the world refuse to be in the same room?’
She turned to Jess but her daughter looked away, her expression glacial.
Audrey felt her heart bend out of shape. Part of her wanted to retreat, to accept defeat. But even as Jess glared at her, words began to tumble out of her mouth. ‘For goodness’ sake, Jess, you must understand how this is for me. I’ve got one daughter who refuses to speak to the other and two granddaughters I’m not allowed to see together. And I don’t have time to wait around for a reconciliation. Whatever it is you think Lily’s done, I’m asking you to put an end to it. Please, Jess, I’m begging you. Forgive her, please.’
Chapter 45
Jess
Jess said nothing as her mum sank into a chair and rested her head on her hands. She didn’t move as Mia and Phoebe flanked their grandmother on either side, their arms around her shoulders. All around her people were eating, drinking and celebrating together, perfect examples of the family her mum wished theirs could be.
A familiar irony drummed inside Jess’s head: that only by incurring her mum’s wrath could she protect her from a story she wouldn’t want to hear.
She looked up to where Lily was gazing at her with an expression of hurt and confusion that made Jess want to scream: What is it you want from me? What more could you possibly want other than my silence?
Seeing that look on Lily’s face made Jess shut her eyes to try and escape it. But it was still there. It was always there.
Whatever it is you think Lily’s done, forgive her, please.
But Jess could never forgive Lily. Jess didn’t want to forgive her. Because if it hadn’t been for Lily, her dad and Zoe would still be alive today.
Chapter 46
June 1988
It is a Thursday afternoon. Years later, Jess will remember this detail because of the dampness of her hair against the back of her neck, the smell of chlorine clinging to her skin, the residue of that afternoon’s swimming lesson still sore in her eyes.
She is supposed to be doing her homework, has promised her mum that she will have it done by the time her parents return, so that the five of them can spend their first evening together in more than two months.
Zoe is coming home from the hospital today. Jess cannot concentrate on her school work, is too distracted by thoughts of all the things she will do with Zoe once she’s home. Her sister has been at Great Ormond Street for almost nine weeks this time, and Jess cannot wait to have her sleep in the room next door again, cannot wait to watch films beside her, read stories with her, tell jokes to her. She has a conviction – a certainty she has shared with no one – that this will be the last time Zoe will ever have to go to hospital, that this time she is coming home for good.
She looks down at her exercise book – religious studies, her least favourite subject – and cannot muster the motivation she needs to answer ten questions about the Good Samaritan. At ten years old, homework is the last thing Jess wants to do when she gets home from school. Instead she emerges from her bedroom, thighs sticky with the early June heat, convinced that a chocolate Hobnob – perhaps two – will help provide the enthusiasm she needs.
She hears Lily’s voice before she reaches the top of the stairs, before Lily has a chance to see her. Her sister is on the phone in the hallway to one of her friends, whose identity Jess will never know.
‘Yeah, she’s coming home today. Mum and Dad are collecting her now … No, neither of them asked – I don’t think they even remembered they were happening.’
Jess crouches behind the banisters on the landing, her breath shallow in her chest.
It is rude to eavesdrop, Jess knows this, but it is a habit she seems unable to break. It is something Lily complains about frequently, causing the ridges across their mum’s forehead to deepen, like a paper napkin folded back and forth in the making of a fan. It is this sight – her mum’s weariness at having to mediate their squabbles – that provokes the feeling Jess has had ever since Zoe first became ill fourteen months ago: the feeling that someone has taken a pin and punctured her lungs so that all the air is slowly escaping.
‘Yeah, I know they’re only end-of-year exams, but still …’ Lily’s voice sounds strange, as though anger and sadness are performing a complicated dance in her mouth. ‘Sometimes it just feels like they’ve forgotten they’ve still got two other children. It’s like we don’t exist any more … I don’t know, I can’t really explain it … No, that’s fine, you get off … Yep, I’ll see you tomorrow … Bye.’
Jess unpeels her thighs and scrambles to her feet, tiptoeing silently into her bedroom, not daring to close the door for fear that the sound of it scraping against the carpet will betray her. She slips back onto the chair at her desk and resolves to stay there until her parents get home.
Three days later, Jess is walking down the stairs to the basement kitchen when she is stopped by the sound of crying.
It is a quarter to seven on Sunday morning and she has woken earlier than usual, hunger growling in her stomach. She had assumed everyone else in the house would still be asleep, but there are three voices coming from the kitchen and Jess sits silently on the top stair, listening.
‘It’s not fair, Mum. Why is this happening to Zoe? Why can’t it happen to someone else instead of her? It’s just not fair.’
Lily is crying: loud, convulsive sobs that make the hairs on Jess’s arms stand on end.
‘I know how hard this is, sweetheart. I know it’s … horrific.’
Her mum’s voice wavers but Jess can tell she is trying to make herself sound calm.
‘We just have to be strong for her, Lily. We just have to make sure she knows we love her and we’re here for her.’
Her dad is speaking now and for a few lonely seconds, Jess feels left out, as though the grown-ups and Lily are deliberately excluding her from a conversation she ought to be a part of. She imagines the three of them creeping down the stairs so as not to wake her or Zoe, imagines them having planned this secret rendezvous down in the furthest reaches of the house where they are unlikely to be heard.
‘But she’s in so much pain. It’s horrible. No one should have to be in that much pain. I hate seeing her like this. We can’t just sit by and watch her suffer and do nothing.’
Lily is sobbing and Jess feels a frown pucker her forehead. It is news to her that Zoe is in pain. She has known, since Zoe came home from the hospital three days ago, that her sister is very tired and needs lots of rest. She knows that she needs to be quiet so as not to disturb her, has perfected the art of tiptoeing up the stairs and across the landing as silently as a mouse. But no one has told her that Zoe is in pain. And the revelation makes her feel cold inside, as though someone has packed ice cubes around her heart.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m sorry for all those times I was jealous. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.’
‘Shh, stop that. You’re a lovely sister to Zoe, to both of them. I know it’s always been difficult, that you’ve always felt a bit left out, but you mustn’t start thinking like that.’