Chapter Twenty-Nine
Twenty-nine
I’m a little surprised by Jack’s reaction the next morning, when he wakes to find me next to him in the bed.
I’d expected some pushback, since he was half asleep when I crawled in beside him.
Honestly, I’d worried he might be angry, and I’ve kept that memory of Marcie pushing me into the muck at my grandparents’ farm simmering right at the apex of my mind since I woke up, should I need to call on it.
But instead, when his eyes finally open, he smiles.
In return, I give him the one I practiced so hard in the mirror.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I don’t want Mum to ruin this first morning in bed together, so I tell him I’m OK, then, to remind him of all I’ve suffered through, I say, “I’m still trying to come to terms with it, I think. She was so angry, for no reason at all.”
“You’ve done everything you can for now. It’s not easy to reason with an alcoholic.”
I give a sad little shrug. “Maybe. I’ll give it a couple of days and apologize.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve done nothing wrong, Iris.”
I wonder what I did to deserve such a kind, considerate man, who sees only the best in me. He’s right. All I’ve ever tried to do is love her, and she’s thrown it back in my face at every juncture.
“I hope you don’t mind I ended up in here last night.” I use that bashful look again, a quick flick of the eyes downward. Better, sometimes, to address the proverbial elephant in the room.
He’s quiet for a moment. “It was nice, actually,” he says. “A bit of a surprise, but, truthfully, I was going to ask you if you wanted to sleep in here. Then I worried it would seem presumptuous.”
If I wasn’t in love with him before, I certainly am now.
He gets up then, and I watch him from the comfort of his large bed as he walks around the room, my skin tingling with the intimacy of it all. I’ve imagined this scenario so many times. Fantasized about his morning routine in painstaking detail. Now I am witnessing it.
As it turns out, Jack’s morning routine is not so very different from anyone else’s. He brushes his teeth in the en suite, shaves, has a shower. I listen to the water as I plump the pillows behind my head and arrange myself in a way that I hope looks sadly seductive for his return.
The shower lasts exactly six minutes. Six minutes during which I arc my gaze around the room searching for some hint of her. This is the only room I wasn’t able to search the other night, in case Jack should wake from his alcohol-induced slumber.
It’s lined with cupboards: huge floor-to-ceiling cupboards that make my fingers itch just to look at them.
Almost as if they are sentient, beckoning me toward them with whispers of the secrets they contain.
If this was the room that Alice and Jack shared, I am sure that there will be something of hers squirreled away in here.
Jack enters from the en suite then, and I lie back, hoping I look pale, wan, perhaps a little ill.
He smiles when he sees me, and I’m sure I see that protective flare in his eyes as he takes me in: so small and weak against these huge pillows.
That masculine need to protect kicking in once more.
He moves around the bedroom quietly—like he doesn’t want to disturb me.
He’s bare-chested. A little on the thin side, but nothing that my nurturing can’t fix.
I’ll have to learn to cook, get a roster of horribly wholesome recipes under my belt so I can nourish him.
Catherine mentioned that cooking was Alice’s love language, after all.
He dresses quickly, like he’s overly conscious of his nakedness.
I want to tell him not to worry, that it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but decide that really does place me too firmly on the matronly end, and I’m treading a thin line between motherly and appealing as it is.
He looks so handsome, all dressed up and ready for work.
Before he leaves, he comes over and kisses me lightly on the cheek.
“Look after yourself today. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I’ll be back about seven. ”
“Jack, I hate to ask,” I say, making my voice tremulous, “but I don’t suppose there are any clothes I might be able to borrow?
I only had a chance to grab a few of my things at Mum’s.
” In truth, I grabbed everything I needed from that godforsaken house, but I am so close to Alice now I can almost smell her.
Jack’s jaw tightens at the question, eyes flicking to the cupboard on the right.
“I have some shirts in the cupboard over there,” he says, gesturing to the one on the left. “You’re welcome to any of them.”
It’s not the answer I was hoping for. I don’t see the point in such blatant sentimentality after death. My box of Freddie’s things is different. Each of those items holds a special meaning for me. But I only nod, thank him profusely once more.
I listen to Jack leave the house, then rise. When the door downstairs slams, I get up and take a moment to curl my toes into the thick carpet, stretching in the light streaming through the window. The whole day yawns before me.
I shower—to feel clean after all this time is a luxury I’ll never take for granted again.
I floss and brush my teeth. I make both my bed and Jack’s.
Then, back in his room, I begin my search afresh.
I go straight for the dressing table, pulling open the drawers with an almost desperate force.
And that is when I see the jewelry, glittering in the top right drawer.
The first bit of evidence that Alice—that elusive presence—actually existed.
That she was a real, living, breathing human being.
Not just some warped memory that Jack has placed on a pedestal.
A diamond ring. Tangles of necklaces. Bangles that glitter in the light. All so beautiful my breath catches in my throat.
Naturally, I try the ring on first, on the third finger of my left hand. It’s nearly a perfect fit, just like the one I discovered in Freddie’s sock drawer. The one that changed everything.
I can still remember the first crack in our foundation.
I’d been so sure that what we had was solid, that we were building toward a future together, that the first sign of fragmentation nearly pulled me apart completely.
It was, as it so often is, a seemingly innocuous hiccup in our routine.
He’d arrived in the office in a good mood—better than usual—and I wanted to be around his infectious energy, so I followed him through to the kitchen.
He greeted me as he usually did: with a wide, open grin.
An inquiry after my evening that was laced with feelings he couldn’t voice in the office.
He moved past me to get a mug and, as he did, I leaned closer so that I could catch a trace of that familiar musk—I’d missed it in the twelve hours we’d been apart—but I drew back like I’d been burned.
Because it was a different smell that greeted me.
A feminine sweetness that caught in my throat, causing a pit of nausea to yawn in my stomach.
“Everything OK?” he said, noticing the abrupt change in my demeanor. He always was so sensitive to my feelings.
Perhaps I should have said something then. Confronted him immediately. But the idea of losing him was too terrible to bear thinking about. I’d nodded mutely, feeling numb, and stumbled back to my chair.
I’m not afraid to admit I went a little mad in the days that followed.
I started compulsively checking his calendar, but he never put personal appointments in there.
I watched him more closely than ever, attuned to any slight shift in his routine.
Sometimes, after work, I’d watch through the office window as he bundled himself into a waiting taxi that took him in the opposite direction from his flat.
On these occasions, I’d wait for my phone to ping with a message from him.
For him to provide some explanation about where he was going. It never came.
On the nights I stayed over, I’d wait for him to fall asleep and silently comb through his flat.
I’d rummage, quietly, through his drawers in the dark, trying to find evidence of this other woman.
For the first few weeks, there was nothing: no telltale hair tie thrown hastily on the bedside table.
No thong in the washing basket or earring slipped between the sofa cushions.
I wondered if perhaps I’d been imagining it.
And then, late one evening, my fingers closed round a little velvet box at the bottom of his sock drawer.
When I opened it, I felt as though my whole world was coming crashing down around me.
Now I twist my hand. The diamond catches the light in a pleasing way.
I wonder if this was Alice’s engagement ring, or some other extravagance.
A “just because” present. Just because he has money.
Just because she was the most important person in his life.
I’ve always wanted to be that important to someone.
That important to Jack. This diamond is twice the size of the one set into the band in Freddie’s drawer.
If it was Alice’s engagement ring, it feels like an odd place to keep it, stuffed unceremoniously in a dressing table.
I wonder if a doctor slipped it off her finger once she’d been pronounced dead.
If Jack asked for it back as a reminder of the bond—the life commitment—they had made to each other.
Or perhaps he simply deemed it too expensive to spend the rest of its life in the ground.